Last of the Nephilim Page 12

  According to every ancient description I was able to find, the hilt’s ornate wood contained three embedded gems, two of which were clear crystal, perhaps diamonds, and one red gem, usually described as a ruby. Yet now after my experiences with dragons, and since Morgan gave Excalibur to King Arthur hoping it would be used to slay dragons, I wonder if the red gem might have been a rubellite. All three gems exist in my replica, two clear and one red, as expected, though all three are glass. As the photographs clearly show, there are two gems on one side of the hilt and an empty depression on the other, yet no third gem. Is the red gem missing? Perhaps it fell out in battle long ago, or even in one of William’s recent battles. It seems impossible to know.

  Billy read the date the professor had written next to the photos. Apparently he had taken them shortly after their Circles of Seven adventures, probably the night they roasted marshmallows at the campfire.

  Flipping the page, he continued with the fascinating entries. One in particular caught his eye, a poem centered on the page, set in the familiar quatrains that Merlin always used, along with a similar rhyme and meter scheme. It was as if the professor wanted to mimic his prophetic ancestor.

  The virgin bride arose to fly

  And found the faith to soar;

  The child of doubt has cast aside

  His fears forevermore.

  And now the two are prophesied

  To join their hands as one,

  To stand at holy altars high

  And kneel before the Son.

  A vow, a pledge, a promise made

  That never has an end,

  When words of love bind knight and maid

  To make forever friends.

  A witness there I long to be,

  The one who sings the rites,

  Who blesses two to make them one

  And spiritually unites.

  And when the virgin lifts her veil

  To give her knight the seal,

  Let angels sing; let demons wail;

  Let all the holy kneel.

  And then forever will I rest,

  My labors at an end,

  And seeing all my efforts blessed,

  To God will I ascend.

  Billy bit his lip hard. The poem was too sad for words. Obviously Prof wanted to be there to see him marry Bonnie, even preside over the wedding, but he died too soon. To write with such vision and passion, the professor’s hope had to be consuming, maybe even an obsession. His years of searching for Arthur’s heir would come to its conclusion through the fulfillment of the ancient wedding prophecy, and now he wouldn’t be there to see it.

  Sighing deeply, Billy read on. When he flipped toward the back to read the most recent entries, the handwriting changed, darkening somewhat and becoming less readable.

  William, I am addressing you directly from this point on. This is a new entry, not one copied from another journal. As you know, I have long been interested in genealogies, so I traced yours quite some time ago when I began researching your past. Although the fact that your father’s ancestry was a dead end, so to speak, because of his dragon heritage, I was unable to account for a similar obstacle in your mother’s line. It seems that her father, a certain Marshall Peters, arrived in the States from England just a few years before she was born. Yet, when I searched for his records in my own country, I was unable to locate anything that would lead me to his ancestry. When we next talk, I should like to ask you more about your grandfather. If he is still living, perhaps I can find the opportunity to converse with him myself.

  Billy turned the page. The remaining three or four were blank. He pulled off his headset and turned to his father, holding up the journal. “Prof mentioned Mom’s father.”

  “Marshall?” His father slid his own headset down and draped it over his shoulders. “What did he say about him?”

  “He was wondering about his ancestry. Any ideas?”

  Shaking his head, his father squinted at one of the instruments on the panel. “I never met him. Even when I married your mother, we were unable to contact him in England to ask him to come to our wedding. We learned about his death through a telegram when you were still pretty young. It was quite a mystery.”

  “Mom must know more. Couldn’t she check into his past?”

  “Not really. He left home when your mother was only five. She remembers that he was a stern father but loving in his own way. When he left, she never heard from him until he visited while I was away on a multistate flight. You were only six at the time, so you might not remember. After that visit, the telegram was the only contact we ever received.”

  Billy nodded. “I remember him, sort of like in a dream. He was kind of strange … really strange, I guess. But he helped me learn to draw. I still remember him teaching me how to draw a dra—”

  Heat surged into his ears. A flood of images, like ghosts with warped faces, flashed in his mind’s eye. An ancient book, Fama Regis, lay on the table in his old living room, before their house burned to the ground. A hand, his father’s hand, opened it and turned to a drawing of a dragon in combat with a knight. The furious eyes of the dragon seemed to glow, yet they were little more than white dots in the center of a red pupil. This memory echoed the reality of his first glimpse of the ancient book. When he had gazed at the picture, he had noticed a striking similarity between the artist’s style and his own, especially in the dragon’s eyes.

  His father cocked his head. “What’s wrong?”

  “My grandfather taught me how to draw a dragon.”

  “Okay. Why is that important?”

  “You told me the pictures in Fama Regis were drawn by …” He swallowed through his tightening throat. He couldn’t spit out the words. A new image seared his mind, this one with sounds that brought back the nightmares of a hundred nights. A man lay in a field of snow, his body blackened by fire and his fist clenched around Billy’s coat. His face half melted by the inferno Billy had created, he coughed through his dying words. “You’re just like me, boy. You kill to get what you want.”

  As the scowl burned in his memory, it morphed into the face of the man who sat next to him at a kitchen table, sketching a dragon with a white dot in the center of its pupil. “Just remember, all dragons are evil,” he had said. “Draw them if you wish, but only as the conquered enemy of a knight in shining armor.”

  Suddenly every image vanished. As blood rushed away from his head, dizziness made him wobble in his seat.

  “Billy?” His father leaned over and prodded his shoulder. “Are you okay?”

  He shook his head. “My grandfather was …” He stared at his father, barely able to form the word. “Palin!”

  Chapter 7

  Into the Darkness

  Walter took a deep breath and set one foot on the outer edge of a plank and the other foot on the opposite side. Sliding his clenched fists along the upper ropes, he strode forward. With the wind whipping the bridge violently as he stepped farther out, shouting instructions wouldn’t make sense. Everyone just had to follow his lead, ride out the gusts, and hope for the best. Fortunately, their added weight helped to settle the sagging span, but would they make it sag too much and snap one of the ropes?

  After a few minutes, they managed to safely cross at least a hundred planks, putting them well out over the chasm. Every few seconds, a winged shadow crossed their path. Flying low with her claws extended, Thigocia seemed ready to snatch anyone who might get blown over a support rope or fall through a broken plank.

  A sudden gust batted the bridge to one side. Walter braced his legs. Ashley and Abigail gasped. When it eased back to the center, Walter exhaled and looked back. Both women hung on with rigid arms and white knuckles.

  “You guys okay?” he shouted.

  Abigail nodded, her face taut. Ashley did the same, adding a cry that carried a hint of fear. “Walter, we can’t do this. It’s only going to get worse.”

  “Should we get Mother to carry us?” Abigail called. “Drop us off at the farthest poi
nt she can go?”

  “And then climb off her back and hop onto the bridge?” Ashley asked. “Impossible!”

  Abigail shook her head. “She can pick us up with her claws one at a time and—”

  Thigocia’s roar echoed all around. “Nephilim!” She zoomed back to the cliff where at least five Nephilim had gathered. Two of the giants grabbed the bridge’s upper ropes, one on each side, and began swinging the entire span back and forth.

  “Brace yourselves!” Walter shouted. The bridge flipped on its side and whipped up into the air. Ashley and Walter toppled over a support rope, but they hung on, dangling as the bridge swayed over the chasm.

  Abigail lunged for them, but her foot broke through a rotting board. Her bottom smacked down on a secure plank, keeping her from falling through. She latched on to Ashley’s collar, then to Walter’s. “Mother!” she screamed. “Save us!”

  Gasping for breath, Walter tried to pull up and watch Thigocia at the same time. She shot a burst of fire at each Naphil, hitting them in the legs. As they tried to slap out the flames, she swooped low, then bent around. Her tail slapped the first giant off his feet. The second one grabbed her tail with one arm and hung on to the bridge’s support pole with the other.

  Thigocia’s momentum swung her around, bringing her back toward the waiting hands of two more Nephilim. They each grasped a wing. One grabbed a mainstay and wrestled her to the ground. The other caught the leather webbing and ripped it through.

  Thrashing to get free, Thigocia whipped her tail and shook the first giant loose. She beat her good wing, but the other giant held fast. Setting his feet, he thrust the mainstay against his leg, snapping her wing with a loud crack.

  Thigocia bellowed and clawed the giant’s face. Spraying fire all around, she broke free and lumbered to the edge of the cliff. As she hesitated, the giants closed in, but just as one leaped for her tail, she jumped, beating her wings against the fierce wind.

  Half of her broken wing flapped hopelessly while her torn wing barely held enough air to keep her aloft. Still, she pushed forward.

  Walter regripped the rope and tried to swing up, but it was no use. “Hang on!” he shouted. “Your mother’s on her way!”

  Panting, Ashley nodded. “I see her. But she’s hurt.”

  Abigail leaned back, using her weight to keep them from falling. “Have faith! Glewlwyd said the bridge won’t let us fall if we just hang on!”

  The Nephilim grabbed the ropes again and jerked the bridge into a wild swing. Ashley screamed. One of her hands lost its grip, and she flailed wildly. “I’m losing it!”

  Abigail let go of Walter and yanked Ashley higher. “Mother! Hurry!”

  “I’m coming!” With fiery spittle leaking from her mouth, the great she-dragon closed in, but her elevation diminished with every second. “I’ll fly under you. You’ll have to drop to my back.”

  Walter grunted. “But the extra weight will—”

  “Let me worry about that!”

  “We have to hang on!” Abigail cried. “Trust the gatekeeper!”

  Red-faced, Ashley groaned. “I can’t let Mother fall into the chasm by herself!”

  Just as Thigocia’s head passed several feet underneath, Ashley jerked free from Abigail’s grip and let go. She fell to her mother’s back, narrowly missing a protruding spine. Thigocia dipped downward. Straining every sinew in her muscular wings, she bent into a tight turn and headed back for another pass, still dropping in elevation.

  The bridge jerked again, throwing Abigail against the side rope. As she struggled to her feet, balancing on the sides of the broken plank, Walter shouted, “Jump! Before she gets too low!”

  She squeezed between the upper and lower ropes, then, timing Thigocia’s approach, she leaped, her arms spread as if she were reliving her dragon past.

  Reaching for Ashley’s outstretched arms, Abigail missed her aim and smacked face-first on Thigocia’s shoulder. She clawed at her mother’s scales, slipping inch by inch.

  As Thigocia wheeled around to pick up Walter, Ashley flattened her body, looped her arm around a spine, and groped for Abigail’s hand. Their fingertips touched, but it wasn’t enough. Abigail slid off and plummeted into the chasm.

  Thigocia roared. Fire spewed from her mouth and nostrils. As she folded in her wings and began to fall, Walter let go of the bridge. He twisted into a vertical dive and reached out, hoping to catch hold of the dragon before she dropped out of sight. Just as Thigocia turned into a full dive, he caught her tail and wedged his arms between two spines.

  As she plummeted, he fell with her, reaching for each spine in succession, climbing down her body as if scaling a ladder in reverse. Farther ahead, Ashley hung on tightly. She glanced back and gasped, then reached out a hand toward Walter and yelled something, but the buffeting wind snatched her words away.

  Deeper in the chasm, Abigail’s body flailed, but they gained no ground. She had to be at least two hundred feet lower, much too far away for them to catch up. Walter struggled against the wind, forcing himself to let go of one spine as he lunged for another. He set his feet on the edge of a scale to steady himself, making the rest of the downward climb easier as he stepped on scale after scale.

  When he reached Ashley, he grasped her wrist and rode her hefty pull until he was able to seat himself in his usual riding spot, though plummeting into a seemingly bottomless chasm was anything but usual.

  Falling faster and faster, seconds passed, then minutes. The rocky faces of the chasm’s sides sped by, blurring as they accelerated. As light from above faded, their surroundings dimmed. Soon, the depths below grew dark and enfolded Abigail’s body in a pool of blackness.

  Elam set his hands close to the smoldering embers, though they were barely warm enough to keep his body from freezing. He had again donned Abraham’s cloak, which helped, but a blazing fire would have done wonders to keep out the chill. No matter how many times Acacia relit the damp marsh reeds as she tried to maintain a low fire, they merely flared and died away. Not only that, Acacia had spent her last ounce of energy and could barely light a stick, much less create a blaze.

  Still, as Abraham had indicated, a bright fire probably wasn’t a good idea for wanderers in a strange land. It would be best to stay undetected as Pegasus made his slow descent toward the horizon.

  Abraham rose to his feet and whispered, “We should go. The floodwaters are low enough now, and darkness will soon cover our movements.”

  Elam listened to the rushing water. Indeed, the noise had subsided. Yet, it was probably enough to drown out their footsteps and keep them from giving themselves away. Not only that, even in total darkness, they would be able to follow the river’s path without a problem.

  As he rubbed out the embers with his shoe, Elam returned Abraham’s whisper. “I get the impression that Flint hates you. Would he really kill you?”

  Abraham seemed unwilling to answer. He just stared at the moon with sad eyes.

  Elam helped Acacia onto Dikaios’s back and covered her with the blanket, now dry and reasonably warm. She leaned over and hugged the horse’s neck. “Thank you, Dikaios. I think I am completely flamed out. I hope you don’t mind me being such a burden.”

  “Fret not,” Dikaios said. “I am here to serve you and Elam.”

  Elam touched Abraham’s back. “Shall we go?”

  Nodding his head sadly, Abraham turned toward him. “Yes, we must go.”

  They walked over the mushy sand to the river’s edge, Abraham leading the way with Elam close behind. When the rush of water rose to an angry roar on their left, Abraham slowed and allowed Elam to come alongside.

  “I think the river will mask our conversation,” Elam said, “so we might as well use this time to get me up to speed.”

  “Up to speed?” Abraham smiled. “That’s an idiom I haven’t taught my people yet.”

  “You teach your people idioms?”

  “They have invented some of their own, to be sure, but I also delight in teaching them. Yo
u see, I have watched your world for centuries through a portal viewer called Enoch’s Ghost, so I am well acquainted with your customs. We have even adopted some of your technological advances and your speech patterns. Yet, you will soon learn that we are very different in many ways.”

  “How so?”

  “As I mentioned before, our world was a kind of paradise, much like your Eden. Yet, we had no tree of knowledge of good and evil, no forbidden fruit, no serpent who would tempt either Adams or Eves in this world. Because of this, you will likely think my people are na”ve, perhaps even dangerously so. Still, we have endured many tests and tempters in the form of nonhuman creatures who come here when there is a rift in the Bridgelands, and those experiences have shaken the innocence of my people.”

  Elam glanced back at Dikaios to see if he was listening, but it was too dark to tell. “A rift in the Bridgelands? How does that happen?”

  As they came to a dip in elevation, the river’s rippling song heightened. They stepped gingerly down the trail, now stony rather than sandy. “According to Enoch’s Ghost,” Abraham continued, “there is a great chasm spanned by a bridge.”

  Elam had to hurry to keep pace with the longer-legged man. “I know all about that bridge.”

  Abraham’s voice rose a notch. “Have you crossed it?”

  “With great difficulty, I assure you.”

  Something rustled to their right. Abraham stopped and raised his hand. Elam and Dikaios halted while Abraham scanned the marshes, his neck craned as he listened.

  Elam stood on tiptoes to see over the scrubby bushes lining the flood basin. Only the sound of water trickled into his ears.

  Turning back to the others, Abraham muttered, “Muskrats.” Returning to his march, he spoke again, but he lowered his volume, now frequently peering into the reeds. “It seems that the Father of Lights has allowed the Bridgelands to be used as an entryway into Second Eden. An evil deed committed here opened a crack, and Enoch prophesied that if another one of my people ever commits such an act, it will open a new rift to allow entry of the greatest evil we have ever faced. The chasm is a natural portal to our land, but no evil can pass through it unless a specific evil act opens it.”