Nephilim's Fall: Chapter Twelve

Stella sees the house of the Fallen and learns more about the Nephilim and Conner's abilities.

Chapter 12

 

I stood inside the entrance hallway, trying to keep my mouth from falling open as I took in the room around me. Shining hardwood floors stretched in front of us to two magnificent white staircases that spiraled in opposite directions. Huge vases full of exotic looking flowers were spread around the room, filling it with a delicious scent. It all looked like something out of a fairytale. 

“Well, it's not as if I haven't already stepped into a world full of make believe,” I thought dryly. I looked over to Conner and found him watching me with a smile, and realized that the others were staring, too. I was suddenly embarrassed by this overwhelming feeling of wonder at my surroundings, when they all obviously took it as a common place. I stared down at my shoes, trying to keep the look of awe off my face.

Conner led the way into a room off to the left of the entranceway and William leaned in towards me as he passed. "Wait till you see the rest of the house," he murmured, and I turned to see that he was grinning widely. I returned his grin with one of my own, glad to know that I wasn't the only one who thought this house extravagant.

The second room was even grander than the entrance, and this time I couldn't stop my mouth from falling open as I gazed at the walls, covered floor to ceiling with shelves housing thousands of books. Most were bound in cloth or leather, and a faintly musty smell danced around the room, giving it a homely feel. Only one wall was devoid of books, it had instead a huge fireplace, crackling away cheerily. I looked longingly at a large cushioned armchair sitting in front of the fireplace, and was happy to oblige when Conner suggested that I stay there while he and the others took care of some things. 

I sank into the armchair gratefully and kicked off my converse, running my toes through the luxuriously thick creamy carpet underneath my feet. I let my eyes roam the bookshelves that surrounded me, fascinated by the countless unfamiliar titles in languages I didn't recognize. Unable to control my overwhelming curiosity, I padded across the room to the nearest bookcase and ran my fingers lightly over the volumes in front of me, waiting for something to jump out at me. 

My eyes caught on a thick volume bound in gorgeous blood red velvet, the word Oraculum inscribed into its spine in a heavy gold script. I eased the book from its place in the shelves, and was surprised by its weight. I'd imagined it would be heavy, due to its size, but in my hands it felt barely heavier than the average paperback novel. I carried it back to the armchair, hoping no one would walk in and find me perusing their personal library without permission.

I settled myself back into the chair, crossing my legs beneath me as I lay the book carefully onto my lap. For a minute I was content to just run my fingers idly over its leather cover, but it wasn't long before my curiosity got the best of me. I flicked through the pages until my eye caught on an illustration about half way through the thick volume. The almost familiar object of the illustration was almost entirely human in shape, but there was nothing human about it. The skin of the creature was a bright flaky crimson, and two pointed horns stuck out on either side of its forehead, circled by what looked like dried blood. The thing was unclothed, and from the waist down a covering of fur sprouted from its skin. 

None of this was particularly new, I'd seen similar representations of Satan a thousand times before, but what made it different from every other picture of the Devil I'd seen was the position it was drawn in. The Devil in this picture was kneeling; his head bowed almost submissively, two hoofed hands held in front of his chest as if in prayer. I traced the lines of the picture, confused by this clashing of two polar opposites. My eyes moved automatically to the words below it, and I began to read.

Of all the prophets of the 17th and 18th centuries, Samuel Mason is widely accepted to be one of the greatest. Of the thousands of prophesies that Mason foretold, his were more often accurate than those of any other prophet or seer of the Order to date. Many believe that the coupling of two fallen parents is what produced such a powerful Child and it is largely due to this that the breeding debate has risen in recent decades. 

 

Mason foresaw, and thus averted some of the most important and potentially devastating events of the 18th century, and it is chiefly due to his abilities that The Fallen were able to halt the Uprising of 1748, as well as bring an end to the surface wars during the 1780's. 

 

One of Mason's most influential prophecies was of the so called Chosen One, who, it was said, would bring about an end to the holy wars between good and evil. Mason was well into his seventeenth decade when he told of the mythical man, supposedly born of a union between light and dark, who would save us all from the evil below. It is rumored that this was one of the last, if not the last foretelling that Mason made before his death in 1815. There is little evidence to the coming of any Chosen One, and in the past century, Mason's last prophecy has been widely disregarded, as most find the idea of relying on an unknown savior to put an end to the war against evil unrealistic.

A polite cough pulled my gaze away from the book. Startled, I glanced up to meet the gaze of a genial old man standing across the room in the doorway. He looked to be about seventy, with hair almost entirely white and deep lines at the corners of his eyes that could have been the product of either laughing or frowning. As it was, his expression was stern as he took me in, sitting in what was probably his personal armchair, in his personal library. I stood up hastily, clutching the book to my chest so as not to drop it to the floor. 

"Hello." His voice was mild and inoffensive, and I thought dimly that it wouldn't be out of place narrating children's television. 

"Uh, hi." I fidgeted nervously with the book in my hands, wishing that Conner was by my side as a buffer between me and this stranger. "I'm Stella, Conner's friend..." I trailed off, unsure of what to say. His expression remained stern and neutral, and my stomach somersaulted as I waited for him to throw me out of his house.

"Stella," he said finally, his lips turning up at the corners in a smile that didn't come close to reaching his eyes. "I've heard so much about you." My eyebrows rose, but he continued as if he hadn't noticed. "My name is Caleb, but Conner and the others call me Cal." I wasn't sure if this was an invitation for me to call him Cal, so I decided then that I'd stick to Caleb. Besides, Cal seemed much too informal for someone who looked so old and wise. I smiled nervously at him, hoping desperately for Conner or William to walk in and lighten the mood. I didn't know whether it would be rude to sit while Caleb stood, so we both remained standing in uninterrupted silence. I stared down at my shoes, my face gradually growing warmer at the almost physical weight of Caleb's surveying gaze.

What seemed like hours later, William wandered absently into the room, his mouth open as if he was about to say something. He stopped in his tracks when he saw Caleb, and by the look on his face he was as surprised at his appearance as I had been.

“Cal, I thought... we thought you were still in London," he stammered, his gaze darting nervously between the two of us.

"Olivia called me." 

William nodded curtly, his eyes momentarily meeting mine. We both knew what Olivia was trying to do. "You've met Stella then?" 

"That's right." 

William stood self consciously in the doorway as he searched for something to say. After several long moments he finally found his voice again. "Err... I'll just get the others in here," he said, turning around to lean out of the doorway. "Olivia! Conner!" There was enough urgency in his voice that they were through the door within moments.

"What?" Conner's eyes were wide as he ran into the room, but the concern on his face evaporated as his gaze fell on me, unscathed, only to be replaced with ill disguised annoyance when he noticed Caleb standing across from me. 

"Cal!" Olivia grinned widely at the old man, hardly seeming to notice Conner's scathing glare. 

"Hello, Olivia." Caleb's expression remained stern, but his voice had softened noticeably. Then he turned to Conner, his eyebrows drawing together to shadow his eyes. Conner's head bowed slightly under Caleb's gaze, but his expression was defiant.

"Why are you back, Cal?" Conner's voice was weary, and it was obvious that he was expecting an argument.

"Olivia contacted me this morning about the situation in Riverwood, and I decided that it was necessary to cut my trip short."

“But the others.."

“The others can wait," Caleb interrupted him, annoyance seeping into his voice. "I will be the one asking the questions here." 

Three pairs of eyes turned to me, and I met Caleb's gaze levelly, determined not to seem unsure of myself. Conner moved to stand beside me, his stare never leaving Caleb's face.

"I couldn't leave her there," he whispered, his tone almost pleading.

Caleb's eyes met Conner's, and his next words reminded me of distant thunder, warning of a raging storm to come. "This isn't the way we work, Conner. You know the rules."

"No." Conner's tone was firm, but his expression was stricken, as if the rules were something he hadn't considered until that moment. My insides twisted as I wondered briefly what exactly the rules were, before I shoved the thought to the back of my mind.

"Conner would never put me in danger." I told myself.

Caleb stood considering Conner, his expression unreadable. I stared between the two of them, understanding that Caleb had the power to throw me out of his house, and half wishing that he would. I still hadn't quite given up the hope that Conner might let me return home sooner rather than later. My hopes were dashed when Caleb nodded finally, a hard resignation in his eyes.

"This doesn't bode well, Conner, but I'll allow it for now. Make no mistake: there will be consequences for your actions." The expression on Conner's face said that he'd expected nothing less.

"Come on, Stella," he said, turning on his heel and striding out of the room. I followed obediently; glad to get away from Caleb.

"Where are we going?" I asked when we'd cleared the door, trying to keep my voice light, but failing miserably.

"To your new room," he replied, quickening his pace so I had to practically jog to keep up.

"I've already got a room?"

"The Houses all have empty rooms for any member of The Fallen who wishes to stay." 

"But not for friends of the Fallen," I murmured, irritated that Conner hadn't warned me that my welcome would be less than warm. Being around Olivia was bad enough; I couldn't bear the possibility of having to put up with others just like her.

"It's going to be fine, Stella." His tone wasn't as convincing as it could have been, but I kept my mouth shut as I followed him along several winding corridors and past countless ornately carved doorways. I stopped trying to remember the way after the fourth three way intersection of corridors.

"How does this all fit..." I wondered aloud, not really expecting an answer.

"It's bigger on the inside."

My eyes widened as I tried to wrap my mind around the impossibility of what he'd said. After what seemed like an impossible number of twists and turns, Conner finally stopped in front of a plain white door with a wooden handle. It seemed entirely identical to the others surrounding it, and I nervously wondered how I'd ever find my way back on my own.

"Home sweet home," Conner murmured, turning the handle and holding the door open for me. 

I stepped past him tentatively, unsure of what to expect after the grandeur of the other rooms I'd seen, but I was relieved to see that on the inside, the room was as unremarkable as its door. A single bed with a white duvet sat self consciously in the corner of the room, underneath a tiny window with a tired looking cactus on its sill. A chest of draws that looked as though it pre-dated the house sat along one wall, and my two duffel bags lay at the foot of the bed. Other than that, the room was bare, and a pang of homesickness struck as I thought of my cozy, clothes strewn bedroom in Riverwood.

I moved to sit on the bed, motioning for Conner to join me. I was glad of a chance to finally talk to him alone, and since I'd gotten over my initial phobia of the unknown, hundreds of questions were swirling around my head. 

"Tell me more about the group here," I prompted as he sat beside me, and an uncomfortable look crossed his face.

“What do you want to know?" His voice was guarded and it was obvious that he wasn't keen on having a repeat of the previous night.

"Tell me..." I considered for a moment, and chose the first question that came into my head. "Tell me what you were going to say yesterday."

"Yesterday?"

I rolled my eyes at him, certain that he knew exactly what I was talking about.

"About the gifts. The ones of the mind and the body, I mean. Tell me about those."

He sighed resignedly, studying my expression before he began. "People were built to evolve. Where there is evil in the world, people eventually evolve to deal with it; just like animals evolve to protect themselves from the animals that are hunting them. When the fallen angels began to breed, their children were unlike anything the human race had ever seen, truly creatures unplanned for even by God. A few of us are even born winged, although hardly any with physical abnormalities can make it even to adolescence. 

"Most gifts were invisible to the eye, and many were stronger than even the greatest gladiators. All were smarter than almost any other before them, and some used their powers to control the weaker around them, although this was stopped almost entirely when the Group for The Fallen came into being, and strict rules were set into place. Not all Nephilim choose to serve the light and follow the fallen angels. Many turn to Lucifer. Usually the ones with weaker abilities turn to him and agree to serve him. Lucifer can make a Nephilim stronger, he can burn the human blood that makes us weak right out of us and leave only the fallen.” Conner looked thoughtful and grim. After a short pause, he continued.

"Any gift of intelligence or strength were those that unlocked new areas of the brain, enabling abilities entirely new and unexplored. Most common was the ability to move objects using only the mind, and the most coveted gift was of Prophecy. The Prophets were the most highly respected among the gifted, and although there used to be as many as two or three in a generation at a time, there hasn't been a Prophet for nearly six centuries. 

"Fewer Nephilim are born with gifts each generation, and most are barely stronger or smarter than the average person. They think that it's because the gifted blood is weakening, being diluted with each "bonding" between Nephilim and human. They're even considering enforcing what they call breeding schedules so that the bloodlines are kept as pure as possible." He made a face, the corners of his mouth twisting down in distaste.

"Barely any us are born with strong gifts anymore, so whenever a Nephilim is born who shows a particular talent out of the ordinary, they're invited to join The Fallen. Even if hundreds of years ago everyone would have thought their gift was trash."

"Trash?" I raised one eyebrow incredulously; unable to see how any gift could ever be considered trash. I told him so, and he laughed, but the sound didn't reach his eyes.

"Some gifts are certainly more... useful than others. And some aren't of any real use at all, just a result of the crossed genetics."

"Like what?" I asked, still unconvinced that there could be useless superpowers.

He shrugged, attempting nonchalance.

"You said you'd tell me," I reminded him, letting a hint of a whine into my tone.

He pouted, which looked so ridiculous on him that I burst out laughing, which only made him pout more.

"This isn't funny, Stella." His tone was serious enough that it cut my giggle fit short.

"Oh come on, why don't you just say it?" My previous irritation at him was coming back strong and fast. "What trash superpower do you have then?"

He groaned, muttering something that sounded like, "Not a superpower."

"Sorry? I didn't quite catch that."

"Fine," he pouted. "I'm an Empath."

"A what?"

He rolled his eyes at me, obviously wishing already that he'd kept his mouth shut. "An Empath. I can feel what people close to me are feeling."

I stared at him, confused. "What, like, if they're hurt or something?" He rolled his eyes at me again, and I bit back the urge to call him several unflattering things.

"No, what they're feeling. Their emotions." He paused, but continued after a moment when I didn't say anything. "For example, you're annoyed right now. At me, I'd guess."

I snorted. "You shouldn't need to be psychic to figure that one out."

He shrugged petulantly, but an unwilling smile pulled up the corners of his mouth. 

"That's better," I laughed, just relieved that he wasn't pouting anymore. He opened his mouth to reply, but shut it again a moment later when Olivia walked through the door. I glared at her, unable to hide my irritation; she really needed to learn to knock, but she just smirked when she saw me. My heart sank; anything that make Olivia smile had to mean bad news for me. 

She turned to Conner, and grinned widely before confirming my fears. "The others are here."

It really wasn't turning out to be my day.

Author's Note

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