Читать книгу Return Of the Fallen - Rita Vetere - Страница 12

Chapter 8

Like a chrysalis, Justine hung suspended in the past, cocooned within a forgotten life as she inched her way forward through the maze of memory. She shifted in bed, her thoughts floating in that gray area between sleep and awareness, as she was transported to her twelfth year...

* * * *

On the day Asher rescued her from her mother’s murderous rage, he had promised to welcome her as family, to take care of her and educate her. Asher had kept all of his promises, including his promise to explain why her mother had tried to kill her.

He had waited almost six years after her arrival to tell her who, and what, she was. It was a revelation that might have left another child’s soul deeply scarred, but the same could not be said of Israfel. Apparently, she did not possess a soul. The Nephilim, Asher explained, the genetically altered race to which she belonged, were believed to be soulless. He had shown her some of the bible passages that referred to her race, and she had read them so often she could recite them from memory. There was Genesis, which stated in chapter six that the sons of God came into the daughters of man and bore children to them.

There was also Isaiah, chapter twenty-six, which contained a passage Asher believed had motivated her mother’s attempt to kill her. It set out that her kind were dead, that they would neither live nor rise, and for that reason, God destroyed them, perishing their memory.

That passage had haunted her for years.

What was written in the Book of Enoch, however, had affected her most deeply.

Israfel had looked up at Asher in astonishment. “You mean the big flood came to get rid of everyone who was like me?”

“That’s basically what was recorded there, that the flood was sent to rid the world of the Nephilim.”

That thought invoked a deep sense of melancholy in her. Her kind had not asked to be born. They were blameless. Yet they had been persecuted, had suffered terrible deaths at the hand of those who deemed them unfit to live.

Asher must have guessed her thoughts, for he was about to close the text when she said, “No, I want to know more. Please.”

He left the text open, but did not read from it. Instead, he said, “You know, there are other stories about the Nephilim aside from what’s written in the religious texts, although some people might call them legends. Many believe that at one time, the Nephilim ruled over ancient mankind from an island called Atlantis, that they were superior to humans, possessing hidden knowledge that mortals do not.”

That, at least, pleased her.

Asher continued. “I believe that’s true. I think that’s the reason you were able to bring Moses back from the dead. I suspect this ability you have is not the power to heal, exactly, although you certainly succeeded in resuscitating him. I think what happened with Moses is rooted in the fact you are somehow able to act as a conduit.”

“What’s that?”

“A channel. Think of a pipe with water flowing through it, except instead of water, life force passes from a living organism through you into another. When you put your hands on Moses, you channeled the life force from the chickens, through you, into Moses.”

She considered this. It made sense. It was why the chickens had died when she had brought Moses back to life.

“What happened to the Nephilim who lived on Atlantis?” she asked.

Asher’s expression changed, and he hesitated.

“Something bad?” she asked.

After a moment, he told her. “It’s said, although there’s no way of knowing for sure, that Atlantis was destroyed for having become too technologically advanced.”

Israfel stopped questioning him. It appeared the race to which she belonged was indeed doomed.

* * * *

It was full summer, the morning sticky and hot, and Israfel sat in the kitchen, picking at her breakfast when a bird flew into one of the kitchen windows, startling her. She slid from her chair and hurried out onto the gallery to find the poor thing lying on its back, unmoving. Its wings were partially extended, its head resting at an unnatural angle. A smear of blood on the window told her the bird had probably broken its neck. Pity for it welled up in her, but she did nothing, remembering her conversation with Asher, and fearing what might happen if she tried to help it. She was about to go back inside to find Asher when he stepped onto the porch.

She looked up at him. “It flew into the window.”

He stared at her a long moment. “You want to help it.”

“I want to...but...”

“You’re afraid of what might happen,” he finished for her.

“Yes.”

He considered for a moment and then said, “Try, if you feel the need to. I’d like to know for sure whether my theory about your ability is correct. I’ll stay with you. If anything starts to go wrong we’ll stop.”

Israfel turned to Asher. All she had, she owed to him. He always knew exactly what she needed and, in that moment, she looked upon him as her father. Unlike Mamma, he never made her feel the least bit strange or unwanted, nor had he ever reacted to her with anything but kindness.

“You’ll stay here with me?”

“Yes.”

Without saying anything else, she sat on the ground next to the bird. Asher crouched beside her as she cupped the dead bird’s head in one hand, using the other to gently stroke its breast. A short time later, the bird began to twitch in her hand. Israfel heard the sharp intake of breath beside her, but did not turn around, because the bird came alive in her hand, flapping its wings awkwardly. Only then did she turn to Asher, elated. Asher was on his hands and knees, trying to crawl away from her. Immediately, her joy at having brought the bird back to life transformed into fear. The bird, which moments ago had been dead, flew off. Asher continued dragging himself down the steps into the garden, clutching at his chest. Israfel saw from his pallor that something was very wrong. She screamed for Madison and Jackson, who came running outside a moment later. In their efforts to help Asher, they did not see what happened next. But Israfel saw. She stared in dismay as birds began to fall from the many trees in the garden surrounding them, dropping dead onto the shrubbery and flowerbeds below.

Asher regained some of his color and got shakily to his feet with help from Madison and Jackson.

“What on earth happened?” Madison asked him.

“I’m not sure,” he said when he breathed normally again. “But I’m better now. Everything’s all right.”

Israfel stared at him with tears in her eyes. She had hurt Asher, almost killed him from the look of things.

“Come inside and lie down,” said Jackson.

“Yes. Will you help me, Israfel?” He extended his hand to her.

She took his hand and went with him to the large drawing room at the back of the house, waiting while he settled onto a chaise lounge. Tears she could not stop spilled onto her cheeks when he called her to him.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“Don’t be.” He whispered, so the others wouldn’t hear. “I knew what would happen. I just needed to see it for myself.”

She held his hand tightly. “I’ll never do it again. Never.”

Asher smiled wanly at her. “Never is a long time. The day might come when you’ll have need of this ability. But until then, perhaps we should keep this particular talent of yours between the two of us.”

She hugged him hard then and felt a surge of pure relief when he hugged her back, letting her know he still loved her, that nothing had changed.