by D B Nielsen
‘I’m okay,’ I said croakily, then more firmly, ‘Fi, I’m okay.’
‘Yeah, but you gave us one helluva scare and ...’ The words tumbled out way too fast, a confusing, bubbly flood that reminded me of Indy’s excited, high-pitched yapping. ‘... touch and go. And then Mum too – she’s going to be in Intensive Care for a few days before they let her come home, you know? We told them she ate something accidentally that the brats brought home from the woods and sneakily put in the casserole she made – well, we had to tell the doctors something – and ...’
I had to forcefully remove her hands from my shoulders or my head might have rattled onto the floor before holding up my hands and stating, ‘Woah. Stop. Slow down.’
But her next words brought me up short. ‘... and with St. John poisoned too ...’
‘Wait. What?’
The room abruptly stilled; Fi’s words lying between us in the air, loaded like a ticking bomb. There was a ticking in my mind too. A metronome of moments. And the silence before the explosion of seconds, minutes, hours ... two days.
Fi looked suddenly guilty, shooting a quick glance to where St. John stood behind me, as if she wasn’t quite certain whether she was supposed to reveal St. John’s illness to me and worried about how he might react to her inadvertent blunder.
But she should have been more worried about how I would react. Because suddenly I remembered – the pieces of the puzzle falling together with an uncanny ease as I recalled Fi’s words about Finn, and then my Mum’s glazed expression, and the odd way St. John had behaved on numerous occasions.
The image of the Anakim’s ruined bodies, their tortured, shrunken faces, intruded suddenly. I shook my head, trying to dispel it but the silent, sickening ghosts haunted me. Unexpectedly terrified, I felt a space yawn inside me. Wheeling around faster than I probably should have in my frail condition, I confronted my fiancé, forcing him to meet my eyes and admit the truth.
‘How ...?’ I began, my voice cracking as the words failed me.
St. John captured my wildly motioning arms – I wasn’t even aware that I had been waving them about – his powerful hands closing around them, enfolding them, providing security and comfort.
‘I don’t understand. How did this happen?’ I shook my head, feeling my stomach twist into knots, and began again. ‘You said nothing about you being poisoned ...’
Behind us, I could hear Anak issuing orders for the others to leave the kitchen, ushering them out to give us some privacy – Fi leaving under protest – but none of this really registered as St. John’s strange behaviour began to make sense, accompanied by the chilling truth of the Grigori’s malice. I cursed myself for a fool – for failing to notice before now all the signs that had been present.
The seed of evil had been sewn. This poison for a Nephilim allowed access to the mind and nervous system and, like one possessed, St. John’s exposure spelt his doom. It would insinuate itself until his mind was beyond reach.
I was now almost in tears.
‘When?’
Abject, St. John voiced his verdict. ‘After our visit to the British Library. Perhaps even before then.’
In shock and savage pain, I drew the appalling conclusion. ‘Even then? But how? And ... and this means that whoever did this to you knows who you are.’
The implied long-term planning testified to the chilling fact of Semyaza’s preparations in Tartaros. I’d been blind for too long.
‘What else?’ I prompted, my voice anguished.
St. John sighed and absently smoothed the creases of the deep V neckline of my t-shirt – the same grubby t-shirt I had worn for the past two days – wearily stating, ‘The craftiness and malice of the Grigori know no bounds. Semyaza was just challenging us – that’s why Louis and the others weren’t present. He obviously had no intention of engaging us in a frontal attack. He was merely testing us to find what he could learn of the affliction and its damage to us both. Possibly he was hoping that Fi was infected as well. This poison is a useful weapon to the Grigori in the war to come.’
I understood. No activated charcoal would spare the Anakim.
‘This poison is killing you.’ There. I had said it. Through clenched teeth ... but I had said it.
Green eyes found mine, remaining blank and inscrutable through force of will. ‘It’s not that simple.’
I exclaimed in dismay, ‘I don’t understand.’
His eyes never flickered but his mouth twitched in a glib smile as he stroked the soft skin of my marked palm, reminding me. ‘I am bound by duty to the Seed and to the Wise One.’
Struck speechless by emotion, I stumbled forward into his arms. I tasted salt on his lips and realised that the tears that had threatened to fall earlier had finally been released. Drowned in a silent, close embrace, any pleasure in the kiss was saddened by the knowledge that this moment could not last. How long would we have together? It was only the quest that was prolonging the effects of the poison but after the Seed was returned to the Garden of Eden – what then?
I drew back.
‘There must be an antidote.’ I refused to believe that St. John’s mind would unravel and that he would have no remembrance of me. No remembrance of us. ‘I will find one. I’m going to save you, I promise. I’m going to save you all.’
He smiled ruefully but didn’t reply, except to gently quote T. S. Eliot, as he rested his chin upon my head. ‘“And when all the world came back, And the light crept up between the shutters, And you heard the sparrows in the gutters, You had such a vision of the street, As the street hardly understands ...”’
My heart raced and I trembled at how closely his words mirrored my nightmares and my awakening from them. And it was in that moment when I felt warm and safe in his embrace that it all fell upon me. The pain. The fear. The terrible truth. And I didn’t know quite how to deal with it despite my brave words. I didn’t know what I was going to do about it ... where to begin ... how to save him. And it was all just ... too much.
I turned my face into St. John’s black t-shirt and cried; silent, heaving sobs that tore through me, ending in painful, jerky hiccups. One of St. John’s strong hands cradled my head gently, the other wrapped round my waist, patting in languid, comforting circles, as he let me cry my heart out. But the pain lodged underneath my ribs and refused to completely go away.
I felt him press his cool lips to my temple when I finally exhausted myself and relaxed against him, the hiccups subsiding. And the whole world was now adrift in a sea of shifting shadow and light. Outside, the cool breeze swept across the darkened landscape and the sounds of the others drinking and laughing filtered in. But, inside, a deadly layer of grief and love wrapped around our embrace like a thin skin.
A shadowy figure standing at the sliding doors leading out into the back courtyard caught my attention. I reluctantly pulled back from St. John in embarrassment, the lank curtain of my unwashed hair doing little to shield my hot, tear-stained face. Anachiel was hovering outside, looking uncertainly in at us as St. John released me to open both the sliding and screen doors.
The younger Anakim smiled awkwardly, as if aware of disrupting the intimacy of the moment, popping his tousled bronze head in to say, ‘St. John. It’s time.’
Bewildered, I found myself looking from St. John to Anachiel for an explanation. It seemed like I had recovered from my illness and woken at the wrong moment – or perhaps the right one, depending on how one looked at it – as St. John looked much older in that moment than I had ever seen him. It was in his eyes. I could see the weight of responsibility in his eyes as he suddenly became all business, taking immediate charge of the situation.
‘Gather the others. We depart in fifteen.’ His melodious voice was brusque, his tone commanding. This was a general in charge of his army.
‘St. John?’ Ice poured through my veins. ‘What is it?’
‘Ellen Jacobi. We’ve received word from our spies. It’s time for a show of strength. It’s time to put our rescue p
lan into motion,’ St. John said pensively.
‘You–’ My voice didn’t sound remotely steady. I cleared my throat and tried again. ‘You’re going to rescue Ellen Jacobi?’
St. John didn’t blink. ‘Yes. It’s now or never.’
Somehow I managed to make my way over to the kitchen counter and slide onto a bar stool before my shaky legs collapsed beneath me. Even knowing I was in no condition to assist the Anakim, I pleaded, ‘Take me with you. I want to go. I want to help you rescue her.’
He shook his head regretfully. ‘I wish I could, Sage, but my instincts tell me that this particular journey isn’t for you to make.’
There was a silence. The sliding door banged loudly against its frame as it was shoved roughly aside by the entering Anakim who were accompanied by my sister, making me jump.
‘But what if you meet Louis? Or the Fravashi? Or, worse still, Semyaza? What then?’ I said hoarsely.
St. John’s eyes flared with an unholy green flame. ‘Well, Louis knows he can’t defeat us on his own; not even he and the other Rephaim combined can do it. We have to play their game, Sage. The one the Grigori set in motion. It’s our turn to roll the dice. This is a game of strategy and skill ... like the Game of Ur or chess ... but it’s the long game, the one we have played all our lives, which has guaranteed our survival.’
‘We can win this.’ Gabriel’s eyes glowed a bright silver as he began to smile. ‘Starting with rescuing Ellen Jacobi and her unborn child.’
‘Yes. A show of strength. I want to go. To rescue her.’ Fi unknowingly repeated both my and St. John’s words, nodding approvingly.
St. John hesitated, then shook his head, for there was no point in letting either of us entertain false hopes.
‘Tiens! You must be joking! Are you on drugs, Saffron? Because I thought you just implied that you want to die young,’ Gabriel demanded, his expression hardening. His tone switched from gleeful to overprotective and cross in a heartbeat.
Fi tried not to glare at him. ‘And I thought that I was the Wise One, not you. Besides, they attacked my sister and my parents. And they could have hurt my younger brother and sister too. And no one is allowed to do that to my family and get away with it.’
Swallowing hard, I had to agree with Fi. My mouth was parched with fear and tension. In that moment, I glanced at St. John. His green eyes were looking directly at me.
‘Why is this about you alone? Or your family? There will be time enough for retribution but, for now, our mission is Ellen Jacobi’s safety. We have no use for vengeance, wrath or hatred to interfere with this. We’ve formulated a strategy and we must execute it perfectly if we are to rescue Ellen and her unborn child without fatalities.’ It was a perfectly reasonable argument, so absolutely logical that I found my allegiance with Fi waning as I admitted that St. John was right. This was about Ellen Jacobi – and no ill feelings should compromise that.
Fi gave a low gasp but not in outrage. Her bowed head showed her acknowledgement of St. John’s perspective and her own acquiescence. She knew, like I did, that mental and emotional preparedness were more than simply the willingness to fight.
In swift, unemotional words, St. John then outlined what would happen. The plan was not without danger, but I knew that we couldn’t afford the indulgence of hypotheticals and philosophising about the best or right way to act, or what would constitute a virtuous victory on our part. There was enough darkness in all of us to act like the Grigori if we wanted to badly enough. The point was that we were better than them – our humanity made us better than them.
Watching St. John ignore his fears reminded me of Atticus Finch and his lessons on courage and selflessness. He was a natural leader. And leadership was not about his position as the Keeper of the Seed.
I felt his restrained energy and leant closer to him, tilting my head sideways to look up at him from where I was seated. Intuitively, I knew exactly how much space – the precise measure of distance – there was between our two bodies. I knew exactly how much air filled that volume of space and how his chest rose and fell with every breath in perfect unison with mine. And I felt like I would die until I felt his touch – his kiss – again. I watched him for a long time – and felt awed and proud all at once, attracted by his gravity like a satellite orbiting a planet. St. John’s muscles were relaxed; his hands rested lightly on the kitchen counter. He was perfectly at ease in his role. His mind was already far away from me, even though his body was still here.
Realisation dawned. Part of being Anakim was their brotherhood – they acted like one entity, even though they were individuals. Self-sufficiency and independence worked only up to a point. It was their support and need and empathy for one another that made them stronger – better – than those other vicious Nephilim who followed Semyaza. Victory would always depend upon this band of brothers. Together, they were capable of anything.
Then the Anakim rose quietly and slipped away, one by one, leaving only St. John and Gabriel in the kitchen with my sister and me. The two Anakim seemed to be waiting for something to happen – or, more likely, for someone to move away.
Gabriel rolled his eyes at St. John before grabbing Fi’s arm and virtually hauling her out of the kitchen. ‘Allons-y, Saffron, ma petit puce! “Three’s a crowd” as they say. You can apprise me on the interface issue with the Scroll whilst I get ready for battle.’
Fi yanked her arm out of his grip, grumbling as she stopped dead, refusing to budge, ‘What? Like now? Like right at this minute? Unbelievable! I wasn’t aware that as the Wise One, I was signing up for months of torture in the Temple of Doom ...’
There was no sympathy in Gabriel’s voice as he gave my sister a small push to steer her down the darkened hallway. ‘Cela n’est pas vrai! International Temple Bank is not the Temple of Doom, ungrateful brat ...’
Their voices faded and St. John closed the gap between us, leaning into me, narrowing his eyes as he inspected my blotchy face. A smile tugged at the corner of his beautifully-shaped mouth. I inhaled his sandalwood scent – remembering to breathe, but only just – and sighed deeply.
‘When I get back, we need to talk.’
He moved his radiant face closer to mine; his eyes focusing on my eyes, the tip of my nose, my parted lips. My cheeks warmed and all I could say was, ‘What about?’
He tenderly touched his lips to my temple, smothering a mocking laugh. ‘About your constant need to throw yourself into danger. About your connection to the Seed and the power that’s growing within you. About who poisoned you and the others and why. About visiting my father and finding the seraph blade.’
He kissed my cheek softly, taking my face in his hands. His fingers were gentle but strong as he stroked along my jaw, neck, collarbone, drifting slowly downwards as he then brushed lightly against the swell of my breast. I tensed, experiencing a roar which filled my ears and a luscious pooling in my belly.
St. John grinned before pressing his mouth to mine.
‘About us. About whether you’re ready to–’
My mouth parted on a breath that formed a perfect “O” as he slid in his tongue, delicately probing, tangling with mine. But before St. John could finish his sentence or I could respond, a shout came from the front of the house calling for him to get a move on.
‘Dammit. Duty calls.’ He pulled away reluctantly. At my moonstruck look, his eyes flared an emerald green flecked with gold, emphasising the depth of his desire as they pierced mine. ‘Hold that thought, ma moitié.’
I felt as light as air as I accompanied St. John to the front door where the others were waiting. But I came crashing back down to earth on overhearing the Anakim who reminded me of Othello joking with St. John as he glanced over us, ‘Glad you’re in a good mood, mate, but better get your head screwed on right before we face the enemy – I mean your other head – otherwise you’ll be going off half-cocked.’
‘That would be called a pre-emptive strike,’ Gabriel countered.
Anachiel laughed uproarious
ly. ‘Well, Barak, that’ll give them a good scare at least. Have you seen the size of–?’
‘Gentlemen, we’re wasting time.’ St. John put a stop to their antics but not before I blushed beetroot and Fi’s eyes lit up with interest – I could tell she was simply bursting with curiosity and speculation. Catching my eye, she gave me a “two thumbs up” behind St. John’s back in a congratulatory gesture, making me blush even more.
But the light-hearted moment passed quickly as I viewed St. John’s grave expression. I stood a few feet away from him but the distance was widening with each passing second. It amazed me how easy it was to tune out everything else – the thoughts of war, the Grigori, the Rephaim and Emim, rescuing Ellen Jacobi – and simply concentrate on my fiancé.
Anak was the first to walk out the door. Then his son. Then the one they called Barak, short for Baraqiel. I didn’t watch them leave. I closed my eyes instead and tried hard to think of nothing.
And then I heard Gabriel leave.
And then my name was spoken on a melodic note. ‘Sage.’
I opened my eyes and saw only St. John. He kissed my forehead and the tip of my nose and then, expertly, fit his mouth to mine. I wanted him to kiss me but I was on edge – and the kiss ended all too soon.
‘The safe house is warded. There are guards posted at the front and back doors. Stay here till I return.’ He frowned as if he wished to say something more, but instead merely ended with, ‘Please. Stay here.’
Slowly, I nodded. My throat felt tight with emotion and words I couldn’t express.
‘You too, Fi,’ St. John threw over his shoulder. ‘Make yourselves useful. Find the First-Aid Kit and anything that can be used for bandages. Find blankets, towels, boil water, get out the activated charcoal, and make tea. This is precautionary, you understand. It’s better to be prepared ... and keep active.’
