Sword- Part Two Read online

  And between the soul and the shadow is myself, a familiar stranger, most intimate, most unknown and unknowable ... soon to be a myth in the annals of history ... his story ... your story. Deciphering and translating the brittle workings of the mind’s eye, what you know now will be tossed and fretted to grains of distress and suffering ...

  I hold you in my arms but the Furies attend ...

  ‘Tell me’, you ask, ‘what is your name?’

  My words hang weightless in the air: Remember me.

  When I woke the next day, the air in my bedroom was oppressive and hot, dust motes floated aimlessly in the sunlight streaming through the open blinds, and the sheets clung uncomfortably to my clammy skin.

  Looking at the alarm clock on my bedside table, it was well past midday and I’d slept for almost eighteen hours. Though I shouldn’t have been surprised, given that I had barely slept since Saturday and spent most of yesterday fighting demons, I couldn’t believe that I’d let myself waste even a moment of the precious time I had left to save St. John. Yet, waking slowly, my head and eyes ached from the restless night I’d just spent. It was horrible how things could affect you in a way that you weren’t even aware of and manifest themselves subliminally in your dreams.

  I’d woken deep in the night – St. John’s presence so strong that for a matter of minutes I couldn’t tell where I was or when I was. I couldn’t locate myself. My blood was racing, pumped out along my veins, flooding my arteries like a dam bursting. His voice lingered in my bedroom; an echo of a distant memory. But memory was unreliable. And perhaps that was what I was afraid of – that St. John would forget me, would not be able to recall my face, my name, my purpose in his life without effort ... if at all.

  Would he be prepared to let the memories go as the poison assailed his mind? Would he hoard them to him – the clarity of these memories that were cellared in him? I didn’t know the answer. And I felt helpless and desperate in equal parts.

  I cursed and despaired and wondered ... wondered why the Seed would not act to save him. But reason took hold – an understanding that we were endowed with capabilities and free will – if St. John did not act to save himself, if he did not want to save himself or did not consider himself worthy of saving, the Seed would not intervene.

  When I emerged from my room an hour later, the rest of my family were found relaxing about the house and grounds. As it was late afternoon on the Easter Monday public holiday and unusually fine weather outside, I could hear Jasmine and Alex playing football in the front lawn with Indy egging them on, barking enthusiastically. I gathered Mum must have been in her studio painting – I just hoped she wouldn’t notice the Ducati hidden behind the back of the studio – and Dad was obviously doing some work in the study.

  Stumbling upon Fi in the kitchen, looking grouchy and groggy, I tried to make conversation but she clearly wasn’t in the mood – her replies little more than grunts and grumbles which made me realise that she hadn’t been up for much longer than me, as she wasn’t by any stretch of the imagination a “morning” person. I waited until I’d made us both a steaming pot of Earl Grey tea – not Fi’s usual thing as she was a coffee addict but, as I wasn’t in the mood either, I figured she could like it or lump it – placing two mugs on the breakfast table in front of her, before I asked, ‘What’s up with you?’

  Rolling her eyes, Fi leant her chair backward so that it balanced precariously on its two legs. ‘Take your pick. Let’s see ... it could be global warming that’s ruining my skin, it could be that I figured out it will take me till I’m forty to pay off my uni fees, it could be that the hottest guy on the planet is dating an Australian girl and she isn’t me ... or it could be that this situation sucks.’

  ‘What sucks? That miniscule pimple you have on your chin? Gabriel dating some Aussie girl I didn’t know about? Or our doom and gloom, “it’s the end of the world as we know it” situation?’ I teased, trying to lighten the mood. ‘Though I would consider Gabriel to be the second hottest guy on the planet and St. John the first. But as you already knew that St. John was dating me and you’ve repeatedly assured me he isn’t your type, I assume you must be talking about Gabriel.’

  Fi shot me a dirty look.

  ‘Bite me.’ was all the response I got, but it was said without any force behind it as she righted the chair.

  My self-assurance faded at her lacklustre attitude and I sipped morosely from my mug. ‘So doom and gloom it is, I guess.’

  We remained silent for a moment, bothered by the inevitability.

  Fi stared blindly out of the window, mired in bleak thought, before she spoke up, her words surprising me. ‘You know, ever since my confrontation with Semyaza, I’ve been thinking that we’ve been going about this all wrong.’

  ‘I know.’ I quietly nodded my agreement. And it was true; I did know. It wasn’t as if this idea had been some kind of epiphany for me; it had crept up slowly as I realised that everything we had done was in reaction to the Grigori’s actions and scheming. They’d cast the die and we had followed their play, but we hadn’t read the game very well at all. Well, I was well and truly sick of it. The time for decisive action had come.

  ‘And if we continue to do this, we’ve got no chance.’ Fi scowled as she took a sip of her tea, checking the contents of her mug. ‘This war has been going on for millennia, yet we’ve always acted like it started the day the Seed became sentient again or the day you saw it morph or whenever we first became aware of all this.’

  ‘That’s true.’ But I also reminded her, ‘But you know, I’ve tried to ignore the danger and wanted to aim at having a normal life. And maybe that was stupid of me to ever think it was possible. And, I’ll be honest, I’ve been an idiot to think St. John would change three thousand years of ingrained habits in a matter of months since meeting me.’

  ‘Well, girl, don’t expect me to offer you any words of wisdom like Gandalf ‘cos it’s not gonna happen. I’ve got nothing. I’ve already told you your problem – you overcomplicate things. Stick to the KISS principle. Keep it sexy, stupid.’

  I shook my head. ‘That is not the KISS principle, Fi.’

  ‘No? Meh, it should be. Bear it in mind the next time you get St. John alone.’ She gave me a mocking smile before continuing, ‘But like seriously ... Just think about it. St. John. Gabriel. Finn. And the Grigori. They all have a history. A history we weren’t part of – well, I guess, maybe only as ghosts of a time yet to come like in that Christmas tale.’

  Everything clicked into place. ‘No. You’re right.’

  ‘Yeah, I know I’m right.’ Her voice was filled with scorn as if she thought I was ridiculing her.

  ‘I mean, you’re absolutely correct, Fi,’ I said more forcefully, my eyes widening. ‘None of them know what the future holds. They don’t have that foresight, no more than we do. Though sometimes I wonder how much Semyaza’s son knows – but he’s playing his own game.’ It felt like we were moving from the realm of fantasy back to reality. ‘You know, I was going to suggest we move the Seed somewhere safer, but then I realised it wouldn’t make any difference. Besides, the Seed is sentient and doesn’t belong to me. It belongs to no man. It holds the Covenant; the Creator’s promise to the human race. The Grigori cannot touch the Seed nor the astrolabe – not without assistance from ... well ... others. But now with my connection to the Seed, it makes it harder for them.’

  Fi grabbed my arm, almost spilling my tea as the liquid sloshed around the lip of the mug. ‘It’s time, don’t you see? I’m tired of being a spectator. We need to take charge, Sage. We still don’t know who stole the Seed from the Garden of Eden or released Semyaza from his prison – and perhaps we will never know – but that doesn’t matter anymore. I keep thinking that the war began long ago – even before the Grigori and the Nephilim – it began with the angels in heaven. But even that seems odd when you think that every angel is a fighter ... a warrior ... part of the divine army or whatever you want to call it, so who were they fighting exa
ctly? Not that that matters for us – it just means that every angel had a weapon. Every angel had a seraph blade. So I’ve been thinking–’

  ‘There must be more seraph blades lying around somewhere, other than just the Archangel Michael’s,’ I concluded, following her reasoning. ‘Other than the ones confiscated from the Fallen and melted down by the Archangels too, of course ... Yeah, I kind of figured that was the case when Gabriel told me St. John had been tortured during the Spanish Inquisition.’

  ‘Do you think the Vatican still has the one used on St. John? Not that I’d really want to use that particular weapon – unless you’ve got a vendetta against them or something – though that’d be kind of ironic.’ She held up her hands in submission, fearing my protest. ‘Or perhaps they might know where it got to? We could do with more than one weapon.’

  After a long tense moment, a moment of shifting possibilities, I gave an unsettled nod. The thought of asking after, perhaps even touching, the weapon used to torture St. John made me ill, but it was St. John himself who had repeatedly told me that this was a war.

  I may have said something but Fi stiffened beside me and I turned my head towards the doorway as Dad marched into the kitchen.

  ‘Sage, I need to talk to you,’ he stated in a gruff, familiar voice – the voice reserved for when one of us kids was in trouble. Surprised, I exchanged a look with my twin, marking Dad’s tense, distracted air.

  Her eyes slid uneasily to me, then back to our father. ‘Now, Dad? We’re having a bit of a girly talk here. Can you give us a minute?’

  ‘This isn’t a hostage negotiation, Safie,’ he responded gruffly. Whilst the stern disciplinarian at times, Dad wasn’t usually terse or short-tempered, but today he seemed to be on edge for some reason. On a warning note, he repeated, ‘Now, Sage.’

  He cast a look out the rear window – but I doubted that he gained much inspiration from our denuded lawn – then abruptly turned and began to walk away. Grimacing, I pushed back my chair and slowly followed him out into the hallway as Fi hissed behind me, ‘Good luck. Do you want me to send for a trained hostage negotiator?’

  Whipping my head round at the last moment before clearing the doorway, I rolled my eyes at her in response, the corner of my mouth twitching. Behind me, I heard Fi’s stifled laughter. Whatever was on Dad’s mind, I had serious reservations that Mum would be taking my side against him – especially if it was about the desired trip to Italy. And as I approached the study, I took a deep breath, attempting to slow my breathing. Dad wasn’t particularly intimidating but I’d been summoned to the study for so many infractions in the past few months that there was something altogether terrifying about being hauled up by my father yet again, like a juvenile delinquent before the law.

  Bracing myself, I stepped over the threshold and turned to close the door behind me. When I turned back, my father was waiting in front of the unlit fireplace, hands in his trouser pockets, impatiently rocking back and forth on his heels.

  ‘Take a seat.’ Dad nodded towards the chesterfield and memories of the last time I had been reclined on it swamped me, which I ruthlessly suppressed. Now was not the time to remember the first kiss I’d ever exchanged with St. John.

  Focus, Sage!

  ‘Sage,’ my father began wearily, removing his glasses to give them a thorough wipe. It was a sign of his discomfort. ‘I think this little talk has been long overdue. And I’d like you to be honest with me. I’m not your enemy, Sage.’ He paused on a long-suffering sigh. ‘What’s wrong? Since your engagement to St. John, possibly even before that, you’ve been ... what’s the word I’m looking for? ... Distracted? Confused? On edge? Your mother and I worry about you. We worry about your safety. We worry about your happiness.’

  My eyes widened but I didn’t say anything at first. Probably because I didn’t know quite what to say. Whatever I had expected, it wasn’t this. I had spent seventeen years accustoming myself to Dad’s lectures, so this quiet, reasonable concern was new and startling.

  ‘We worry about whether you’re rushing into things as you seem ... well, not quite yourself since becoming engaged to St. John.’

  ‘I ... I’m fine, honest,’ I hesitated, then plunged in. ‘Just what are you asking me, Dad? Is this about St. John and me? I thought you approved of my engagement to St. John?’

  His brown eyes were tired and anxious and saw far too much. ‘I don’t disapprove of your engagement to St. John, if that’s what you’re trying to gauge. I’ve always liked St. John, Sage ... Even if, at times, he acts like he’s twenty-five going on a hundred. He’s so sure of himself ... In fact, that’s what worries me ... I don’t want St. John to railroad you into a future that you haven’t chosen for yourself.’

  Oh God! If he only knew the irony!

  ‘Dad–’

  ‘No, hear me out.’ He paused and took a long, slow breath as if gathering his thoughts. ‘You know, fathers don’t like to admit it when their role has been usurped, when their children are capable of running their own lives. It means we’ve become archaic, like the artefacts that I dig up. Your mother and I feel as if we’re merely spectators in our children’s lives.’

  ‘Dad! Don’t be silly! You’re not archaic!’ I protested, unknowingly standing up to face him across the suddenly shifting space.

  He nodded miserably. ‘You and Safie have grown up so much in the past few months. Before we came here, both of you – you especially – would allow me some say in your life–’

  ‘But you gave permission to St. John when he asked if he could marry me–’ I blurted, interrupting him.

  Dad leant back on his heels, surprised, a small frown bracketing his forehead. ‘Sage, I didn’t exactly give St. John permission – in this day and age, who does that anymore? In fact, I told him that it was your decision to make and that he’d have to ask you. But, perhaps, he heard what he wanted to hear. Who knows? I was, I admit, impressed with his old-fashioned manners. But, of course, I made damn sure we were in agreement to let you have the time to make up your mind ...’ He shrugged. ‘Look, St. John seems to make you happy and that’s what matters to me most but there are times when I notice how serious you’ve become. Too serious for someone your age.’

  He was still trying to protect me, his little girl. If only he knew that there were some things he couldn’t protect me from – but, then again, maybe I was giving him too little credit, maybe he did know it. I felt my emotions slip dangerously, and hated myself for all the anxiety I’d caused.

  ‘Oh Dad!’ I whispered. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be.’

  He looked out from the row of open windows where sounds of children at play floated into the room. Dad seemed to be lost in thought – and he was the kind of person you could actually see thinking, you could see the wheels turning in his head.

  ‘Safie has always been the impetuous one. At least, I thought she was the impetuous one – the one who would rebel, fall in love first, elope or break up or break hearts with great freedom. With Safie, it has always been tears and tantrums,’ he admitted finally, catching my eye as he gave a derisive smile. ‘I didn’t expect that of you. I didn’t expect you to be the one to get engaged first. But I guess it’s always been your way; when you know what you want, you know what you want.’

  I blinked. The way he said it made me feel slightly guilty, like he was somehow disappointed to have made such a misjudgement in his daughters’ characters. Yet, at the same time, I knew he truly liked St. John ...

  ‘This is your decision, Sage. You were right when you said that we cannot continue to treat you like a child; you’re now grown up. You’re an adult,’ he continued as I watched him, frozen. ‘But I will always stand by you. I will always worry about you because it’s my job. I want for you to be happy.’

  I strangled a breath. ‘I am happy with St. John, Dad. I love him. I know you think I’m too young but Mum met you when she wasn’t much older than me ...’ Swallowing, I managed to give him a tight smile. ‘And you both seem rea
lly happy together still ...’

  He measured my expression for a moment.

  ‘We are happy, Sage. You know I love your mother,’ he assured me, but his voice was still laden with concern. ‘But I know your disposition. You could never be happy in an unequal marriage.’

  I almost felt like Elizabeth Bennet had upon announcing her intention to marry Darcy to her father, and wanted to similarly protest, “You do not know what he really is; then pray do not pain me by speaking of him in such terms.” but held my tongue.

  Instead, more rational than ever and repeating the sentiments I’d just spoken about only minutes earlier with Fi, I stated, ‘Dad, we have no way of knowing what lies ahead for us in the future; all we can do is use the knowledge that we have to make the best decision possible. St. John’s exactly the man who best complements me. We are equals.’ Slightly embarrassed to be having this conversation with my Dad and not my Mum, I said, ‘He’s able to bring a balance ... and it’s crazy but we’re so attuned to one another. He’s ... well ... my best friend. And I love him ... But I promise you, he’s not forcing me to do anything I don’t want to do. Quite the opposite actually. Don’t you see, Dad?’

  When I had ceased speaking, my father stood silent for a matter of minutes – though it could have been mere seconds – and then said solemnly, ‘Well then, your mother and I must trust in your judgment to know what’s best for your future happiness.’

  Almost sagging with relief, I crossed the room to give him a hug, suddenly grateful.

  He seemed bemused as he returned the hug and said, ‘But bear in mind that we’re always here for you. You’ll always be our daughter first.’

  I understood what he was saying and loved him all the more for it.

  ‘And as for this trip to Italy–’

  But the loud peal of the doorbell interrupted his words.

  A MATTER FOR THE AUTHORITIES