Everlong: (Book One of the Everlong Trilogy) (20 page)

Even after he'd gone, when his golden soul finally floated away from his body, I still didn't believe he was gone.

But he was.

Reality came crashing down on me a long time later, delayed maybe by my Gran's insistence that I shouldn't cry, that my dad was watching over me from his spot just behind the North star and he wouldn't like to see me cry; he wouldn't have wanted that. Not at all.

So I didn't.

I would never hurt my dad.

But how did Gran really know he wouldn't have wanted that?

She couldn't ask him, could she?

Only now do I see the elegant deception, the beautiful lie.

I would've done anything for my dad. I would've fallen on a sword for him. That was a fundamental truth, as day follows night or the sun follows the moon, and she knew it.

And still she used it as her weapon.

I don't hate her for it; she had a lot of mess to clean up after dad died, and at least Gran was there for me, not like Cassie. When Cassie was out enjoying herself, having her Second Coming, or whatever it was she called it.

‘Hun,’ she'd say, ‘life is for living. As a wise man once said “eat, drink, and be merry for tomorrow we may die”. Look at your dad, he was a good man and they still took him didn’t they? You never know when your time is up, so enjoy every day like it’s your last.’

And then she was gone, off out with the first of many of her male friends.

That was ten years ago, and nothing has really changed, except, now I don't have Gran and I don't believe in happy-ever-afters.

Josh

Threatening Evie's life? What a masterful stroke Death had played!

The bitch had me in the palm of Her hands.

I was trapped, set on a collision course with Hyperion, but what was in it for me? Nothing. Not even the chance of becoming a Fallen Angel. That's if I could believe what Death had actually told me, because, let's face it, I could trust no one.

Except Obadiah.

Going to see him would give me a perfect opportunity to find out about the Fallen. One way or the other I would find out the truth. Obadiah was the one certainty, the one angel I trusted. For I had seen it, in his memories, in his life story.

It seemed like an eternity had passed since I was last at Obadiah's, but it had only been a few weeks, and yet, so much had changed; the air was colder, the snow deeper, Obadiah's celestial music was weaker and my heart, my heart was now encased in stone.

I knocked Obadiah's door three times and waited.

I heard him shuffling behind the door and the sound of locks clicking. The door opened, revealing his bent silhouette in the doorway. He didn't say a word but signalled for me to enter with a flick of his crooked finger.

The old angel looked weak, much more fragile than when I had last seen him. 'Are you okay?' I asked, reaching out to touch his shoulder. The pain hit me before I'd even touched him, like a violent static shock, and thousands of images once again burned in my head.

I stood silent for a few minutes, waiting for the pain to subside and let Obadiah's memories settle into me.

'I'm good, what about you?' he asked. The smile on his face was tender, his milky white eyes warm and welcoming.

'I'm,' What was I exactly? I didn't know anymore, but settled on 'fine. Thanks.'

'I didn't expect to see you so soon, I haven't sorted out my affairs...'

I noticed the piles of books stacked all over the place. 'No, no,' I said, feeling a pang of guilt. I hadn't even considered how Obadiah might've mistook me visiting again. 'I haven't...I mean...I've just...Death's sent me, I need some information.'

'Oh,' said Obadiah, the sadness in his voice cutting me to the bone.

I'd done it again, hadn't I?

'Sorry, I-'

'No, no,' said Obadiah, raising his hand. 'You are welcome anytime. It's my fault. Please come in, sit down.' He gestured to the only wooden chair that was not struggling under the weight of dusty books.

'Thank you,' I said, tumbling into the chair.

'Coffee?'

'Yes,' I nodded, 'please.'

'Did you find what you needed at the Vatican?' he asked, shuffling over to the small kitchenette in the corner of the room.

'Oh, I found Hyperion,' I said, unable to keep the venom from my voice.

'Am I to take it he found the Necrodemonicon?' he said, placing a steaming carafe of coffee on the table with two mugs.

'I don't know,' I said, moving the pile of books on the chair next to mine so that Obadiah could sit down, 'but he destroyed the Castel, taking all of the Forbidden Library with it.'

Obadiah slid into the chair next to me. 'He destroyed it?'

'It was carnage. All of it, gone.'

Obadiah leaned forward, picked up the carafe and poured coffee into the chipped mugs.

'It's a very sad day when knowledge is lost.' He pushed a mug over to me.

'Thanks,' I said, wrapping my hands around the mug; it felt good to have my cold hands around something so hot.

'I remember them Nazis burning thousands of books,' he said, shaking his head. 'Once they're gone, they are lost forever. All that knowledge-'

'They'll be found,' I said, 'It'll take time, but all the books are still there, under the rubble.'

'Maybe,' he said. 'When I saw them books being destroyed by the Nazis, it ripped me in two. I vowed to myself, and to God, that I would save them, that I would rescue a copy of every single book that they tried to wipe out of existence.'

'Every book?'

Obadiah nodded. 'Yes, of all the thousands and thousands of books destroyed, Obadiah has found a copy of every single book, 'cept one, a book by Theodore Weiss. For that I am still looking. I have also been collecting other lost books, like them supposedly destroyed in the burning of the library of Alexandria. Over there,' he said, pointing to the shelves by the front door, 'are books by Anaxagoras, Eudemus and Prodicus.' He gestured to the far wall, 'over there are copies of The Book of the Dead, the lost plays of Aeschylus, and the Classic of Music by Confucius.' He slumped back in his chair and sighed.

All these book around him and he could not read one.

I wanted to ask him about The Fallen, I wanted to know if there were any answers in these books of his, if there was any hope at all, but all I could manage was, 'Death thinks Hyperion wants to re-unite the Apocalyptic Relics, that he wants to destroy God.'

'And you don't?' said Obadiah, his head tilted, as though he were listening carefully for my answer.

'It doesn't matter what I think. I've been sent here to find out what I can about the Relics. I don't come into it.'

'Sounds like someone has got himself mixed up in things he don't want to be?' Obadiah fell silent, his forehead wrinkled as his mind drifted off to another place.

'I saved the life of someone I shouldn't have.'

Those words brought him back to me. 'An Angel of Death saving a life? I hope the girl in question was worth it 'cause - and I know this only too well,' he said, with a wink, 'you're going to be repaying that debt for a long time.'

'A girl? Who said anything about a girl?'

Obadiah smiled, 'You know that whatever Death says, nothing will be good enough for Her. She won't let you go, no matter what. She'll follow you around like a smelly black dog.' He took a sip of coffee, before continuing, 'Yep, take it from Obadiah, She's like a dog with a bone.'

'You talking from experience then?'

A cloud descended over Obadiah, a heaviness had invaded his heart. 'Do you know what the Apocalyptic Relics are?' he asked, abruptly changing the subject.

'Nothing. Only that, when re-united, they can bring about the End of Days-'

'No, they don't bring about the End of Days in themselves. Don't they teach you angels nothing no more?'

'But Death said-'

'Yeah, well, as we know She says a lot and most of its shit.' Obadiah sighed, 'Let's start from the beginning. Grab that book on the end of the table. Over there,' he said, pointing to a stack of fragile books, their spines wrinkled and decaying, 'the one with the black cover. I think it's called Reliquiarum Sacrosanctum, Volume One.'

I rummaged through the pile until I found the volume he was after. 'Okay, got it.'

'Turn to page...' he rubbed the bridge of his nose with his fingers, 'thirty-three.'

I turned the groaning pages until I reached the section I needed. The gold decorative script at the top of the page read, The Apocalyptic Relics.

'You there yet?'

'Yep.'

'Okay, now read. Aloud.'

I cleared my throat, and began to read: 'The Apocalyptic Relics, or Sacred Triad, are three holy artefacts that God ordered the angels to scatter amongst men so that they might be hidden and kept safe until such a time they were needed. When the time is right, they will be gathered together again, breaking the terms of the One-hundred-thousand-year Truce, in order to raise the Four Horsemen that will herald in the Apocalypse, a time when men will be brought to their knees in the Great War between good and evil, and they will have to decide on whose side they will fight; Demonic or Divine.

'It is said that the relics consist of The Spear of Longinus, the holy lance used to pierce the side of Jesus as he hung on the cross, The Holy Grail, the vessel in which Jesus served the wine at the Last Supper and The Key of Solomon, a most holy text that contains the spell that will allow the blood of Christ to flow from the spear into the Grail to conjure the Horsemen.'

'So now you see, it's not them Relics that bring about the End of Days, it's them Horsemen. Them Relics are just part of the ritual to conjure them.'

'But it doesn't help me, I still don't know where they are, or where Hyperion is.'

'No, but it's a place to start. Here, in this library,' said Obadiah, raising his hands in the air, 'you will find lots of information on them relics. Did you know that them Nazis were great relic hunters?' Obadiah leaned back in his chair, 'In fact, it is rumoured that they managed to find the Spear of Longinus.'

'The Nazis found the spear?'

Obadiah shrugged. 'Don't know for sure. But what I do know is that them relics don't have big signs on them telling everyone where they are. So Hyperion's after them; he has no more idea of their location than we do, not yet. But Obadiah has information here that can help. We start with what we have, what we know and work from there and why we are filling ourselves with information, Hyperion is out there, and he will show us his hand. He will search out the Watchers who have information on these things, do you think they will give up their secrets easily?'

'No.' I thought about Lysithea, about her murder and Death's reluctance to talk about it. 'Can we find the Watchers, wouldn't that be easier?'

'Unfortunately, even with all of these books, there is some information Obadiah can't lay his hands on. Do you know how many Watchers there are?'

I shook my head.

'There are thousands and thousands of them out there, and they all have their own little secrets to protect. For us to track the Relic Watchers would be like trying to find one particular speck of dust floating around the universe-'

'But Hyperion knows who some of them are.'

'He would, he is the Archangel of Wisdom, one of a only handful of angels privy to such information, and even He doesn't know them all. Even Death doesn't know.' suddenly Obadiah trailed off. He cocked his head to the side, his forehead heavily creased as he thought about what I had just said. 'How do you know Hyperion knows about the Watchers?'

'Death collected what was left of Lysithea, a Watcher who knew about the relics. The weapon that was used had Hyperion's scent all over it.'

Obadiah sighed. His wrinkled face seemed to age in front of me as he digested what I had said. 'I'm sorry to hear that. I've met her a coupla times, a long, long time ago, during the Council of Trent.' He turned, and seemed to look off into the distance. 'She was a good angel...an excellent Watcher.' After a few moments of silence he turned back to me.

'You mark my words, more blood will be spilt, and to find Hyperion we will just have to follow that trail of blood.'

Josh

I knew it wouldn't be easy to find Hyperion, not when he had the whole of the Heavens and Earth to play in, so I stayed at Obadiah's house, on a make-shift bed on the floor, spending every waking hour trawling through all of his papers and books, reading anything vaguely related to the Apocalyptic Relics, the Nazis, the End of Days. Obadiah, for his part, kept me stocked with coffee, and a never-ending supply of books. He was a fountain of knowledge, always producing a flurry of new leads, or new angles and ideas to try.

The quest to find Hyperion, to stop him getting the relics, became all-consuming, as if I were trying to replace my need for Evie with a new addiction. Or maybe it was because I didn't really want to look at myself, at what I was becoming.