Sword- Part Two Page 15

  Roused from my silent contemplation, luckily, I did – or, at least, I thought I did.

  ‘Remember those annual treasure hunts devised by Mum and Dad?’ I prodded her to recall.

  Devised by our parents when we were children, no older than seven, each birthday brought a new challenge where Fi and I would be expected to solve riddles and mysteries based on history in order to find our birthday presents. It began as merely brain-teasers and developed into more and more elaborate quests over the years – until we’d stumbled across the books on cryptic codes, archaic and obscure languages and elaborate designs and symbols which Dad had used to devise the treasure hunts and that had put an end to them. But it was enjoyable while it had lasted, forming the education of my childhood, and made me often feel that life was an adventure, just waiting to be discovered.

  And now I understood why the fallen angel saw Fi and me as one entity; the Wise One. Ever since I could remember, we were like two sides of the same coin, developing complementary skills that allowed us to act as one person in our investigations. Fi’s interests in art, films and music, her knowledge of popular culture, combined with her unique navigational skills and sportiness, bolstered my own skills in languages, history and science. Her more practical abilities when combined with my own expertise in philosophical and theoretical subjects never failed to offer us a complete solution to the given problem. Together, we eagerly poured over every childhood challenge until we solved it, the solution pointing us to always another code, symbol or riddle. And now the Watcher was suggesting that we would need our combined skills to perform the most significant treasure hunt of our lives to date – the mere thought of which thrilled and terrified me.

  My sister failed to look impressed. ‘I remember. So where do we start?’

  ‘You have already begun.’ The Watcher said, and although he didn’t seem to move, not even so much as a muscle, the misty veil above parted briefly to reveal the wide, wide heavens. ‘Observe.’

  At first I saw nothing – certainly nothing out of the ordinary. The night was crystal clear and, without the ambient city lights or industrial pollution nearest the North Pole, the stars shone radiantly in the velveteen black sky. But then I heard Fi speak – or rather, something spoke through her like the quiet, solemn chanting of a thousand voices in unison – and I realised that these weren’t voices at all but the gentle resonance of the universe, the mystical incantations of the twinkling stars. And I felt a strange indolence wash over me as I seemed to note a distant echo of Wordsworth’s The Prelude:

  “... for I would walk alone,

  Under the quiet stars, and at that time

  Have felt whate’er there is of power in sound

  To breathe an elevated mood, by form

  Or image unprofaned; and I would stand,

  If the night blackened with a coming storm,

  Beneath some rock, listening to notes that are

  The ghostly language of the ancient earth,

  Or make their dim abode in distant winds.

  Thence did I drink the visionary power.”

  And I did drink the visionary power of the heavenly bodies, marvelling in wonder.

  Movement caught my attention, and I jerked my focus away from the stars to look at my twin.

  ‘What am I supposed to be looking for? Do you see it?’ Fi asked me, twirling around in an arc as she looked about her, as if those previous precious moments didn’t exist for her at all.

  ‘There’s looking ... and then there’s seeing,’ I told her. And spinning on my heel, I faced Elijah, who watched on impassively as we made our first discovery. ‘The stars or heavenly bodies .... You asked for your freedom ... But there was more to the pentagram than simply a cell to hold you, wasn’t there?’

  The Watcher’s eyes grew blacker still as he replied, ‘Yes.’

  I gave a sharp nod of my head in response as, turning back to my sister, I explained what I’d discovered. ‘The symbol of the pentagram dates back to at least the Uruk IV period in ancient Mesopotamia, around 3500BC. It’s believed that the pentagram was a “heavenly body” that represented a star. But, later still, the pentagram might also have meant “direction” or even “region”. The Babylonians were probably the first to inscribe it in a circle – just like the cuneiform tablet displayed in the British Museum which ... er...’ And here I paused, trying to avoid using St. John’s real name and breaking yet another cardinal rule. ‘...the Assistant Keeper of Ancient Mesopotamian Culture pointed out to me was a map that explained the Babylonian view of the mythological world.’

  In fact, the pentagram had first appeared as a Sumerian pictographic sign for the word “UB” meaning “corner” or “angle”. By acquiring particular associations with the heavenly bodies, it became a distinct symbol for directions. So, as both the representation of a star and the symbol for directions, I was certain that the pentagram which had held Elijah imprisoned was a clue in itself – but my heart sank as I could only recall the sketchiest of details at this moment, exhaustion creeping over me and numbing my mind. Despite using the symbol at Home House, for the life of me right now, I couldn’t recall the order of the markings.

  ‘So you think the pentagram was inscribed with a clue?’ Fi asked, her hazel coloured eyes lighting with renewed interest. ‘That’s awesome!’

  ‘Well, it would be if I could remember the darn thing accurately,’ I muttered, discouraged. I hadn’t been able to take in much of the pentagram on my first visit with St. John as he’d stood in front of me, shielding me from his father – but I had recalled enough to mark Home House in my own blood in an effort to save the Anakim, yet even this had never been tested thanks to Finn. And this time when I had visited his father without him, I had broken one of St. John’s fundamental instructions and looked upon the Watcher directly rather than averting my eyes. All of which meant that we might as well accept defeat gracefully – because the pentagram that had once housed Elijah no longer existed and we could not return to view it.

  But then my sister surprised me.

  ‘Chillax, girl. You may not remember it but I remember the pentagram perfectly.’

  Startled, my eyes flew up to meet her smug expression. ‘Wait. What?’

  ‘Well, you had me staring down at the bloody thing for most of the time I was in the cavern, didn’t you? Besides, I thought the designs were amazingly detailed, totally sick, like something Joss Whedon would have used in his shows. So yeah, I kind of committed it to memory. Look...’ She picked up a stick that was lying nearby and, in a small patch of grassless dirt, drew the symbol which had bound the fallen angel to the earth.

  I looked down upon this mystical symbol and back up to where the Watcher had been standing, wanting to observe his reaction – but the spot where he had been was now empty and he was nowhere to be found. I felt a momentary surge of trepidation but ruthlessly suppressed it. I had no time now for the fears of mere mortals.

  A brisk wind made me violently shiver, reminding me to turn back to the diagram in order to solve the puzzle.

  ‘See what I mean?’ Fi was saying as she indicated the distinctive markings on the pentagram. ‘Awesome, isn’t it?’

  I had to agree with her. But I admired the pentagram for an entirely different reason. The Babylonians believed that Heaven was ruled in quartets, divided into four realms – a belief that was still part of Christianity, associating the seven heavenly houses with the Archangels and bringing about the term “seventh heaven” – with the fifth point indicating supreme power over these quartets and domain over their guardians.

  ‘Can you see these points?’ I asked my sister, tracing over the design in the air with my finger. ‘The Babylonian view of Heaven is made up of these four realms which are identifiable with the elements of water, earth, air and fire.’

  Fi’s eyebrows slowly rose to form perfectly sculpted arches over wide eyes. ‘But that’s what Elijah just said – well, something similar – remember? Something about how the elements are
easier to predict and control than the Nephilim.’

  ‘That’s right. He did.’ I nodded thoughtfully. ‘Do you think he was giving us a clue?’

  Fi shot me a wry look, her lips twisting. ‘Lol. Don’t you think that’d be against the rules somehow?’

  I blinked, then gave a sheepish shrug. I’d almost forgotten that this was a trial, being drawn into the adventure that history provided.

  Looking down at the pentagram etched into the dirt, I was struck by its mystic power. As a representation of the stars, it manifested energy, mystery and was seemingly unattainable and unreachable, evoking the nature of the celestial bodies. As a holistic symbol, it represented the human body – with the marked difference of human being’s five-fold form; five toes of a foot, five fingers of a hand – and was meaningfully linked to humanity and life itself.

  Gathering my wits about me, I said, ‘You’re probably right. Look, the pentagram draws energy from life and the living. I think I recall Dad telling us about this stuff when we were kids. Anu stood for the “Luminous Heaven” – possibly meaning fire, right? – Enlil with the “Sky”, so I’m pretty sure that’s air, Marduk with “Earth” and, of course, Ea with water or, more specifically, “Watery Abyss”. It all makes perfect sense.’

  ‘You know, Gabriel told me that according to the Mesopotamian notion of the cosmos, the earth was a solid, disc-like expanse within a huge body of water. Below the earth was the Apsu; the subterranean waters. And the Apsu was connected with the Underworld.’ I was surprised – though I wondered why I should be – that Fi had learnt so much history from the Anakim. Perhaps it was because Dad and I had been trying to teach her this stuff for years but she just hadn’t shown any interest in it. Until now.

  But she continued speaking, oblivious to my reflections. ‘He even said that the Mesopotamian Eden isn’t a garden at all but instead it’s a city, and that the first building was a temple. Eridu and the great temple of Babylon, Esagila, were created through an act of divine will, formed from a piece of dry land surrounded by water. The gods of Mesopotamia took up residence on earth and lived in cities and that’s why the Mesopotamian cities are always seen as sacred or heavenly.’

  ‘That’s right,’ I eagerly agreed. Then added for emphasis, ‘The elemental system, which is clearly meant to represent the sacred ladder between realms like Jacob’s ladder in the Genesis story from the more divine to the physical world, has a crucial difference to many other beliefs, in that water in the Babylonian system is below earth, while the opposite happens in these other systems. So that’s why these markings are ordered in the way they are.’

  ‘But there are five points and only four elements. What’s the fifth point represent? The fifth element?’ Fi stared at me for a frozen second, as if waiting for me to respond, then threw back her head and laughed at her own joke. ‘Get it? The Fifth Element? Like in the film? Like the supreme being?’

  I rolled my eyes at her lame joke, but conceded, ‘I get it, Fi. But, you know, you’re not totally wrong.’

  This sobered her up immediately. ‘Wait. What?’

  Now it was my turn to laugh – and I felt secretly pleased about it. ‘The fifth point, at the top of the pentagram, represents the Spirit. Actually, to be more precise, these heavenly realms are said to be Jupiter, Mars, Mercury and Saturn, with Venus, represented by the Babylonian goddess, Ishtar, at the top.’

  ‘No way! Like seriously?’ Fi squealed in a high-pitched, almost airless voice.

  ‘Yes! Way! Daughter of Ishtar!’ I teased her.

  Wishing to examine the symbols further, I gazed down upon the pentagram, minutely noting details. But then the strong, chill wind returned, beating down upon the image so that the grass parted in a line, as if groomed under a fine tooth comb, and the surface dirt particles blew away to leave behind only its fractured outline.

  Shielding my eyes from the gusty onslaught, I looked up at the sky, only to see Elijah looming high above us, his onyx-black wings seemingly agitating and unfurling the black of night in lustrous dark waves, black on black, with every bell-beat. I wondered if this was his way of hurrying us along.

  ‘It’s the fifth point, isn’t it? Connecting humanity to the divine?’ I asked the Watcher.

  ‘Is that your answer, Wise One?’ He implied that no quarter was to be given, not even in the phrasing of my answer as a question.

  I gave a soul-deep, exasperated sigh.

  ‘What do you think?’ I turned to Fi, afraid to stake everything on what I thought I knew – especially as reaching our goal was vital – and knowing we had to make the decision together. Trying to explain my reasoning, I added, ‘As a geometric shape, the pentagram has extraordinary properties. You know the Babylonians were fascinated by mathematics, right?’ Fi gave a low groan and I knew what she was thinking – how everything she’d been told about the Scroll reflected the universe as a mathematical object – and she had always hated maths. ‘It draws energy from mathematics and science as a realisation of the mysterious and infinite power of logic.’

  ‘R-i-i-i-ight. So, I guess, it’s all about geometry and numbers again.’ Her face bore once more her unimpressed expression. ‘The fifth element. The goddess Ishtar. The top point of the pentagram. I get it.’

  The silence that followed Fi’s acerbity was one of hesitation. Still uncertain, I feared making a monumental mistake. But the Watcher demonstrated his impatience with the sensitivities of humans.

  ‘What is your answer, Wise One?’ the fallen angel demanded.

  I glanced down at what remained of the pentagram Fi had drawn in the dust as she urged me on, saying, ‘Just give him an answer. I trust you.’ but I worried that my answer might be incorrect. Though I worried more that it might not be. For Fi’s sake.

  Finally, pointing up at the Archangel Michael Monastery and Cathedral, I replied, ‘The cathedral spire represents the top point of the pentagram. The northwest corner is anchored by a bell tower with a tent tower. The pentagram has two important angles that make up its geometric instructions – similar to a human’s DNA – the angle of its five vertices, which is one-hundred-and-eight degrees, and the smaller angle, which is thirty-six degrees. This smaller angle is too sharp to be displayed in most architecture, but it remains as part of the architecture of the cathedral steeple. It’s where we will find the next clue.’

  ‘A sage answer, Wise One. The pentagram connects to the stars and the universe, filled with life and intelligence,’ Elijah said calmly.

  I started at his words, before realising that he was not referring to my name at all, yet I had no time to bask in his approbation as Fi grabbed my arm and spun me to face her.

  ‘The cathedral steeple?’ she blurted.

  Oh hell. She’d caught on to that.

  I couldn’t say or do anything to help, and she knew it – like Dad, I’d always been afraid of heights.

  ‘How the hell am I supposed to get up there? Up! There!’ Fi punctuated grimly, throwing her arm out as if to emphasise her point. ‘You can’t expect me to climb it.’

  I opened my mouth, then closed it again. I had no useful ideas.

  ‘What about you?’ Fi turned to Elijah. ‘Can you help?’

  The Watcher’s contemplative silence was long and sphinxlike. I wondered if he would break it.

  ‘The grounds of the monastery and cathedral are hallowed.’ He turned to the bell tower as if hearing something that I couldn’t hear, something beyond my limited mortal hearing, and I wondered briefly if Fi could hear what he heard. ‘I cannot set foot upon them. I can go no further. I cannot cross onto sanctified soil.’

  After a long pause, Fi slowly said, as if sounding out the thoughts in her head, ‘What about flying me up there? We can overcome a ... a technicality ... by flying, if the grounds are sacred and you can’t touch them.’

  ‘That’s insane!’ My initial, horrified response leapt from my lips. ‘He’d have to lower you onto the steeple! What if Elijah accidentally dropped you?’

&n
bsp; The Watcher raised a pale brow and pierced me with his dark eyes; whilst his expression was impenetrable, I could tell he was indignant and offended by my suggestion.

  ‘Mark me. I am under no compulsion but that which I place myself under. If I was to let the Wise One fall, it would be no accident. Yet, by my hand or not, like all mortals, your sister will inevitably die. And you must be prepared for that reality.’ The Watcher sighed and, in that sigh, I could hear the faint murmur and anguish of seasons. ‘I am old, Wise One. I was old when the world was still young. I was old when time bent its will against the inception of ice, and rock, and fire. I was old when the drying face of earth rose out of eternal ocean. I am older than you can possibly fathom. Yet I have contracted myself to the Wise One. You are, therefore, under my protection for the duration of your quest.’

  I gulped, then nodded. His words reminded me too much of Banquo’s view on the witches and their prophecy: “But ’tis strange;/ And oftentimes, to win us to our harm,/ The instruments of Darkness tell us truths,/ Win us with honest trifles, to betray’s/ In deepest consequence.”

  I felt Fi’s hand on my shoulder in a gesture of reassurance and I looked across at her miserably, feeling worse than useless.

  ‘Let us go then, you and I,’ the Watcher said. His shape as a man transformed on a breath of wind into feathers and wings, edged in a haze of silvery light.

  She gave a decisive nod. ‘Let’s go. We’ve got things to do.’

  For one too brief moment, Fi stood next to me, a half-smile playing upon her familiar features, before she was catapulted backwards and upwards.

  I had no time to think. To utter words of caution or luck.

  The Watcher launched himself into the night sky, Fi hanging like a limp, raggedy doll from his arm, her loose chestnut hair obscuring her face as it fiercely whipped about in the chill night wind. Mimicking my earlier movement, I threw up an arm to shield my eyes from the blustery assault and looked up. And felt a rush of black-feathered wings above my head as the brilliant creature separated me from my twin.