Everlong: (Book One of the Everlong Trilogy) (8 page)

'How long ago did Hyperion leave?'

'Eight moons ago.'

'I should go to Rome, find out what he's up to. He might still be there, if I'm lucky-'

'I doubt he'll be there now, but, it's a place to start,' he said, shrugging. Obadiah reached forward and patted my hand, sending little tremors of pain and sadness pulsing through me. 'Be careful, something tells me brother Hyperion is more than a little crazy and not to be messed with lightly.'

'Thank you,' I said, as I stood up, 'for all your help.'

Obadiah rose to his feet and nodded. 'Can you do me one little favour in return?'

He didn't even need to ask, I knew what he wanted, the pained look on his face told me all I needed to know. 'What?'

'Succeed in whatever it is you're doing and, when you're done, come back for me, sever my life, let Obadiah go to Nancy.'

I put my hand on his shoulder, despite the pain. 'If I could take you, I would. I would take all of your sorrow, wipe it all so you could feel it no more and I would escort you to Nancy, but I'm no longer in possession of those powers. It isn't your time to die.'

'But when you get them powers back, come back for me, set me free?'

'I will,' I said, unable to deny his last request.

Josh

I flew back over the Atlantic ocean, the star encrusted sky vanishing as its mistress, the sun, appeared on the horizon, her alchemical touch transforming its dark waters from black, to indigo, to ultramarine and finally cerulean. On this crossing, for some inexplicable reason, I was drawn to the water like a child with a new toy, gliding down to smell its delicious saltiness, to watch how the sunlight danced upon it, the golden web of light fracturing as dolphins broke the surface, inviting me to play. I revelled in its beauty, basked in the glory of the sun, and delighted in the caress of the wind as it tousled my feathers. I was finally awakening after almost three centuries of being asleep.

But my delight soon faded as exhaustion seeped into my bones, making my wings feel like they were on fire. I grew weaker, tormented by thoughts of Evie. I pictured her, jumping from the bridge, and imagined what would've happened if I hadn't been there to save her.

'And yet, she still might try and take her own life again...' Death's words played with my mind; what if Evie were to do it again? No. I would not let myself think like that.

I pushed on through my fatigue, knowing that every wing beat took me closer to Rome, one step closer to Hyperion and one step closer to my freedom. My misery would soon be over; I'd remind Hyperion of his obligations, then go back to Death and gladly let her take me.

The sun had long since fallen below the horizon when I finally made Rome. The city glistened beneath me, a maze of narrow medieval streets, ancient temples and fountains still bustling with street sellers and tourists. I headed for Saint Peter's, passing over its golden cross, and the Piazza San Pietro that lay beyond, hidden from the brightly coloured Swiss Guards by my loyal friend, Nyx, the night. She kept me cloaked and concealed from prying eyes and would never betray me.

Just beyond Saint Peter's lay the Castel Sant' Angelo, a jewel sparkling from the edge of the river Tiber, the bronze statue of the Archangel Michael illuminated at its apex (Not that the statue was anything like Michael; he's actually short and quite plump, with a bald head and wouldn't be seen dead with a sword).

I lingered by Michael, listening for any trace of Hyperion's music, hoping that he hadn't cleaved yet (I didn't know what I was exactly listening for, but hoped his music was as distinctive as Obadiah had said it was).

I tuned out the noises of the city, but the screams of past horrors coming from the Castel were not so easily ignored; they were too loud, nearly overwhelming my senses. The stories of death, the ghosts that lingered, were all speaking to me, fighting to get their voices heard. I disregarded their pleas and managed to lock on to a harmony - despite the turbulent sea of sound - that was like nothing I had ever heard. It was discordant, like the scratching of a thousand out of tune violins burning in hell, and it was coming from somewhere deep within the Castel. Was this Hyperion's music and was he still in the Forbidden Library?

I landed on a courtyard on the third floor, its cobbled floor littered with piles of cannon balls and medieval weaponry. The tip of my wing brushed the edge of a wooden ballista and revulsion rocked my body, momentarily stealing my vision as images of death, torture and battlefields forced themselves upon me. I let them subside, let them fall from my mind like rain, before turning my attention to gaining access into the Castel.

I pulled the iron grill off a wooden door and shoved it open with my shoulder. I pinned my wings back and stepped over the threshold and into the dark.

Slowly my eyes adjusted to the lack of light. I could see that the room was filled with glass cabinets containing medieval armour and weapons. The cries of the slain told me of their suffering, their memories now embedded in the walls of the Castel like hidden blood stains at a murder scene.

I passed through and quickly located a map of the fortress' interior; I was on the floor that had contained the prison, torture rooms and food stores which were connected to the rest of the Castel by a long corridor that spiralled down to the lowest level plotted on the map. I knew from what Obadiah had said that the Forbidden library was located deep within the bowels of the Castel, and wouldn't be located on any map. I took the corridor down as far as I could before I lifted up a metal grill in the floor and eased myself through the small hole.

I found myself in a tunnel, hewn roughly out of the tufa rock, too narrow for me to unfurl my wings so I let them fade away into nothing but a pile of worthless feathers. The air was warm and stale, smelling of sulphur and stagnating water from the river that coursed nearby.

Down in the bowels of the earth, it was easier to hear Hyperion's music, so I followed its path, letting every subtle shift in pattern or tone direct my way. The terrain was hard to navigate; the floor was uneven, the labyrinthine tunnels were cramped, barely illuminated by what was left of my pathetic angelic glow.

I stopped at the mouth of yet another passage. My way was blocked by a rusty iron gate hanging limply off its hinges. Hyperion's residual harmony was particularly strong at this point, almost as if he had lingered at that point for a while. I tossed the gate aside, knowing I was on the right path, and continued deeper into the guts of the earth, descending into Hell, like Dante in Inferno.

The air was becoming hot and thick with the stench of death - my mistress' aroma - and it made the anger twist even tighter in my stomach. Skeletons grinned at me from beds cut out of the tufa rock, their smiles distorted by decay. Now and again, the walls opened up into little rooms, or cubicula, where the rich, in times past, would lay their deceased loved ones so that they could come and feast with them. But to me, there was only bone there and nothing else; no remaining thread of the soul or life.

The passageway finally opened out into a circular chamber lit by a series of small flickering lights tacked onto the rock wall, with a single exit leading off it. The room itself was plain, except for the intricate mosaic floor depicting the Christian martyrs, Saint Peter the Exorcist and Saint Marcellinus. Their faces were easily recognisable despite the thin layer of dirt on top of them; I had seen them many times in funerary art, but in this chamber they looked out of place, their energy feeling very different, as if the Saints were trying to provide some sort of protection from the feeling of evil that was beginning to filter into the room from the floor below.

I braced myself against the wall and rammed my heel into the tiles. My foot smashed right through leaving a ragged hole through which I could see another circular room beneath me. I stamped on the floor again and again until the hole was big enough for me to fit through, then I carefully lowered myself through the gap into the room below.

This room was much bigger than the one I had just left and more richly decorated. An eight pointed star sparkled on the black marble floor like a compass, each golden point corresponding to a doorway.

I stood in the middle of the star listening for Hyperion. I took the corridor directly in front of me, the harsh strangled notes of violins coming from deep within it told me Hyperion had passed through there recently. The air was thick with the smell of paraffin from the glass lamps hanging on the walls, and unstable. I could sense that something had disturbed the air in the corridor, as the remnants of the disturbance hung over the overflowing shelves of diabolical texts like ghostly cobwebs.

I followed the corridor until I reached the first major intersection; a circular reading room lined in white Carrara marble. Eight large niches had been carved into the walls, each lit with a small lamp and with its own wooden stool and desk. Eight more corridors, spaced equally between the alcoves, led off from this reading room.

Again I tracked Hyperion's musical trail, taking the second exit to the left, down the curving path of books until I reached a spot stained heavily with Hyperion's scent. I scanned the shelves for any clues, tracing my fingers over the spines of the books. They seemed to shudder under my touch as though they were alive, willing me to open them up so that they might, at last, reveal their mysteries again, but they offered none of Hyperion's secrets up to me in return.

The shelves were crammed full of books on things such as identifying Holy bones, Classifying Relics, Rituals for de-sanctifying Reliquaries and The Magic of Ancient Relics. There was no Necrodemonicon, or anything relating to the process of cleaving angelic music.

What was Hyperion up to?

I was suddenly aware of a burning presence to the side of me, a flickering fire out of the corner of my eye. I turned, feeling the adrenaline racing through my body. 'Hyperion?'

'I am, indeed,' said Hyperion, his face ignited by a devilish smile. 'I see my reputation precedes me.'

Hyperion was beautiful, a golden star in the darkness of these catacombs. He was over seven feet tall - much taller than me - with skin the colour of burnished copper and golden eyes that burnt like fire. But despite his beauty, I could see the corruption Obadiah had spoken about, the rot that was beginning to devour him; there was a ring of black that surrounded him at the very innermost part of his aura, singeing parts of his flesh black. On his stomach red swollen wounds weaved across his flesh, interlaced with older scars. His wings, pinned against his back, were flames of gold, that flickered like a candle as he moved towards me.

'I'm assuming She has sent you?' he said, cocking his head to the side.

'If you mean Death-'

'Who else would it be?' he asked. It was only now that I noticed the red leather book he held in his right hand. Was this the Necrodemonicon? 'It is always Death!' he said, drawing my gaze back to his face. I noticed his face burned with an intense anger almost bordering on madness. 'The bitch just won't leave me alone, like a dog on heat. But anyway.' He ran his free hand through the flames of his hair. He took a sharp intake of breath then exhaled loudly, I think, to calm himself. 'What does She want now?' he asked.

'She has sent me to remind you of your obligations-'

'My obligations?' Hyperion cut in, his free hand clutching his chest, 'Well, ain't that just grand? I take a little bit of time off and the whole world falls apart.'

Hyperion moved closer. 'I only came to look a few things up and She gets all histrionic on me. Here, take a look,' he said, holding out the book to me. 'Women, eh?'

I took the book from him, feeling his fingers of fire brush mine. It struck me that, for all the fire, they lacked any warmth.

'Actually,' said Hyperion, crossing his arms over his chest, 'don't. The light here is terrible. Why don't we go back through to the reading room? The light in there is so much better.' He smiled at me, or, at least I think it was a smile, a smile that hinted at things thought but not spoken.

Hyperion gestured for me to walk back the way I had come from. I turned, silently obeying him, but my gut was telling me that danger was not far away. His presence burned behind me as I walked; from the heat on my skin and the burning of the air around me.

I reached the middle of the reading room and turned to face him.

'Go on,' he said, 'take a look. I think you'll find the third chapter very interesting.'

I remained still, ignoring Hyperion's suggestion.

A smirk played upon Hyperion's copper-coloured lips. 'Don't read it then, makes no difference to me,' he said, as he began to circle around me like I was dinner.

I looked straight ahead, ignoring the strong desire to watch him like a hawk. He circled me once, then came to a stop behind me and ran his cold finger nail down my spine. I shuddered as it came to a full stop in the small of my back. I stood up taller as I felt him move in closer, his warm breathe skimming across the skin on my neck, his nail still stabbing at the base of my back.

'It's interesting, don't you think, that She has sent you to remind me of my obligations?' He spoke quietly into my ear.

I fought the impulse to turn around.

'As if you could,' he said, moving around me, dragging his nail across my skin. He came to a stop in front of me. 'The sacrificial lamb.'