Witch Hunter Robin Fan Fiction ❯ The Burning Time ❯ Anathema ( Chapter 17 )

[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]

 
The Burning Time
Chapter 17: Anathema
 
 
Anathema: Anath"ema, n.; pl. Anathemas. L. anath?ma, fr. Gr. ? anything devoted, esp. to evil, a curse
1. A ban or curse pronounced with religious solemnity by ecclesiastical authority, and accompanied by excommunication. Hence: Denunciation of anything as accursed.
2. An imprecation; a curse; a malediction.
3. Any person or thing anathematized, or cursed by ecclesiastical authority.
Anathema Maranatha(see -1 Cor. xvi. 22), an expression commonly considered as a highly intensified form of anathema. Maran atha is now considered as a separate sentence, meaning, "Our Lord cometh.''
 
I was just guessing,
At numbers and figures,
Pulling the puzzles apart.
Questions of science,
Science and progress,
Do not speak as loud as my heart.
Tell me you love me,
Come back and haunt me,
Oh, when I rush to the start.
Runnin' in circles,
Chasin' our tails,
Comin' back as we are.
Nobody said it was easy,
Oh, it's such a shame for us to part.
Nobody said it was easy,
No one ever said it would be so hard.
— “the scientist”, coldplay
 

 
 
She stood aside from the door, to allow him to enter, her dark green eyes sparkling as Bast ran past her ankles and on into the house. “What do I owe pleasure to, Amon?” she asked in slightly broken English, looking back up at him as he waited on the porch.
Jana saw his face hardening, slipping into the determined mask that he wore so often; and inwardly she smiled in satisfaction.
“I realize now that you have known more all along than you've let on,” he said firmly, his dark gaze unwavering. “I need information.”
She waited patiently; soon enough he offered up the words, spoken hard and resolute, that she had expected to hear.
Amon looked upon Jana with barely disguised agitation. “I need to know who I am.”
 
xXx
 
Jana nonchalantly poured coffee into two mugs at the stovetop. She observed Amon out of the corner of her eye in the dim light of the room, seated with his elbows resting on the kitchen table, his hands folded against his chin as he stared out into nothingness. In the candlelight he appeared wan and tired, the bruised circles underneath his dark eyes more pronounced than she'd ever seen them; she briefly wondered if he'd slept at all the past several nights.
He looked so much older just then, older than his twenty-five, nearly twenty-six years…he looked ravaged, she realized, by the thoughts and desires that plagued him. The understanding of who he ishas not escaped him, Jana thought sagely. And though he has acknowledged the fact that fully realizing his identity is of the utmost importance, part of him does not want to face it just yet.
She brought both mugs to the table, seating herself on the other side of the table, and watched him. He nodded distractedly, taking the proffered drink and staring into it as though it held some sought-after secret of his.
Amon raised his dark eyes to hers again, speaking in monotone. “I have finished reading Benedetto's journal.”
“And?” Jana's voice was calmly curious as she sipped from the mug. “You are confused, still?”
He shook his head slowly, looking back into the coffee. “It just confirmed what I'd already assumed. My awakening is inevitable, and I won't be able to control it.” His hands tightened around the mug.
“What makes you so certain?” she asked.
“It's in the notes,” he answered with an edge of impatience, his upward glance turning into a glare, “written out plainly for anyone to see—comparing the being I was modeled after to Satan, the Devil. Benedetto described whom he'd created to be `known as Satan to the masses'.” His eyes were hard gray ice. “I have made myself an enemy of SOLOMON—I've made my peace with that. But according to him, I am to become the enemy of all of humanity as well.
“And I am no stranger to you,” he said sternly, recalling the flicker of recognition in her eyes upon meeting him; he saw her visibly straighten at his words. “You knew who I was the moment I stepped onto your front porch, that first day we came to Sovana.”
Tormented eyes locked with hers, and she felt her heart lurch as his gaze seemed to pierce the very core of her soul. “Why did you give me this journal?” he asked, his voice tight, devoid of emotion. “Satan to the masses. Is that what I am? Is that what he meant for me to be?”
“But you see…that is only part of the equation, Amon,” Jana countered softly, still calm. “I do indeed know who you are. But something you should have learned by now is that light and darkness, life and death, right and left…are brothers of one another. They are inseparable. Because of this, neither are the `good' good, nor `evil' evil.”
At that moment, Robin's words from their discussion following Masuda's Inquisition came back to haunt him. Everyone has some darkness within them.
“So you are saying that Satan, the Devil, is in fact not evil,” he responded with skepticism.
Satan,” Jana repeated slowly, rolling the word on her tongue with distaste, “as he is described by the Church in the Holy Scriptures, does not exist.” She folded her arms on the table before her. “He is a myth, created by priests and followers of the powerful new religion, to draw humans away from the worship of one whom they had long been faithful to. He who is the `true face of evil' exists only in name, nothing more.”
“Then whom does Benedetto speak of in the writing?” Amon asked pointedly. “What is the meaning of the serpent, and the man with the head of a ram, if not the symbols of the Devil?”
Jana's smile was mysterious. “Suspend your disbelief for a moment, and I shall tell you.”
 
xXx
 
In her suite, Robin lay on her back across her bed, her long hair loose and tangled all around her. Hands curled at her breast, her tears continued to flow freely…eking from her eyes like solemn rivers that refused to dry up.
Because she was indeed the Eve of Witches, as Toudou had declared, Seeds—people born with the cursed but dormant genes—awoke and responded to her presence. This was her fate; this was why he had run from her. Some innate part of him had known that she had the power to transform him, to awaken him as a witch.
And he fears it, she thought desolately. Because of his mother, he fears it more than anything he's faced his entire life. As long as he is around me, I threaten to take away that which matters to him the most—his humanity. She pictured him in her mind, noble and silent, alone and isolated; always he had held himself back from others, his entire life, to prevent what she was doing to him now.
Her heart was pained. I can't allow it. I cannot turn him into what he fears most...I would never forgive myself.
Although she was aware that the answer was to remain apart from him, physically and most likely emotionally...the pain of the idea of separation was almost more than she could bear.
God, help me...please, I beg you...
...Please let me know that I am not forsaken.
 
xXx
 
The room surrounding them had grown darker with the passing hour as the night wore on. “Thousands of years ago,” Jana began, “humans worshipped beings with special powers, powers unknown to ordinary humans…beings who today are called witches.” She saw his curt nod. “Hiroshi Toudou's video diary told you as much. Humans in that day and age praised and adored them, calling them gods. In return the gods ruled them, offering benevolent leadership, protection...and sometimes, punishment.
“According to Toudou's research, a single god—born thirty-five hundred years ago—developed a mutation that caused him to lose the ability to pass his genes directly to his offspring,” she continued. “At that time in history, roughly 1500 B.C., there was one centralized location in the world where the gods were at the height of their power…and for centuries from this place their influence, beliefs and mythology had spread across the globe, nearly becoming universal.” She looked knowingly at Amon.
Realization was slowly dawning on his face. “Egypt.”
Jana nodded. “From the cradle of civilization came forth the god whose genes changed the future of their entire race.” She paused as she saw that he was watching her intently; and leaning in conspiratorially, she continued to speak, her voice becoming slow and melodically rhythmic—nearly musical, as though she were singing him a song.
“He was the most powerful of them, at the time—king of all the gods, ruler of gods and humans alike. During the Eighteenth Dynasty in Thebes, at the splendid temples of Karnak and Luxor, he was worshipped daily by the priesthood and honored by the entire population at magnificent festivals and celebrations, as well as by elaborate rituals.
“He was unlike any of the other gods. Called asha renu, `he who is rich in names', he was known as the Sun God, Fertility God…Warrior God. `Mysterious of form', `He who abides in all things', `Ba of all things'. Sometimes denoted as the Breath of Life, his true name literally means The Hidden One. He was mysterious and omnipotent, according to his priesthood. But he was deeply loved by the people, who referred to him affectionately as Father.
Amon's vision narrowed. He had begun to feel slightly dizzy as his mind formed imagery to the words Jana spoke. Her descriptions sounded more and more familiar to him as he listened; and as his mind began to drift, he felt the faint impression on his skin of searing heat, as if he'd been too long in the sun.
“The Egyptians revered him; they called him the champion of the poor and the humble. In courts of law, he upheld the rights of men regardless of wealth. `He does not take bribes from the guilty, he does not look at him who promises; he judges the land with his fingers. He speaks to the heart, and judges the guilty.'” She paused, bestowing a faint smile in Amon's direction, her voice once more taking on the strange rhythmic tone. “Those who were guilty, he punished severely. But he was not without compassion; commoners looked to him in times of need and protection.”
Watching him, Jana could sense his discomfort, his confusion; but her descriptions continued, undaunted. She leaned in closer. “Of him, it is further said: `He is hidden from the gods, and his aspect is unknown. He is farther than the sky, he is deeper than the Duat. No god knows his true appearance...no one testifies to him accurately. He is too secret to uncover in his awesomeness, he is too great to investigate, too powerful to know. Manifest one, whose identity is hidden... as it is inaccessible.'”
There is no way to say, 'What is his quantity?' or, 'What is his quality?', for no one can know him. The Nag Hammadi quote from Benedetto's journal was suddenly sharp and clear in Amon's mind. A sinking feeling descended upon him, through the dizziness he'd felt a moment prior—not fear, but recognition.
Jana nodded affirmatively in response to the look in his eyes, and narrowed her own. “You know of whom I'm speaking. Part of you...has always known, because you have within you his genes, his blueprint...his life's very essence flows through your veins.” She smirked. “And, of all things, you bear his sacred name as well.”
He stared at her, transfixed.
“Amon-Ra,” she continued without preamble, “the incarnation of the three major Egyptian deities—Amon, the Father and Creator; Osiris, the Hunter and Judge of the Dead; and Ra, the Sun God. The King of Gods, whose supremacy was lost thousands of years ago, when his son failed to inherit his father's powers.
My son. A flash of memory beset him—a small, broken, lifeless body, held in his arms; blood caking on childlike lips. His breath nearly caught, choking in his throat at the wave of emotion with which he was all too familiar...the stinging grief of loss.
“This was not mentioned outright in Benedetto's work for a very good reason,” she continued carefully in a quieter tone, watching as Amon's emotions warred with themselves in his eyes. “Your original design, according to SOLOMON's will, was to be that of a powerful Hunter for their purposes—nothing more. If it had been discovered that you had been engineered using DNA from such a forbidden source, you would not have lived long enough for us to be having this conversation right now.”
He put his hands to his eyes, covering his face momentarily in a gesture of weary disbelief. The faint, distant memory of the child dying in his arms, recollected so suddenly and with such clarity, had sapped his residual strength; he felt his composure weakening, as though something fought to break through to the surface.
As he collected it, he spoke again, words muffled by his own hands. “How in the hell do you know all of this?”
The evidence of Jana's smile was sadly ironic. “Our powers as Witches are both a blessing and a curse. Blessing, because without mine, I would not be able to tell you what I know—what has happened, and what will happen.” The older woman's smile slowly withered as her voice lost its volume, and her eyes drifted down to the table before her. “Curse, because I would not wish the entirety of this knowledge upon anyone.”
Amon took his hands away from his face; having resumed his impassive facade, he studied her from where he sat. It seemed impossible to believe that he was treating her words as the truth, but nevertheless...
As though she had read his mind, Jana said suddenly, “The truth always has more than one side to it. Remember that, Amon.”
He straightened somewhat in his chair, attempting to collect his scattered thoughts. “The ram and the snake?” he asked simply, not trusting himself to vocalize more at that moment.
“The creatures you've seen associated with him—the horned ram, the coiled serpent—were sacred to Amon-Ra. He was associated with the primeval notion of the serpent as a creator, as it sheds its skin to begin new life. The snake eating its tail, called ouroboros, symbolizes the cyclic nature of the universe—life out of death, the eternal cycle of renewal. It is a symbol of the Sun, of a return to wholeness...of immortality.
“The ram was a figure of more earthly connotations...in Egypt, the ram, bull, and goat were all revered for their potent sexual energy,” Jana's smirk briefly reasserted itself, as she witnessed Amon's attempt at schooling his features, “and for that, they were never sacrificed in his name. As a Fertility God, his role in displaying strength in that area was very important; sex, to the Egyptians, was an extremely powerful method of working magick.”
She cocked her head slightly to the side, still observing him. “That is why he is sometimes pictured in text with the head of a ram—or goat, as he was also known as the Goat of Mendes—the Horned One.”
Amon's gaze never wavered, as the connection clicked into place. “The Witches' God.”
“`Lord of the Heavens, clothed in the Sun, and bearing a golden rod. Lord of the Earth, horned like a stag, and powerful. Lord of the Afterworld, dark and lonely, stern and just',” Jana affirmed, and smiled again. “You remembered.”
“Giovanna's story...was difficult to forget,” he confessed quietly, his eyes downcast towards the table before him. Brief flares of memory, of Robin in the dark kitchen illuminated by candlelight, of his arms entwined around her, reminded him of something else that had been difficult to forget about that night.
He recalled the old woman's description: He dispels the darkness with His presence. He is the Illuminator, and reveals all that is hidden. He scatters all falsehoods, and establishes truth.
If only it were that simple, Amon thought to himself, and not so easy to linger in the anonymity that the darkness affords.
The older woman continued to speak. “To the scattered worshippers who continued to believe in Amon's divinity after his downfall, his name evolved throughout millenia, into the names more obviously associated with the Witches' God... Janus, Zeus-Ammon, Jupiter, Cernnunos, Herne, Dianus…Robin Goodfellow,” she said quietly. “But he was also demonized, by the religious authority who took power...those whom had overthrown him, when the last remnants of the Egyptian deities' power fell, followed by the Romans'. Including the name Amon, he was known to them as Ba'al, Belial, Pan...Baphomet.”
Amon recalled the missing letters in the diary's notes. BA...HO...T. The horned Devil. “The origin of Satan,” he confirmed quietly.
Jana nodded. “As a result, the beings we know as `God' and `Satan' are not separate entities—they are one. You are dichotomous; you are both God and the Devil, the God with Two Faces, light and darkness...simultaneously the Protector and Destroyer.”
“What happened, in Egypt?” he asked, after a slight pause. “What happened to the rest of the gods?”
“When it was discovered that Amon-Ra's son, Khonsu, was powerless, unlike his father—the repercussions were disastrous,” she went on to explain. She saw his eyes change at the mention of the boy's name, and continued.
“Already since the beginning of his reign there were dissidents, a group of humans and gods alike, who began insisting that Amon was not fit to be worshipped; that he and others who ruled by his side—powerful gods that, underneath Amon, made up a ruling octet known as the Ennead—were unworthy. When the Divine Son was born without godlike abilities, because of his father's mutation, the dissidents realized they had a means with which to denounce Amon.
“In particular there was one, Akhenaten, who was at the forefront of the move to overthrow the gods. The son of a pharaoh, whose original name was Amenhotep, meaning `Amon is Content', Akhenaten changed his name in defiance of his father's devotion to the gods. Once his father had died and he ascended as pharaoh, he took control and organized a large number of less-powerful gods—who shared his views of Amon-Ra and the Ennead—and directed them to take down the ones who ruled.
His mouth opened slightly in surprise, and Jana nodded in response. “Yes—the first Hunt.” She ducked her head. “The Ennead were more powerful, individually, than their enemies—but the dissidents under Akhenaten were numerous enough to overpower them. They started with the Divine Son, the boy Khonsu. Amon-Ra and his consort had several children, all of whom were born with the mutation...but Khonsu had been the first and only male child, and had been in line to eventually inherit the rule from his father.
“After that, they slaughtered the Ennead, leaving Amon and his consort for the last. Both weakened with poison, they forced Amon to watch, restraining him as before his unbelieving eyes they tortured her mercilessly, then burned her alive with fire from her own flame. They finished with him, afterwards.” She watched his face for signs of recognition of that event; but when she saw only confusion, Jana reluctantly continued.
“Akhenaten ruled for twenty years, defacing every monument and piece of art dedicated to Amon-Ra...attempting to remove his name from Egypt's very history, in an effort to establish permanent human rule. He was finally overthrown, by humans still faithful to Amon-Ra's legacy; and they cast Akhenaten out of Egypt, along with his followers...in what became known, biblically, as the Exodus.”
“The Exodus,” Amon commented, “was the story of Moses.”
Jana nodded. “Who was the same person as Akhenaten,” she replied. “He had commanded that people worship a `sun disk' called Aten; an entity devoid of human and Witch-like characteristics. He was, like Moses of the Bible, the first Monotheist.” She cocked her head in a curious fashion. “But Moses-Akhenaten was also trained in the rituals of witchcraft as well, which he had learned in Egypt, and which he taught to his human and lesser-god followers...who became known as Kabbalists.
“Kabbalah was mainly a Judaic religion, from the Hebrew root-word qbl, which meant `received tradition', signifying `mouth to ear'; and was supposedly given to Moses at Mount Sinai. King Solomon was the most notorious practitioner of it; during his reign in the Holy Land, he was said to have controlled `demons', who were in fact Witches, and made them do his bidding.”
It was slowly falling into place for Amon; the references to the biblical Old Testament were beginning to make sense. He felt as though a puzzle was unraveling before him.
“After the fall of the Roman Empire, as Christianity came into power, Kabbalists began to infiltrate the Church, and a hybrid of the two religions began to form. Through the violent middle ages as the Catholics took control, religious scholars began transcribing the Zohar and the Sepher Yetzirah, two of the most influential Kabbalist writings, from Hebrew into Latin. The resulting blend of the two religions became known as the Christian Cabala.
“This secret sect of Christianity was primarily responsible for the majority of Witch Hunts that began in the middle ages and continued on until present time. It was only recently, within the last one hundred years, that the Cabalists finally merged with one of the more visible Catholic organizations—called Opus Dei, `God's Work', eventually changing their name to SOLOMON—and outwardly took the global control that they had actually held for centuries.”
Opus Dei. Amon had heard brief mention of the group, and now as he recalled it, he wondered why he had never directly associated it as having been a frontrunner of SOLOMON before; the resemblances were startling. Roman Catholic, secretive, aggressive recruitment practices, dissuasion of interpersonal relationships...
“Throughout history, people who continued to be born with the Witch genes through the ages—no longer directly inherited, instead appearing dormant and at random, as Seeds—were hunted down systematically and killed, claimed by the religious authority to have been in league with the Devil...`children of Amon'.” She nodded to herself, eyes downcast. “With the demise of the Ancient Ones, their ability to re-establish themselves as successors of humanity had been refused.”
Toudou had used the same terminology, successors, as well. Human evolution. Inherit the species.
Suddenly Amon's interest in the explanation of Benedetto's subtle hints became a guarded wariness as to the deceased scientist's motives. Robin was to be the Eve, and bear Witches as children...so exactly what role did Benedetto intend for him to play?
His face was set in grim lines. “Why did Benedetto do it?” To her, he thought, perhaps it was a stupid question—but he wanted his suspicions confirmed.
Why?” Jana asked, surprised but with a lilting humor. “Buono Dio, Amon. If you haven't figured that out, by now...” She cocked her head in his direction, her face stern and serious, all humor gone. “Mario risked his career, his colleagues—his very life, to bring you into being. Knowing how important your incarnation was in the past, he knew how important you were to the future.”
He inclined his head slightly, as an encouragement for Jana to continue.
“You, by your true nature, are the antithesis of what SOLOMON stands for—a resurrected god of ancient times. You are destined to shape and unite a new world that will have no place for an organization such as themselves.”
She looked at him in earnest. “You are to bring them to their knees.”
A sickening wave hit him full-force. Amon's knee-jerk reaction was denial; he shook his head firmly, even as Jana appeared to bristle at his repudiation.
“That is impossible. No one can do that.” His features hardened. “The organization is more powerful than the local governments through which they operate; their reach is far beyond what you or even I can imagine. It's an impossibility, for anyone. Benedetto, of all people, should have realized that.” Perhaps he did, too late, he thought; but the stern tone in his voice was unyielding. “Instead, he and Toudou were…experimenting on people...trying to play God.”
Jana nearly sputtered. “They were no more playing God than SOLOMON has been, all of these years,” she exclaimed, indignant. “Who is in violation of the natural law? Who has suppressed evolution of the species? Toudou and Benedetto were attempting to give Witches a fighting chance. You would deny us that?”
She eyed him now, more skeptically than before. His features had changed again, ever so slightly, the steel gray eyes registering a perplexed sort of understanding at her words; but now Jana felt the weight of concern. Part of him still subscribed to the brainwashing of the organization, regardless of the changes she'd seen in him.
“You don't seem to understand, Amon,” she chided sternly. “The roots of SOLOMON's authority lie in deception, and their ability to manipulate those under their control. They are only as powerful as people—be they human or Witch—allow them to be.
“It's not a simple question of allowing them to be anything,” he argued, the edge still present in his voice. “They have Craft-users, the most powerful ones, on their payroll. They have military capability, strongest in the world. Any notion that they can be removed from power is a delusion.”
Jana folded her arms. “So tell me, then, cacciatore…” she started, intentionally baiting him with the name, “if it's futile, why did you run? What are you hoping to do?”
His train of thought suddenly derailed, Amon sat stock-still. “Run?”
“From Factory?” she continued, waving a hand in the air nonchalantly. “Why did you not surrender to SOLOMON right then, and there?”
He lowered his eyes. Toudou's words in the videotape had so inspired him that day, as had Robin's strength; he'd been instilled with what was possibly a false hope, for both of them. He'd thought they could hide themselves away, bury themselves in a place where SOLOMON couldn't find them...
But perhaps he'd been clinging to the same misguided faith that Robin held; that they would live, that they would be safe, that there was a light at the end of the darkness. Perhaps it was just a temporary escape from reality …running from the inevitable truth.
False hope. Misguided faith. His words were thick with ice. “I don't know.”
Jana shook her head. “You do know. Because you won't give her—or yourself—up, without a fight.” She regarded him shrewdly. “You are doubting yourself, right now, Amon, as you always have...as SOLOMON would have you do. As you have, since your mother's death.”
At the mention of Matoko, Amon's gaze raised to meet hers, his displeasure thinly veiled behind it.
“You knew her death was wrong, but you did not trust in your ability to avenge her—so you believed the lie that she had lost control, to justify it in your mind.” She looked at him sadly. “And who is to blame you? You were just a child, back then.
“You tried to believe Robin was dangerous, also, later on,” she continued, watching the conflict in his eyes. “You were under strict orders to hunt her—were told that she was a dangerous Witch. You tried to convince yourself...you tried, very hard, with every fiber of your being.” Her eyes narrowed in sympathy as she paused before shaking her head, smiling gently.
“But you couldn't do it. Because, for the first time since you'd been a child, you began to believe in your own judgment.
She bowed her head then, in a slow nod. “And it is your judgment that will save you, that will turn the tide against them. It already has; already the first step has been taken. She is with you.”
He knew she meant Robin. Again he could hear the unusual inflection in her voice, and now he was convinced that she was intentionally speaking in such a manner as to make him aware of something, to spark some sort of recognition in his subconscious...to make him remember.
Amon felt himself asking a question, his voice quietly subdued, his vision once more becoming hazy. “Who is she?”
Jana smiled mysteriously, chin resting on her folded hands. “You knew her right away, didn't you,” she said softly, her voice oddly soothing. “Although the veil over your heart's eyes was not yet completely lifted yet, you cannot deny that during your first meeting, you recognized her somehow.”
It was eerie, to him, how Jana effortlessly pulled his own memories, his own recollections, out of thin air; making them more vivid and tangible than they had been the first time around. His mind flashed back several months to that moment, that hazy afternoon at Harry's...he recalled his slow steps through the hallway, the taste of gin still on his breath from the afternoon's drink...passing her as she demurely passed him...glancing at her out of the corner of his eye. His glance caught her own—suddenly both were ensnared, captivated; and before either one had realized, the peripheral glance had sparked into a full-fledged stare. It was the strangest feeling of familiarity he'd ever experienced in his entire life.
It was the last time Amon had allowed himself an early evening cocktail on the job, after Robin arrived.
“She is much more ancient than I have previously led her to believe,” Jana went on. “She is not only the descendent of la bella Pellegrina, as I am...she is the Pellegrina, returned to us.” She smiled knowingly up into Amon's eyes. “You knew that too, even when I had read the story to you, and you had denied it. But, she does not know that she is older still, older than Aradia, older than La Matrona, Diana; her first incarnation predates them by thousands of years.
“Three thousand years ago, Amon-Ra ruled the civilized world, the Egyptian kingdoms, gods and humans alike. Beside him, ever present, was his female counterpart; who took various forms, and had many names, even more than he himself did.
“Sometimes she was known as Mut, the eternal mother of all creation, protectress of children. Other times, as he was the Hunter Osiris, she was the winged Isis—goddess of the cold and mysterious moon; a magical healer and resurrector, and more cunning and clever than a million gods.
“And sometimes,” she went on, a gleam in her dark green eyes, “she took the form of a beautiful goddess of cats, both ferocious and domesticated—called Bast.” She smiled as she saw his own eyes alight in recognition. “Virgin maiden of fire, fierce protectress of Ra; devouring his enemies with flames as hot as the core of the Sun, fiery and vengeful.”
So that's it, Amon thought to himself. Fiery celestial energy—
“Protectress of Ra?” he asked suddenly, his eyes unexpectedly widening; to which Jana nodded in affirmation.
“She is far more than simply a womb,” she responded. “One of Toudou's objectives, following in his mentor's footsteps, was to ensure that he could provide the designated guardian for Benedetto's creation, as his abilities lay dormant.”
His mouth gaped slightly in astonishment as Jana looked at him, steadfast. “She is the `Eye of Ra'; she is your protector...and when you have awakened to your powers, she shall be your avenger.
Even as the irony settled into the forefront of his mind—his ward was truly meant to be his shield, after all—he knew all of it to be true. She had used her flame at his bidding, to both protect and aid him; and with his instruction and guidance, she had grown even more powerful. Was it possible that some part of him had subconsciously known from the beginning what she was?
When she had killed Masuda that night in the park, after the man had turned on him with furious and livid eyes, trying to crush him with his Craft...had he known it, even then? Although sorrowful, she had done it so readily—almost as though it were second nature to her—
Dark eyes, full of such sadness and pain. —I won't allow them to do this to you—
The sudden sensation of grief was so tangible that he was momentarily stunned.
Jana's words interrupted his thoughts. “You are wondering why her power now wanes, when at times before it has appeared to grow stronger?”
He wasn't wondering it at that moment, his eyes far away as he tried to resurrect the memory that had just besieged him; nevertheless, he nodded, encouraging her to continue.
“Think back on each time the strength of her Craft increased dramatically,” the older woman suggested. “Were you in immediate and serious danger? Was she protecting herself, or you alone?”
Amon reflected. There had been a couple of exceptions, such as her confrontation with Sastre, when she didn't know he was watching her from the shadows; but he recalled Masuda, and the Hunter they'd encountered in Siena...and Zaizen and his concentrated Orbo, in Factory. “She was protecting me.”
Si. But, protecting you isn't the only situation that can increase her powers...” Jana smirked. “There is another.”
He looked up slowly at her remark—recalling the moments in the young witch's bed, the strange flow of energy from himself to her and back again—and his eyes narrowed, mouth drawing into a tight line.
Jana studied him carefully, as he remained mute. She had seen his furtive glances, had felt the palpable tension in the air when she'd first mentioned her granddaughter. So, he hashad a taste of the influence of the Arcanum…and it frightens him.
“Robin's Craft wanes for the very opposite reason that it becomes strengthened,” she said. “Because something is being denied her.” Her instincts—which never failed her—told her that Amon hadn't given the young witch notice before he'd left the castle.
She folded her arms again on the table before her, her eyes searching his face. “You don't view her as a child, do you,” she said, more statement than question. “You desire her, as a man would a woman.”
“I've done more than just that.” He put his face in his hand again as he rubbed his eyes tiredly, his voice sardonic and self-deprecating—a vision of Robin beneath him, sighing and writhing, his mouth moving over her body.
“Do you love her?” Jana asked quietly and earnestly, without missing a beat.
He didn't even look up, but his expression hardened. “I'm not capable of—”
“Do you love her, Amon.” The older woman's voice had intensified in strength. He now gave her his full attention, meeting her eyes with a leveled glare.
Jana sighed and shrugged, delicately. “You don't have to answer me if you feel you can't,” she conceded; “but it's something that you should have figured out, by now…and if you haven't figured it out yet, you had better do it quickly.” She saw his eyes register interest at the ominous tone of her warning. “It is imperative that you soon finish what you have started, where she is concerned.”
Amon's brows lifted faintly. Caught off guard, he had to resist a smirk at the solemnly delivered edict. Admit it; it's not as though you hadn't thought about doing that, yourself. Having not only Jana's permission, but having received her express command to seduce her granddaughter as soon as the opportunity arose, made it all the more absurdly amusing.
“As interesting a consideration as that is,” he said, prudently, his eyes growing serious, “to do so will mean that I will suffer the same fate as my mother.”
“Your mother did not go insane, Amon,” she deadpanned. “She had complete control of her power, the entire time.
Now he frowned, his moment of good humor forgotten; having begun to reach the limits of his patience where Matoko was concerned. “You weren't there. You didn't see it happen—I did,” he reminded her acerbically.
She responded in kind. “You don't remember. You must fully evoke your memory of the incident with your mother, in its entirety, to understand.”
“Knowing who I supposedly am, does not change the possibility that I cannot control this dormant power within me,” he argued, switching tactics abruptly. “It doesn't change the possibility that something terrible might happen upon my awakening.”
“Not something terrible,” she said, gently; and he was suddenly and powerfully reminded of what he'd said to Robin, as he'd held her in his arms. “Something wonderful.
He sighed and rubbed his slightly whiskered face with his hand again in frustration, allowing it to run briefly through his disheveled dark hair. It was close to two o'clock in the morning; despite his fatigue, however, he doubted he would get sleep that night.
Jana then gave him a pointed look. “Your awakening is already partially completed,” she said, and gave him a skeptical glance when his eyes narrowed. “You deny this, even with the subtle powers you have begun to demonstrate? The healing, the instance of it in Factory?”
She persevered, in the face of his apparent disbelief that she could know such things. “Robin is indeed triggering it, Amon; but it has already begun, you cannot undo it.” She paused, looking him over carefully. “And you are the only one who can choose to see it through to fruition.”
“There is more,” he insisted, his eyes lowered again as he recalled it. “When I was with Robin, I saw a vision.”
“What did you see?” she asked calmly.
Amon met her eyes again. “I saw her death.”
Jana paused before she spoke. “What you saw was not what would happen when you will awaken,” she began slowly, “...it is what will happen if you do not awaken.”
His concern was immediate, and real. “What do you mean?”
The older woman sighed.
“The Army of SOLOMON is already on the Hunt,” she explained, “and they are after Robin.”
“Because she is the Arcanum of the Craft,” he said slowly, to which she vehemently shook her head. Amon struggled to comprehend.
“The Arcanum is not a single person—nor a tangible artifact, nor a Craft ability,” Jana asserted. “The Arcanum, the Secret of Secrets, is the apocalyptic fate described in Revelations, that SOLOMON seeks to prevent; the union that would initiate the equivalent of the biblical Judgment Day. It is the key to jump-starting human evolution.”
It is to drink a poison which would extinguish the suns and consume the worlds. The notes associated with it in Benedetto's journal, he recalled, had certainly sounded apocalyptic enough. There was something about two triangles…Solomon's Seal, the talisman of Saturn…
It was still not making complete sense to him. But if Robin herself wasn't the Arcanum…then why were they after her? Unless….
He stiffened with sudden realization. “They know she is the Eve.” Amon fixed his gaze on her, his expression gradually changing from troubled to stern. Toudou's data had most likely been lost in the destruction of Factory. “Juliano told them.”
“Juliano did no such thing,” Jana responded. When he attempted to argue, she continued impatiently, “You still do not believe his word, even when Juliano was the one who intentionally sent Robin to you at STN-J, so many months ago, fulfilling the dying request of his daughter, Maria.”
Maria had requested that he do such a thing? “He ordered me to hunt her,” he said darkly after a slight pause, his brow furrowed with uncertainty, “and when I hesitated, he sent some of SOLOMON's most powerful Craft-Users to do the job I had refused.” Amon frowned deeply. “He had lost faith in her before—it can happen again.”
Non. As I told you, he is aware of your true identity,” Jana reminded him. “It was a test—not of Robin; she had already proved whom she was to him, and how powerful, when she had killed to protect you.” She nodded at Amon. “He was testing you.
A voice inside him said, it is possible. It was possible that his entire career with the organization had been one long, drawn-out assessment, with different instructors administering individual portions of the exam. Kate had likely been SOLOMON's way of re-confirming his loyalty to them, after so many years; between Zaizen and Headquarters, there might have been several such trials.
And it was possible that what he'd thought earlier was true…that Juliano had his own agenda.
The older woman was still speaking. “Your mother's dormant powers were not released because of anger, or trauma, or violence…and neither will your own.”
She slowly pushed a card, face down, across the table to him; Amon reached for it, hesitantly turning it over.
A man hung upside down from a tree by his legs.
“This is the Hanged Man of the Tarot,” Jana explained. “One of the most paradoxical, contradictory cards in the Tarot deck. With it, certain truths are presented to us...but they are hidden in their opposites.”
She watched his expression closely; and when he made no indication for her to stop, she continued talking.
“It reflects the story of the Norse god Odin, who offered himself as a sacrifice in order to gain knowledge,” she clarified. “Hanging from the World Tree, wounded by a spear, given no bread or mead, he hung for nine days. On the last day, he saw on the ground runes that had fallen from the tree...he understood their meaning, and coming down, scooped them up for his own. All knowledge is to be found in these runes.
“The reason he could attain this knowledge, was because he had stopped resisting; instead, he had made himself vulnerable, sacrificed his position, his opposition...and in doing so, he gained illumination. Answers that eluded him became clear. He saw the world differently than before.”
She went on, undeterred. “This card tells us that the best approach to a problem is not always the most obvious. When we most want to act, that is when we should wait. When we most want to have our own way, that is when we should sacrifice. When we most want to enforce our will...that is when we should let go. The irony is that by making these contradictory moves, we find what we are looking for.”
He was mute, again; Jana silently lauded Robin's patience.
“You see, Amon; the Hanged Man signifies a time of insight so deep that, for a moment, nothing but that insight exists—a moment of suspension between the physical and mystical worlds. But, this insight is fleeting. Such moments don't last, and they require some kind of sacrifice. Sacrifice of a belief or perspective, a wish, dream, money, time...or even hope.” Jana gazed at him meaningfully. “In order to gain, you must give. This is the key to unlocking your power.” Once more, he was silent.
“You must remember the incident with your mother,” she said once more, and frowned at his insistent stoicism. He sits there, so rock-still, so controlled. He doesn't realize that time is running out—his, and hers.
“Have you completely accepted anything I have revealed to you tonight, Amon?” she asked, her voice stern.
He rubbed his eyes again, tiredly. He was only twenty-five, going on twenty-six; but he suddenly felt old…so old. “It is a lot to think on.”
Si,” she answered sarcastically, drawling the affirmative. “People do not like to think. If one thinks, one must reach conclusions. Conclusions are not always pleasant.”
He frowned at her over his hand. “This is not easy for me to accept.”
“No?” she asked, bitingly. “Not easy for you, non? Niente è facile, Amon,” she said, and she saw his anger begin to build beneath the simmering calm of gray.
Buono.
“You would deny this opportunity to go to her now, to complete the plans that Hiroshi and Mario sacrificed their lives for?” she demanded, her dark green eyes growing more livid by the moment. “You put it off, because why—because you need more time to think?”
“I'm not denying anyt—” he began, but she cut him off.
“Amon,” she said, with as much ice as she could muster; and as she did, she saw the beginnings of a frostiness in his own eyes that nearly frightened her. “You are close—so close—and yet you would condemn the both of you to the same fate you have played out, over and over again, for millennia? It is much more than genetics that you and Robin share with your predecessors...you have both returned multiple times, seeking each other...always separated, but always searching. It is only now, that you both have the power and potential to be what you are destined to be.”
Don't hesitate, don't fight it, she wanted to warn him. Don't let it slip by. It's still not too late.
But she saw that her pleading, her attempts at cajoling him into taking action, were fruitless. His stubborn doubt—and fear—had not relinquished their hold on him.
“I don't believe in fate, or destiny,” Amon declared tenaciously. “I am in control of my own life.”
Jana mentally shook her head. If you only knew how untrue that was. “Then you have cursed yours...and her own, as well,” she said, ignoring his glare. She gave a deep sigh before speaking again.
“The Army of the Cabal has her now at this moment in their grip, even as you sit here. SOLOMON surrounds her on all sides.”
He blinked; all of his anger dissipated in a single moment. Jana, for the first time, saw fear register in his eyes. “Nani!
“They all have Hebrew names,” she said, calculatingly. “ `Seth', `Noa', `Gideon'. A mole, within the organization. Financial assistance, and a background that cannot be explained or justified. You knew all of this already; and you just did not scrutinize carefully enough.” With each point she made, his eyes grew wider; his fists balled up helplessly on the table before him.
“Tell me, Amon,” she said, making no effort to disguise the sting beneath her words, “did the hunters you kill beg for their lives, when caught in the crosshairs of your sniper rifle?”
A sickening feeling was coming over him, as steadily as a wave crashing above his head...drowning him in dread and self-loathing. You ran out…you abandoned her, and you left her—alone, with—oh God… His eyes swung back to the older woman before him, as something else dawned on him.
“You knew,” he growled, his eyes narrowing into dangerous dark gray slits. “You knew about Seth, this entire time—and yet you allowed us to go to him—you knew, and you didn't say anything—you even insisted that we not leave Italy…” He was nearly livid, barely holding onto his self-control. Jana was silent in response, hands folded before her on the table.
“You've been manipulating us,” he seethed.
“I did what needed to be done,” she responded flatly, refusing to be intimidated by his anger.
He rose from his chair, leveling a dark scowl in her direction. “Don't think about leaving,” he warned ominously. “If you try to leave this area, I will hunt you down and find you.” He moved towards the entryway. “I will deal with you when I get back, and then Robin and I are getting away from here—for good.
Jana heard the heavy, hurried sounds of his boots on linoleum…then the sound of the front door being yanked open, and slammed shut. Moments later she heard the gunning of his car's motor and the spray of gravel that came forth from spinning tires.
She looked down to where Bast sat on the floor beside her leg, and calmly reached her hand down to caress the soft gray head; Bast gazed upwards into the woman's sad, dark green eyes. The Tarot card lay on the table across from her, before the empty chair.
 
xXx
 
By a little after two in the morning—her tears long since dried—Robin had regained her resolve. It was the only thing she could do; she would leave the castle, in search of Amon.
She had an idea of his whereabouts after he had taken his leave; she would go to Jana's home first. There was a strong likelihood that he was there. Once she found him, she would admit to the knowledge of what she was doing to him, as the Eve...and they would decide on a course of action together, whatever the final outcome was. She would most likely stay with Jana in Sovana, protecting her and the villagers there; but perhaps, instead of traveling together as they had been doing, she and Amon would separate, and he would go elsewhere.
Where would he go? Perhaps he would travel back to Japan, she mused…it wasn't entirely out of the question. He could evade SOLOMON's radar much easier without the constant danger of her Craft giving him away, and perhaps he could even return to Tokyo and assist Nagira and the STN-J, somehow…Nagira most likely had contacts still in Japan, and elsewhere, who could hide Amon from SOLOMON safely.
She heard the gentle, rumbling sounds of a car pulling up, and she peered out of her window into the darkness—she could just make out one of the Coven members' vehicles, and three passengers...most likely a late-night patrol of some sort.
The young chestnut-haired witch sighed, her thoughts flying back to her absent partner. It was not the scenario she had hoped for, for them—far from it—and her heart grew heavy simply thinking of his departure…but, rather that, than force the undesirable alternative on him.
She took another deep breath. Courage. I must be strong. This was for Amon's benefit, and she couldn't think of only herself at this time.
But you will miss him, a part of her whispered, you will miss him, terribly…because you lovehim, and letting him go is like losing a part of yourself now. Robin winced at the accuracy of her inner voice's insight. You love him…and not in the way you are supposed to love a warden, either—not in a holy, or platonic way—not in the way you are supposed to love the Lord. You love Amon with every fiber of your being—with parts of yourself that you shouldn't even be aware of.
Weak. She felt weak. Robin despaired.
A knock sounded on her suite door, followed by Seth's soft tenor. “Tesoro? Posso?” she heard him ask, and she turned away from the dark window, back towards the candlelit center of the room.
Seth would not likely approve of what she was to tell him—but there was nothing that was about to change her mind, now.
Entrari,” she allowed softly.
“Still up and not sleeping, tesoro?” he asked as he entered, his face registering concern.
She shook her head. “È lei?” she asked politely, to which his expression became anticipatory.
“There is another Hunt tonight,” he said, his blue eyes gleaming in the candlelight of the dim room. “We just received word of it; we'll be heading into Siena, it should be—”
“I'm not going,” she said with gentle iron-in-velvet authority; and his face fell.
Perché?” he asked, recovering his smile quickly, as though to hide his disappointment; but Robin could detect a measure of irritation in his eyes.
“I think there is something you should know about me,” she said quietly, her hands demurely clasped before her pilgrim's dress. “I'm not like other Witches.”
Seth paused, jaw tightening as his smile dissipated. “Si,” he said slowly, methodically; and for a moment Robin could catch another unspoken nuance in the simple affirmative statement. “I can see that.”
 
xXx
 
Amon pushed the pedal to the floor, the BMW's speed maxxing out at 140mph on the stretch of highway towards Grosseto.
He was simultaneously on his cellular—which he always carried, even if he never turned it on—trying to reach Robin's room. From the first day they had arrived to stay with the Coven, he had memorized her number, in the event he needed to get in contact suddenly. He'd avoided using the cell phone so far while in Italy, for the obvious reason that their location could possibly be traced; but now, however, satellites be damned.
Ch'kso,” he growled, as he got a pleasantly recorded message in Italian, presumably informing him that the line was disconnected. He let his eyes waver momentarily from the road to redial, rechecking the number; the car swerved erratically.
Again, the same disconnected notice. “Fuck!” he hollered uselessly, redialing again. And again.
Several more colorful epithets later, Amon tossed the worthless phone onto the passenger seat. He reached for his sidearm, using his knees to balance the steering wheel as he checked the magazine of the gun.
Four rune-marked bullets.
He would have to make them count.
 
xXx
 
“I know now why Amon left,” Robin said, softly but certainly. “And I know that he is not coming back.”
Seth's eyes underwent another change, but he said nothing.
“I have the ability to affect Seeds, and turn them into Witches—they respond to my presence,” she asserted. “I am an animator.” Her eyes slipped from holding his gaze to a spot lower in the room, as she reflected. “Amon is still a Seed, and he cannot bear to awaken…and that is why he runs from me.” She looked back up at Seth. “I understand it, now.”
He watched her, fascinated by her calm resignation. “You aren't sad, that he runs from you in such a way?”
“I have to accept it,” she said quietly. “But I also understand why the hunter we targeted tonight, Mita, awoke in front of me…and as a result, I feel it is not acceptable for me to hunt with you, any longer.”
“And why is that?” Seth asked.
“There are many SOLOMON hunters who are not awakened yet,” she answered, her voice strengthening, “and you would use me, during Hunts, to awaken them.”
“There is a problem with this?” he asked, feigning good-natured humor; but his façade disappeared upon her reply.
“Destroying them, before they can even develop a Craft to defend themselves—before they even truly know what it is to be a Witch, and to Hunt your own kind—is wrong,” Robin answered. “They need to awaken, to see the truth for their own eyes. What you are doing is no better than what SOLOMON does to the general population.”
He paused, realizing he was losing this battle. “Tesoro,” Seth implored, “I need your help, to do this—”
“I won't do it,” she said softly, standing her ground. “It's wrong...as was your assessment of Mita, herself—she was going to abandon the Hunt. I cannot, in good conscience, assist you anymore. Mi scusi,” she added, as a polite afterthought.
He watched her carefully, scrutinizing, for a long moment. Finally he sighed, appearing cowed, and spread his hands compliantly before him.
“I respect your convictions, Robin,” he said, his voice gentle; and her posture straightened. “You are justified for feeling that way, and I understand.” She bowed her head slightly as a token of gratitude. “You have been very beneficial to us, and for that you have my appreciation...you are still free to stay here, with the Coven, as long as you would like.”
Grazie,” she answered calmly, “but I will be leaving shortly.”
“Where are you going?” Seth asked; but when he saw she wasn't about to answer, he persisted. “How are you even going to get where you're going to, then?”
“Someone in town will be able to help me,” she offered, resolute.
He ducked his head, sighing again, and stepped forward. “Before you go, tesoro, I'd like you to come out to the courtyard...I know it is late, but there is someone here that I think you should meet. They probably feel very similarly to you, and might be able to help you, somehow.”
She took a breath, uncertain—perhaps she should just leave, and be done with it—but Seth's beseeching gaze held her where she was. Even though she did not entirely agree with his methods, he had been gracious and kind to her. She could not refuse him this last request.
Si,” she answered, and followed him to the door. He opened it for her, allowing her to pass through first; taking one last sweeping look through the room—settling briefly on the cut phone cord below the desk—before he exited it himself.
 
xXx
 
Fuck. Fuck. FUCK. How could you be so fucking stupid, Amon...
He pulled the car aside abruptly as he neared the top of the drive towards the castello, realizing that he would have to go in on foot. The trees covered the car—it wasn't likely that anyone would discover it here, and the darkness would hopefully cover him while he ran in to get her. He got out, rechecking his sidearm, and started off at a sprint towards the castle.
Out front, two cars were sitting in the turnabout, in front of the castle entrance; one of which looked suspiciously like Seth's Jaguar, the other most likely belonging to one of the other Coven members. Amon snuck around the ground floor on the side, headed for Robin's window. Ducking low as he passed the other windows on the floor, he came upon hers and peered in. Empty.
Fuck.” She was somewhere inside the castle; he would have to sneak in, increasing his chances of being discovered.
He ducked underneath the ground floor windows again, heading for the front entrance. To his surprise, the door was slightly ajar...he eased it open gently, just enough for him to squeeze through...and then he was enveloped in the darkness of the foyer.
He waited for half a moment, allowing his eyes to adjust to the near-pitch-blackness before proceeding—when suddenly the ringer on his cell phone went off. Loudly.
Amon cursed and silenced it, glancing at the backlit numerical display. Nagira? He was so angry at his half-brother's total disregard for preserving his secrecy, that he actually answered it. “Nani!” he hissed.
“AMON, FUCKING GOD I HAVE BEEN TRYING TO REACH YOU, YOU ASSHOLE,” Nagira shouted on the other end, and Amon simultaneously held the cellular away while turning its volume down. “You don't know how many times I've—”
“Goddammit, Nagira, I told you not to use this line!” Amon spat lowly into the phone. “What the hell is the matter with you!”
“Will you just shut up a minute!” Nagira practically screeched. “I've been trying to reach you to tell you that you need to get yourselves the fuck out of there, right now—”
A gun barrel nudged up against the side of Amon's head interrupted his brother's ranting. “Good advice,” the haughty, clipped female voice said from the darkness. Hedya.
Amon brought the hand holding the cellular hard and backwards, smacking Hedya's pistol away with the phone. It flew from her grasp as she grunted painfully, and he hoped with a mild vengeance that he'd at least broken her wrist. At the same time, he drew his sidearm from inside his jacket.
Before he knew what had happened next he heard the air hiss around him; he felt something slice his trigger arm at the wrist, and he gave a sharp gasp of pain as he dropped his gun. His blood ran hot and thickly down his arm, and he tucked it into his jacket, bending over it, putting pressure on the wound. The cut looked like it had nearly gone to the bone. Before he could begin to recover from the blow, another invisible blade slashed against his breastbone—a shallow cut, but the pain caused him to sink to his knees.
He could hear Gideon's sneering chuckle from his other side, and in the background Amon could hear his half-brother's voice still faintly calling his name, from the abused cellular on the floor.
Hedya stepped on the offending phone with her boot, effectively crushing it. She had picked up her pistol again, holding it expertly with her other hand. “It's a good thing I'm ambidextrous,” she mused, before her features hardened again and she pressed it once more against Amon's head, Gideon moving forward to bind him.
 
xXx
 
Robin walked slightly ahead of Seth, through the hallway towards the courtyard. It was unnaturally quiet, and unnaturally dark and empty, even for two hours past midnight; the members of the Coven, she knew, had habits of staying up well into the wee hours of morning.
She entered the courtyard; walking forward, she could see that the area was lit with burning torches, could smell their acrid scent mixed in with the cool night air—and she felt a wash of familiarity over her, something that seemed like it had been a dream once...too faint to possibly be a memory. Her footsteps slowed; Seth put his hand chastely against her lower back, to urge her on.
Then she saw the Coven, gathered in what could be construed as a rough outline of a triangle—and she stopped in her tracks. In the center of it stood a man with a dark hood over his head; tall, regal-looking in black robes...his hands bound together in front of him with twine, his fingers creased and worn in a well-known pattern that she recognized instantly.
She stood, frozen, even as Seth tried to push her further forward. I know those hands.
Leor and Noa—whom Robin remembered had been absent until tonight—stood close to the hooded man, Leor with a firm grip on the man's arm. The remainder of the Coven turned to look at her as she stood outside of the triangle, their faces blank, their expressions remote.
Robin's lip trembled slightly, as she recalled the memory of the hands she saw now before her—turning the sacred pages of the Holy Book; outlining the sign of the cross over his heart—she recalled the gentle feel of them on the crown of her head, as she said her prayers, kneeling before him.
Juliano,” she whispered, so faint that he couldn't possibly have heard it—but the hooded man turned towards the sound of her voice.
Leor reached forward and pulled the blinding article off; Juliano stood before her, his white hair rumpled from the hood, his aged eyes squinting as they became accustomed to the fire-lit surroundings.
He looked towards her, and she felt her heart lurch up wildly into her chest. She was unable to move in her surprise, even when he addressed her by name.
“Robin,” he said, in the low and sturdy voice she had grown up revering. His voice was steady, without fear—but there was a heart-wrenching sadness now in her grandfather's eyes.
Seth had left her side, approaching the outer end of the gathering towards Juliano with a slow and steady stride. “One of the most influential men in SOLOMON; famous for training the most elite Craft-Users the organization has ever seen; the Master Hunter, Father Juliano Colegui,” he said, by way of introduction. He casually removed a cigar from the pocket of his slacks, holding it between his fingers as he regarded the aged priest. “What an honor. How fares the monastery in Pisa, Padre?
Robin looked from Juliano to Seth in confusion, and back again, still suspended in a paralyzing haze of disbelief.
Juliano was now glaring at the blond Witch standing before him. “Oh come now,” Seth entreated, baiting him, “I can ask, can't I?”
“Spare me the false pleasantries,” the priest said, slowly, “and do what you have brought me here, to do.” Robin's breath felt as though it were being squeezed out of her lungs; Seth's demeanor changed from amused to moderately irritated.
Still holding the unlit cigar in his hand, his head lowered, Seth circled the priest slowly. “Juliano Colegui,” he began sternly, “you are in direct violation of SOLOMON's prime objectives.” Now Robin turned to look at him, her mouth open in stunned dismay and confusion. “For not disclosing your full knowledge of the details of the termination of Project Robin, sixteen years earlier; for initiating an agenda that is contrary to SOLOMON's objectives; and for aiding and abetting the enemy of God.”
Robin was aghast. Violation of...SOLOMON... She could not look away from Seth, unbelievingly. He has lied to us.
She is not the enemy of God,” Juliano's firm timbre resonated throughout the courtyard, causing several of the Coven members to shiver at the sound. “You of the Cabal have neglected His true Work now, for far too long.”
“You betrayed all of us, by allowing her to live,” Seth said icily, “and you shall be punished for it.”
And you who have sown the wind,” Juliano countered, his voice gaining strength and scorn, “shall reap the whirlwind.
Seth turned to Noa, giving her a brief nod as a signal. To Juliano, he said casually as he turned away, “It's a pity your Craft is useless now, Padre.
Noa drew a pistol from where she stood behind the priest, and a shot rung out in the silence following his harsh edict; Juliano's body seized up, his face registering pain and surprise, before he fell forward.
A gasp went up from Robin, and she rushed toward the fallen priest, who was now on the ground within the triangle. She fell to her knees before him, crying out, her mouth a rictus of horror. “Juliano!
Seth calmly went about lighting his cigar with a match, sheltering the end with his hand in the cool night breeze.
Her grandfather slowly dying in the dust of the courtyard, Robin gently turned him over onto his back, resting his shoulders on her knees. She held his head tenderly. “Padre,” she whispered, tears flooding her vision and beginning to course down her face. Oh God...not this way. Please...not this way...
His eyes were still open. “Mia bambina,” he managed softly, “tutto va bene...I have had this a long time...in coming.” He breathed heavily through his mouth. “I have...cheated many...but Death is the one we cannot cheat.”
She wiped a grime of dirt from his cheek and took one of his bound hands in her own, her attention so focused on him that she did not see the figure dragged into the entrance of the courtyard.
“He humbles us...” Juliano continued, rasping, “makes honest men...of us all.” He attempted something of an ironic smile. “And she,” he said, gazing up at her and squeezing her hand gently, “comforts us...in our last hour...of need...”
His watery blue eyes, still fixed on her and clouding with impending death, softened then in a way that she had never before seen, in all her childhood years growing up with him. The sight decimated her, brought fresh tears to her own eyes; her lips trembled with the effort it took not to completely fall apart, as he took his last breaths. She knew he was beyond speech now; it was his only means of telling her that he loved her.
Ti voglio bene, nonno,” she whispered, and leaned in to kiss his forehead as she felt him grow still in her arms. Her tears flowed unbidden as she gently lowered his head to the ground.
She raised her head to look angrily back up at Seth, who was watching her intently, thoughtfully rolling the cigar between his fingers; as she did, the torches surrounding the courtyard flickered, abruptly growing brighter and gaining in strength. A familiar fire began to emerge from within the watery emerald depths.
Seth took notice of the activity of the torches around them, and held up a hand in her direction. “You shouldn't be doing that,” he cautioned; and pointed to the other end of the courtyard. Robin's eyes followed, widening at what she saw.
Amon. He had been presumably dragged in from somewhere—his hands bound behind his back—and he was in pain. His own blood decorated his dark clothing in splotches across his chest and torso.
He had been silent while she was on the ground holding Juliano, affording them their final goodbye to one another; but he called to her when he saw her look towards him. “Robin!”
She stood, an anxious expression on her face, as Hedya's gun barrel pressed itself against his chest.
“You see, we have a dilemma here,” Seth spoke around his cigar, conversationally.
Amon interrupted him. “Robin, incinerate them,” he ordered. “Burn them!” She hesitated, wincing.
Non,” Seth shook his head, waving his cigar in a no-no fashion. “If she does, we shall be forced to shoot you, Amon. We don't want that to happen.” He looked meaningfully at Robin. “Besides, I'm not quite certain she has the capability right now, as it is.”
A stricken look flashed briefly in Amon's eyes. “Robin,” he said again; she looked down in confusion and uncertainty.
“I had thought that perhaps Robin would be able to use her talents with us, as easily as she utilized them with you, Amon,” Seth went on. “But it appears that she has become so enamored of you—imprinted on you, so to speak—that her flame only works under your guidance.” He shook his head. “That is not going to appease the ones I report to.”
Robin recalled a flash of memory; Sela and Seth, arguing in the dining hall, about reporting to a mysterious entity whose orders he was disobeying...
“You killed Sela,” she whispered in realization; Seth turned to look at her, menacing anger growing in his eyes.
“As it is,” he continued, his voice becoming more vehement, “we have known all along what Robin is—the Devil's Child, il demonio—thanks to Amon's friend Touko, who recovered data files that her father had transferred...”
Amon shut his eyes and hung his head. Oh my God.
“...with which we were able to get an idea of what Toudou had been trying to accomplish,” Seth finished. He turned back to Robin.
“If you will allow yourself to be taken in willingly by SOLOMON, then no harm will come to Amon,” he said, his voice lowering with solemn promise. “I give you my word, tesoro.
The dark hunter was shaking his head in denial. “Robin, for God's sake, he's lied to you!” he yelled across the courtyard.
“I have been untrue, yes,” Seth admitted, his eyes never leaving the chestnut-haired witch's. “But this I am not lying about. Amon will not be harmed if you turn yourself over to us peacefully.”
She looked at the ground.
God has forsaken me, after all, she thought. ...Everyone around me, close to me, dies. And I am the cause of it. If I am `hope', why do I cause so much suffering?
She looked calmly back across the courtyard, at her bound guardian, bleeding and bruised; despite his pleading, his wild and frightened eyes, despite his concern for her—he still feared her, and what she could do to him.
I can't make him become what he is afraid to...and I won't let him forfeit his life for me again, as he nearly did before.
I love him. So, I will do this...for him.
Robin turned her eyes again to Seth. “Swear it,” she said, with all of the staunch authority she could muster in her voice. Then, despite her belief that he had abandoned her— “Swear it to God.
Amon, who had been holding his breath while holding her gaze, fell apart. “NO!” Goddammit, Robin!
“I swear to God, Amon will be spared,” Seth assured her, looking into her eyes as he covered his heart with his hand.
She turned her eyes once more to him, held captive on the other side of the courtyard—Amon was shouting at her, begging her to fight, begging her to set them all aflame; begging her to not give up on his account. Seth was nodding quickly at Leor, who had produced a syringe filled with an amber-colored fluid and was cautiously approaching her, lest she change her mind.
She felt Leor take her arm, firmly and roughly; she felt him drag the sleeve of her pilgrim's smock up to her elbow, exposing her vein, she felt the prick of the needle sliding into her skin and felt him depressing the syringe, releasing the fluid. Her eyes remained on Amon, even as she felt the tranquilizer instantly take effect; she heard his voice calling her as though she were underwater, softly muted and slightly warbled from her own pulse pounding in her ears. Her breathing grew heavy and slow as her body began to relax—she struggled to keep her eyes on him, but she felt her consciousness slipping away like sand through her fingers.
Amon was beyond consolation. He watched with horror as she allowed the administration of a tranquilizer, and he struggled against his own captors' restraints, shouting her name over and over again, demanding she act. His resistance and shouting abruptly ceased, as her features began to change and lose their shape before his eyes—to be replaced with his mother's.
Matoko looked at him sadly from across the courtyard with the same expression Robin had worn, resolute and sorrowful. You're so precious to me. He blinked, unbelieving, and again the visage was that of the young chestnut-haired witch, her vivid green eyes unfocussed, unsteady on her feet from the effects of the drug.
She slid to the ground, and Amon was forced to his knees by his captors in the dirt, his hands still bound behind him, his posture slumped in total defeat...his eyes watering, his mouth working without sound. Unaware of anything else around him, Amon did not care at that moment if he were to die—it would have been something of a welcome relief.
Instead, he heard the mumble of voices behind him, and then there was a crushing pain to the back of his skull—presumably a pistol whip—followed by merciful blackness.
 

 
Next chapter:
Apocalypse of Adam .... The Secret of Secrets....The Testament of Solomon. She who is called the End of All Flesh, Succubus, the Black Moon, the End of Days—shall be punished and put on display before God. Chapter 18.
 

 
 
Italian/other translations:
Duat: (Egyptian) The Egyptian Afterworld, ruled and judged by Osiris and sometimes Amon-Ra.
Buono Dio: Good God
cacciatore: hunter
La Matrona: The Mother
niente è facile: nothing is easy
buono: good
Nani: (Japanese) What
tesoro: darling, treasure
posso: may I
entrari: enter
È lei: and you
Perché: why
Ch'kso (slang form of “chikuso”): (Japanese) Dammit
Mi scusi: I'm sorry
Grazie: thank you
Padre: Father (priest)
Mia bambina: my child
tutto va bene: all is well, it's all right
ti voglio bene, nonno: I love you/wish you well, grandfather

 
A/N: Just wanted to list a couple of quote sources:
The line Jana says to Amon, “People do not like to think. If one thinks, one must reach conclusions. Conclusions are not always pleasant,” is a quote from Helen Keller.
Juliano's defiant quotation of scripture to Seth is from the Bible, Hosea 8:7 : "For they have sown the wind, and they shall reap the whirlwind."
Also, the song quote in the beginning, "The Scientist" by Coldplay, is a tribute to the amazing WHR music video ( by a person by the online name of cesselle1917) that I saw a couple of months ago on AMV(dot)org,using the same song. It was so moving—and fit exactly in with this particular chapter—that I had to incorporate it somehow. Cesselle, if you're reading this—thank you, for making such an awesome video.
;.; Heh heh. Hope you all don't hate me now.