Witch Hunter Robin Fan Fiction ❯ The Burning Time ❯ Lilith ( Chapter 18 )

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

Anime/Manga: Witch Hunter Robin Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Romance / Occult / Hentai / Drama | Type: Continuation | Uploaded On: 04.29.2006 | Pages: 9 | Words: 18.0K | Visits: 839 | Status: Work In Progress

 
The Burning Time
Chapter 18: Lilith
 
 
Faust: Who can that be?
Mephistopheles: Observe her with great care! That's Lilith.
Faust: Who?
Mephistopheles: Adam's first wife. Beware
That lovely hair of hers, those tresses
Which she incomparably delights to wear!
The young man whom she lures into their snare
She will not soon release from her caresses.
 —"Faust" by Johann Wolfgang Goethe
 .
.
“The female of Sama'el is called Serpent,
Woman of Whoredom,
End of All Flesh, End of Days.
She bedecks herself with all kinds of jewelry, like an abhorrent prostitute posing on the corner to seduce men. The fool who approaches her—she grabs him and kisses him, pours him wine from the dregs, from the venom of vipers.
As soon as he drinks, he strays after her. Seeing him stray from the path of truth, she strips herself of all her finery that she dangled before that fool, her adornments for seducing men:
her hair all arranged, red as a rose,
her face white and red,
six trinkets dangling from her ears,
her bed covered with fabric from Egypt,
on her neck all the jewels of the East,
her lips beautiful, red and sweet with all the sweetness of the world.
This fool follows her, drinks from the cup of wine, fornicates with her, deviates after her. What does she do? She leaves him sleeping in bed.
That fool wakes up and plans to play with her as before.
But she removes her decorations, and turns into a powerful warrior confronting him.
Arrayed in armor of flashing fire,
her awesome terror vibrates the victim's body and soul. She is full of fearsome eyes; in her hand a sharp-edged sword drips bitter drops.
She kills that fool and flings him into hell.”
---Zohar, Sitrei Torah 1:147b-148b
 .
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He recalled an old memory, one he hadn't thought of in many, many years.
It was in Europe, two years after the incident with his mother. Still a young boy, but he now possessed an awareness of something dark, an understanding that sinister elements were all around him. This awareness manifested itself in his refusal to smile, in his anti-social behavior and inherent mistrust of others, in his calculating gray eyes.
Nevertheless, it didn't seem to faze her. She stood before him, gazing at him with what he thought of as an unsettling combination of affection and hopefulness over her very swollen and very pregnant belly.
The Japanese man he'd been introduced to was telling him the woman's name, but Amon wasn't entirely listening. He was studying her carefully, momentarily entranced by her long sweep of chestnut-blonde hair and sparkling verdant eyes.
“Amon-san,” she said gently, her smile more evident in her eyes than on her lips; and she leaned down slightly to extend a slim, white hand, presumably in greeting.
He stared at it. He'd known she was obviously not Japanese, but this confirmed it beyond anything; he had no intention of shaking her hand. He nodded at her, instead.
The woman retracted the hand, not in the least disheartened by his indifference. “How old are you, Amon-san?” she asked.
“Nine,” he answered solemnly. Then, without having been prompted, he spoke again, which was unusual for him. “Almost ten.”
“Sugoi,” she said with quiet happiness, still smiling at him with that strange, hopeful expression. Amon was not used to people paying so much attention to him, much less having them smile at him so often. It made him distinctly uncomfortable.
The man standing beside her was telling Amon that they were to travel to Japan, which was why she was brushing up on her nihongo. They were leaving soon, he said, and would have to be on their way. Amon ignored the man again, and instead focused on the woman who appeared so enamored of him…why did she seem as though she were happy to see him, even during such a brief meeting as this?
“Take care, Amon-san,” she whispered, leaning forward as much as she could despite her enormous belly to deliver the words as quietly as possible. “Keep yourself safe, and alive.” Again her half-smile returned.
“You will do something very important, someday...”
...someday.... The woman's words were interspersed in his mind with that of someone else's, something told to him years ago...something he'd tried hard to forget, and was just now surfacing in his memories...
...someday... ...someday....
... someday you will know when the right time is—
—protect what is—
—you are so precious to me—
 
***
 
Amon's mind passed into another moment of lucidity sometime later. He could hear and feel—the sounds of tires on pavement, the swaying of his body with the movement of the car—but he could see nothing but darkness. A small strip of cloth was wound tightly against his face; hazily he deduced he'd been blindfolded. He willed himself to be still so as not to alert others. Voices…members of the Coven were speaking in low tones all around him; yet he could not pick up either Seth's smooth timbre, nor Robin's soft whisper in the quiet cacophony.
…Where?
Amon focused on controlling his breathing, to sustain the illusion that he was still asleep. It seemed that the only possibility open to him was to wait for an opportune moment…whenever it presented itself.
Be calm, he thought, in an effort to assuage his unease. Control your fear. But behind closed lids, he saw Juliano Colegui on the ground, bleeding; he saw Robin holding her fallen grandfather, tears coursing her face; he saw the defeat in her gaze when she looked upon him, hopelessly devoid of that stubborn will she'd so often displayed. That single look in her emerald eyes had nearly destroyed him—had virtually laid waste any shred of hope still simmering within him.
Be calm. It was easy enough to think such thoughts; but practicing them was another thing entirely.
His discomfort turned, as it so naturally was wont, to anger. Goddammit, Robin, how could you listen to him? he wondered, recalling Seth's empty promise. How could you trusthim, after what he did?
Even if Seth had miraculously told the truth and he wasn't to be harmed, Amon couldn't comprehend how she could turn herself over so easily to them. She knew how important her survival was as the Eve; to Toudou, to Juliano, to Maria, to Jana...
...Didn't she? he asked himself. Belatedly and with trepidation, he realized all but one on that list were already dead.
How could she not have known?
He wondered now what had happened to that unshakable faith he'd witnessed, both in Japan and in Sovana, when they had realized they were being hunted. Robin had been forthright and cunning, strong enough to inspire his own faith, then…she had literally held him up following the first incident in Siena. She had bravely insisted they return to the city, to recover valuable information on Benedetto at the risk of both their lives.
But something had changed, recently. It was as if she'd crept into his head, been privy to his thoughts, and seen his own disillusion, his fear; she herself had conceded to it. Now she had surrendered, and they were at SOLOMON's mercy—of which he knew there would be none. He had an idea of what lay in store for Robin at their hands.
And he was powerless to stop any of it.
The worst part is that youare directly responsible. You pushed her away, he reminded himself. When she needed you, you abandoned her. You denied her. Just as you did when...
His self-hate was interrupted by the backtracking of his thoughts. She needed you. Her Craft had weakened, and she needed you…she became stronger, in your presence…
And if her origins were of the same design as his, crafted using genes from the divine lineage; then it meant that as she was the Eve…
…I am the Adam.
The Adam of Witches. Simultaneously God and the Devil, the Protector and Destroyer, Jana had said.
The truth always has more than one side to it, Amon.
The sudden deceleration and subsequent stop of the car jolted him; Amon strained to listen as he heard Seth's voice, quiet and yet firmly authoritative.
“Remove him. Then take her to the inner chamber.”
Just as suddenly, he felt a hand take his arm and push the sleeve upwards. He was startled, but didn't outwardly react until he felt the prick of the needle against his inner arm—then he struggled, blind and frantic, finally realizing what was happening.
He didn't have much time to dwell on it. The needle slipped easily into his vein, and he felt his consciousness draining once more, as a low Italian voice reached his ear.
“Buon notte, Amon,” the voice said, before darkness enveloped him.
 
***
 
She was once again at the Roman convent, with the priest whom had sheltered her as long as she had been able to remember.
Robin and Juliano said hushed prayers together in the dim light of the study. His warm, wrinkled hand covered the chestnut crown of her head protectively, paternally, as she knelt on the floor before him. The recollection was so vivid that she could smell the leather of the bound holy book open on a nearby table; she could feel the warmth of her grandfather's hand; she could hear the low tenor of his voice as he recited from the Scripture.
As immersed in it as she was, Robin knew it to be a dream. She knew he was gone. She fought to forcibly suppress the acute ache she felt at the memory of his death.
There is a reason I am remembering this particular fragment of time with him, now, she thought; something encouraged her to pinpoint exactly when the moment had taken place. I had just turned fifteen, four months prior....this was two months before I was to join the STN-J in Japan.
Juliano slowly lifted his weathered hand from her head upon completion of the prayer, sitting back in his chair as he observed her still kneeling at his feet. “Mia bambina,” he said quietly, in his reserved manner that neither implied nor lacked affection. She tilted her young face up to meet his eyes in response.
The priest removed a slip of paper from the folds of his dark robes. Concealed within the paper was what appeared to be a wrinkled photograph, worn with age.
“It is time, bambina, that I honor my obligations,” he said lowly.
Before she could ask the meaning of such a cryptic comment, Juliano was removing the photograph from the paper and holding it in such a fashion so that she could make out the figure. It was a man, a young man; short, ruffled dark hair that came just over his ears and brushed against the nape of his neck, chiseled features, dark eyes brimming with unyielding fury at the offending camera.
“This is the leader of the STN-J, whom you will be working with very closely; you are to be assigned as his new collega,” Juliano went on to explain, as he handed her the photograph and she examined it with interest. She cradled it in her hands, as if it were a precious thing. “His name is Amon.
“It is a few years old, the picture. He was twenty-two at the time this was taken; he is twenty-five years old now,” he told her, as she studied the image carefully. “He is a cautious man...few are able to get close to him, even fewer know him. When you arrive in Japan—in addition to your other task that I have debriefed you on, the search for the Arcanum—you are to report back to me as to the status of Amon's Craft, if it has yet awakened....”
Already Robin's attention was diverted; she heard and understood the words the priest spoke, but she was absorbed with studying the angular lines of the photographed man's face, the sensuous yet stern curve of his lower lip; the molten silver quality of his dark gray eyes. She could not take her eyes off of it for one moment. Robin had never before been assigned a partner while working for SOLOMON in Italy; she had done reconnaissance on her own, and hunted, mostly in the background, with Juliano or other Masters of the Craft. Now she was to be assigned to someone, to work closely with someone—to become a part, a half that contributed to a whole. The idea was immensely pleasing to her.
Amon, she thought to herself, saying his name aloud in her thoughts, imprinting it on her consciousness. Amon. Even later that night in her room, after the nuns had gone to sleep, she pulled the picture out from where she had tucked it away behind her pillow, and gazed at it again in the moonlight.
My partner, Amon. By the time she had arrived in Japan to join the STN-J, Robin had memorized every aspect of the young man's features. She had envisioned his face changing as he spoke to her; she had lain awake at night, wondering what the timbre of his voice sounded like. She had been anticipating their first meeting, as partners, with a childishly exuberant excitement.
That was why I was staring at him so curiously that day at Harry's, she reflected, recalling the moment they'd passed each other in the hall. I had recognized him from his picture.
Another voice, that of a young woman, asked in her head, But is that why?
Che? Robin blinked, and the scenario at Harry's faded from her mind's view. She attempted to place the formless spoken words; she had heard the Witch Methuselah speak in her mind this way to her before, but this was far more youthful a sound and did not resemble the deceased Witch's voice.
In her dream, she saw herself surrounded by darkness; she heard the invisible voice all around her. Her mind's eye focused to find the source, if it had a physical shape...
Is that why you recognized him? From the picture? the voice asked gently. It was many years old. Is that where you truly knew him from?
What do you mean? Robin asked, her confusion beginning to replace her curiosity as to the voice's origin. I don't understand.
The softly spoken words continued in her head. Who isAmon?
Robin struggled with her reply. He is...my partner....he is my warden, she answered, but she could feel the waves of disapproval radiate from the disembodied voice. He is....he... She faltered.
The names heard in the world, deceive, the hushed female voice replied quietly, knowingly; and Robin's curiosity was piqued again. It sounded so familiar, this voice...
The next words, however, were delivered in a slightly scolding tone: As you know that Seth has deceived. What have you done, surrendering yourself so? Amon needs you, needs you to be alive, with him....you cannot give up hope so easily.
I have done this for Amon, Robin insisted sadly, resolutely, to save his life.
Have you saved his life....or condemned it, along with your own?
Robin's dream mind recoiled at the prospect. Condemned it?...
How long do you think he will live, without you? the voice asked. He cannot go back to them, knowing what he does now. It is impossible.
Now the young chestnut-haired Witch was despondent. But I can't be with him; he is afraid that I will bring his downfall, that I will cause him to become that which he fears...
And you believe his awakening to be his downfall? the voice asked. You believe as he does, that he is the Devil?
In her dream, Robin buried her head in her hands. Non lo so. Non lo so… The world swirled helplessly around her.
 
***
 
In the quiet marble interior of the Siennese cathedral, seated on a rather uncomfortable stone bench, Seth waited impatiently. The late morning sun had already appeared through the stained glass windows, casting water-colored hues on the walls and floors. He gazed from time to time nonchalantly at the elegant mosaics of biblical and mythological scenes surrounding him, before dropping curt glances at his wristwatch.
He was growing restless; the Archbishop had been detained for the last hour or so, and he had business to attend to of his own. Granted, it was not nearly as importante as the assembly of the Cardinals, but it was significant nevertheless.
It was not headquarters, he thought; but the secluded conclave in Siena that they were holed up in would do for now, particularly after SOLOMON had evacuated most of the civilian population. There was no sense in garnering unnecessary public interest over their activities.
He gazed around the interior of the Duomo once more. There were worse places to be, no doubt. Siena was rich with history and myth. Perhaps this city, this church, was the very site where she had first reappeared, after two thousand years—
He straightened and stood, as an adjacent door to the lobby opened, and watched as several men dressed in long red robes slowly exited the makeshift conference room, ducking their heads piously as they passed. Seth lowered his eyes reverently.
Finally a priest appeared in the doorway and motioned to him. “Archbishop Vasile will see you now, signore,” he said. Seth nodded and followed him inside.
Seated behind a mahogany desk, in an opulently decorated chair, was Vasile. The older man waved a hand towards the blond witch as he entered. “Come forward,” he entreated.
Seth stepped inside the room as the priest exited and closed the door behind him. Turning and facing the Archbishop, he heard Vasile speak again.
“I apologize sincerely for making you wait, my son. The assembly of the College took longer than expected, this hour.”
“Non c'è problema,” Seth responded, shaking his head dismissively. “I understand how busy you and the Cardinals are, signore.” He folded his hands before him, in a polite gesture. “Because of this, I trust this will be a brief discuss—”
“What I have to say, will not take long.” Vasile's manner had quickly turned serious with the interruption, and Seth was instantly alert. “First and foremost—where are they?”
Seth steeled himself. “They are both sedated, bound and blindfolded. She is in the cellar stronghold; he is imprisoned in the Duomo's tower.”
The Archbishop nodded, then sat back slightly in his chair, eyeing the young man. “You know that we do not take kindly to ulterior motives, my son,” he stated, slowly and carefully enunciating his words. Seth forcibly kept his expression completely blank.
“You were given strict orders to turn Robin Sena into our custody, the instant you were able to comply; instead, you concealed the fact that she was in your possession, up until the last possible moment. You deliberately disobeyed us, Seth.” The older man ducked his head as he continued, and Seth's eyes narrowed. “What is more, you willingly jeopardized the success of the entire effort.”
Despite his anger, Seth respectfully kept the reproach from his voice. “Archbishop, signore,” he entreated, “it took longer than I had anticipated to make certain Sena was not an immediate threat, and to elucidate her weaknesses...” He attempted his argument further, but Vasile cut him off.
“We don't want to hear your excuses for why you have done so,” the Archbishop seethed. “We want to know, with complete certainty, that you will not do it again.”
Vasile's eyes then softened somewhat paternally. “Seth, you must understand that of the hunters your age, your skill level—you are the favorite, il figlio prodigo; it is why we have given you such responsibility at a young age, why we hand-selected you to lead this army of the Cabal, with such extremely talented Craft-users." Vasile cocked his head, his gaze roving over the young male Witch. "You are a great source of pride for us."
The Archbishop's praise wasn't softening the blow to Seth's ego. His features nearly livid, he waited as Vasile went on: “That said; we do expect a great deal of loyalty from you and from your Coven.”
Barely disguising the anger in his voice, Seth unconsciously directed a rigid index finger towards the man in the chair before him. “I have nothing to prove to you or the Cardinals, or to anyone else in this organization for that matter,” he seethed. “I have always done as instructed, with regards to Hunts. I did as you asked, with Sela. I did as you asked with Juliano. I did both of those things without question...without the slightest hesitation.”
He paused, collecting himself, and lowered his hand almost as a belated realization. His posture straightened. “I do not deserve to have my integrity challenged in this manner.”
Vasile nodded slowly, appearing sympathetic but obviously skeptical. “Of course,” he said, searching the young man's face with wariness. “But you understand, simply performing the tasks we set before you is not the same as showing us that we have your full trust, that there is no room for uncertainty in your work.”
Seth eyed him levelly for a long moment. “There is no uncertainty, signore.” The finality in his voice, combined with his firm countenance, seemed to placate the Archbishop. The older man visibly relaxed.
“Buono.” Vasile's eyes drifted down to the mahogany desk as he set about rearranging the paperwork before him. “Then I shall trust that you will allow us to take her out of your hands, so that we may effectively see to the plans that we have laid out for la succube as soon as possible.”
Seth carefully concealed a slight expression of distaste at the Italian used. To satiate his own curiosity, he asked, “And those plans entail what, exactly?”
Vasile glanced back up at him, his features suggesting he was surprised to hear such a question from the young Hunter. “Il auto de fe,” he replied easily, as though it should have been blatantly obvious, before returning to the task before him at his desk.
The blond Witch felt a lead weight settle in his gut at the response. Auto de fe. The `act of faith'. Seth had not seen such punishment doled out in his service to the organization for several years; even so, the unpleasant memory of the last one witnessed still lingered on in his mind. He pursed his lips, his blue eyes deep in thought.
The realization that SOLOMON intended to put Robin to the stake had caught him off guard. He'd thought that if she were indeed unsalvageable, the least that would be done would be to end her life quickly, give her a swift and painless death…not such a torturous, drawn-out spectacle as this...
Seth found himself meeting Vasile's upward glance once more; he tightened his features carefully. He had just told the Archbishop there was no uncertainty within him, and he wasn't about to go back on his word now.
Giving a curt nod of affirmation, he turned to leave the room shortly thereafter, feeling the clergyman's eyes on him as he did.
 
***
 
The voice inside her head was relentless. The questions came at her from all sides.
Is this purgatory? Robin wondered, absently.
Amon's strength depends on your continued survival, the insistent voice chanted.
Amon has turned away from me, Robin argued. He does not want me to awaken him.
You are Hope. His awakening is inevitable.
Is it `hope', to condemn the one person who has believed in me, to a fate he doesn't want? she responded, resentful. I want what is best for him—if it means that he wishes to never awaken, then I do not want him to.
So then you would give up, so easily? Now, when the fate of your kind stands upon a precipice?
Juliano's death was a sign, Robin insisted. I have caused enough grief. God has abandoned me…it was a mistake to believe otherwise.
Your God has done nothing of the sort. He will never abandon you; he is of you, and you are his.
`My' God? she asked, in confusion.
It has not dawned on you who he is? Do you know who youare?
Robin answered, I am the Eve— No, not only that. The villagers believe I am the Witches' pilgrim, Aradia…
You answer half-heartedly, the voice chided, but you do not truly know what it means in your heart, to be that which you are. You must learn to make the same choices that you have, until now, punished others for making. You must take it upon yourself to know where both judgment and forgiveness lie. Are you ready for such tasks?
Judgement? The recollections of Jana's stories, excerpts of myth, came to her unbidden. Aradia had been taught to work all witchcraft...how to destroy men of evil.
…You shall bind the oppressor's soul with power...you shall teach the art of poisoning...ruin his harvest with tempest...
…The myth says that she was created from the fire of the eyes of Ra, as a creature of vengeance...to punish Man for his sins.
And Idetermine what these sins are? Iam the one who says right from wrong? Robin asked, incredulous. Blasphemy…
Not everyone thinks as you do, was the response. You will have to be strong, and benevolent, to earn their trust and respect. And you will have to punish those who stand against you, or all will be lost.
Robin despaired. She had heard enough; she wrapped her arms around her thin frame. Leave me alone, she whispered to it, as its chanting reverberated maddeningly throughout her mind. I did only what I thought was right…it doesn't matter now. All is already lost. What is done cannot be undone.
The voice sighed gently. Lost one, don't you know, by now? Nothing is ever done, it whispered again, cajoling and nurturing;all is in constant motion—ending, beginning, ending again, and repeating. It is the endless cycle of renewal.
You were not meant to do this alone. This is the same place you both have been, before, over and over again...
Recognition finally clicked, as the voice spoke; in her mind's eye, Robin pulled her head from the sanctuary of her hands. She turned her face upwards in the darkness, towards the compassion she had heard in the ghostly feminine whisper. Mother? Is it you? Maria? she asked, hopefully, brightly.
The response was saddened. You will find neither finality nor peace in death, Robin. You haven't, for as long as you have existed.
And how long…have I existed? she wondered.
Silence.
Mother, Robin pleaded, turning round in circles in the darkness, searching for the comforting sound. Mother, speak to me.
But in lieu of the voice, she was inundated instead with a montage of images before her, colors and sounds and feelings. Memories; thoughts that were hers, and yet not hers—This is the same place we've been, before?
Two lovers, torn apart and wistfully pining for one another over an impossible distance, yearning and grieving; both reconciled to living out the remainder of their days in emptiness, without the other. Amon…
A young daughter, crying out for her father's arms as she's taken from him; screaming for him, calling his name. The agony of separation, as he watches her go, tears coursing down his face. Always, the ache.
Amon, don't leave me.
A boy, standing over a freshly dug grave.
Amon, don't make me leave you…
It was almost too much to bear. So much pain…so much loneliness, and sadness. No end to it.
Oh God…oh, God, I understand, now. It was you and I, the entire time.
She remembered his face, the serene, gentle sadness—the acceptance—as the well closed above her in the basement of Raven's Flat; the harsh sound of her cries in the darkness afterwards, as she heard his body fall to the ground.
The look in his eyes—full of disbelief and helplessness, terror and love—as she calmly and purposefully surrendered to Seth in the torch-lit courtyard. I understand now. She wept; though her physical body was somnolent, tears trailed her cheek onto the cold hard ground she rested upon.
Amon…all this time, parting, leaving…ripped apart from one another….and we never even have time to say goodbye.
 
***
 
Walking along the short stretch outside from the Duomo to the tower, Seth was lost in thought. Things hadn't turned out exactly as he'd thought they would.
For one, he was surprised at the insistence of the ritual of auto de fe. It was an archaic, outdated practice that in his opinion, bordered on barbarism. Centuries ago the `act of faith' had been the norm for the eradication of accused Witches; however, with the advent of news and media, such ecclesiastical displays attracted too much public attention and were generally discouraged. SOLOMON was loath to allow the common public to scrutinize its actions. Perhaps this had been their plan for her all along, and thus the civilian evacuations from il Campo and its surrounding area…
A part of him realized that he hadn't recently thought of the practice as barbaric, until that very moment. After all, he'd done his share of encouraging the young fire-Witch to incinerate their targets. Was it so different? Had this girl managed to influence him, so easily...?
“Signore,” a Spanish-accented male voice said, slightly winded; he belatedly realized Chanan had caught up to him without his knowledge. “What is the word on the captives?”
Seth regained his wits. “Captives?” he asked, before it settled into his mind. He resumed walking. “Si. According to the Archbishop, we are to perform the auto de fe tonight.”
“For her?” Chanan confirmed, nodding succinctly as though he had guessed Robin's fate all along; Seth eyed the Spaniard warily. “And as for Amon?”
“E non determinato a.” The blond Witch looked pensively out towards the center of il Campo, as they approached the tower.
Chanan nodded once more. “It is unwise to think that he will be able to re-assimilate back into the organization, so soon. I think it's advisable that he undergoes retraining, of some sort—”
“What do you think of the Lilith Doctrine?” Seth interrupted suddenly. Chanan looked at him in surprise.
“Lilith? She is a demoness, the sister-mate of the Devil,” the Spaniard replied as they walked, “seductive and beautiful...but a killer. He acts through her: `Deeds are wrought by Lilith with the power of Samael'...”
“I'm not asking you to regurgitate the Doctrine itself,” Seth clarified, somewhat annoyed. “Do you believe that this girl, this Robin Sena, is the demoness that it speaks of?”
“Sul serio, you are asking me this? You know as well as I do, that the Cabal has denounced her as such.”
“Si, lo so,” Seth responded patiently, glancing around il Campo as they talked. “But I'm not so sure the Cardinals are right on this one.” He managed a half-smirk, despite himself. “I was expecting Lilith to be a bit more…conniving.”
Chanan looked surprised, but upheld his belief nevertheless. “Regardless of whether she is conniving or not, Robin is that demoness.”
“And what is the proof?”
“The proof is before our own eyes, signore,” Chanan argued. “Look at her similarity to the descriptions of Lilith in the scriptures; `a maiden from the head to the navel, and from the navel down, flaming fire.' This girl being able to have full-blooded Witches as children, as Lilith would bear nothing but demons. Toudou recreated her to spite SOLOMON—he says it himself, in his recording unearthed from Japan, calling her `akuma no ko', the Devil Child.” The Spaniard's expression became one of impatient concern. “You have seen this footage.”
“I have seen what parts of the footage that were retrieved, si,” Seth replied testily.
“Lilith is a destroyer. As is Robin; she is dangerous,” Chanan asserted, his voice a harsh whisper as they stopped before the entrance of the tower. “You cannot dispute that.”
“No one can, and I certainly won't,” the blond Witch offered. His voice lowered and became adamant. “But I have a bad feeling, about this. I refuse to believe that is the entirety of what she is capable of doing. Lore dictates differently...”
The Spaniard scoffed at his suggestion. “Still, with the myths. Your `lore', as well as your `Goddess', are both lies.” Chanan continued, shaking his head. His voice became solemn and serious. “Seth, signore, let go of this nonsense. We played along for the sake of the girl and the Hunter, but we know Diana is nothing but a folktale; the made-up delusion of Witches. The facts are simple, and true. You make it more convoluted than it should be.”
Ignoring Seth's icy glare, the Spaniard was subtly patronizing as he began to ascend the tower steps, his words trailing behind him in his wake. “You've read too much mythology, signore.”
 
***
 
The boot collided hard with Amon's midsection, and he felt the breath being expelled too quickly and too painfully from his lungs.
“Budiulo.” The kick delivered to the dark hunter's ribs was accompanied by Leor's low growl; Amon, blindfolded and hands helplessly bound behind his back, tuned the pain out as he was so accustomed to doing, as he had done his entire life.
With each blow he thought, Numb yourself. Cancel it out. He coughed out ragged breaths.
“Not so tough are you, now, Amon,” Leor sneered contemptuously. He waited until the object of his abuse had slowly and painfully righted himself again to a seated position, before backhanding him roughly across the face.
“Arrogant son-of-a—”
“That's quite enough, Leor,” Seth's voice intoned. Leor stopped, foot literally in mid-air, looking towards where Seth and Chanan stood from the cell's open doorway. The dark-haired Italian man paused reluctantly before stepping away from the prisoner.
Amon regained his breath, his chest heaving, and stared sightlessly ahead of him in the blindfold, not bothering to turn towards the voices by the door. They would speak to him soon enough, he was certain.
Footsteps came toward him, and a moment later he felt the blindfold being ripped away from his eyes. Amon blinked, squinting, allowing his eyes to adjust to the afternoon light coming into the window of the tower cell; he looked up, his disheveled dark hair framing his face.
Seth was smiling down at him. “Buon pomeriggio,” he said, good-naturedly. “Come va?” Amon made no move to respond, lowering his gaze to stare straight ahead of him, his mouth fixed in line.
Seth's blue eyes flicked down to what the restraints exposed of the prisoner's arms. “I hear that the injuries that you sustained from Gideon are healing quite nicely,” he commented casually. “Hedya said they barely needed new bandages this morning.”
Not gifted with a response, the blond Witch walked nonchalantly to the open window, hands clasped loosely behind his back. “I hope you're not too uncomfortable up here,” he remarked, gazing out at the scenery below. “Quite a nice view, although I realize you're not exactly at liberty to enjoy it from where you are. Il Duomo's tower provides an excellent aerial view of il Campo and the surrounding structure...there's nowhere else like it.” He sighed appreciatively. “Siena is truly magnifico.” He turned back to face the prisoner on the floor. “I'm sure you'd appreciate it, if you could.”
Amon's vacant expression was unchanged.
Seth's eyes flicked towards the doorway where both Chanan and Leor still stood, before returning to Amon briefly. He looked away as he pulled a cigar from the pocket of his slacks. “Gentlemen, would you excuse us for a moment?” he asked, retrieving his book of matches from his other pocket and setting about lighting one. He lit the cigar, puffing on it vigorously, and looked back up to see both aforementioned men watching him with dumbfounded expressions. He removed the cigar from his mouth.
“Partite.” Chanan and Leor shuffled out unceremoniously at the sound of the firm command, leaving confused glances in their wakes. The fortified cell door was shut behind them.
Seth turned again back to Amon. He watched the bound dark-haired hunter from across the stone tile room; Amon hadn't moved, looked, or even flinched as the cell door had been slammed shut. The blond Witch finally exhaled, a long-suffering sigh, and folded his arms across his chest.
“Not feeling particularly chatty today, hm?” he asked, conversationally. “Capisco. I imagine the events that unfolded between last night and this morning were very…unexpected.” He rolled the cigar between his fingers thoughtfully, as he regarded his prisoner with expectation. “Still…I was certain that you would have some questions for me.”
Still there was no answer. His patience beginning to wear thin, Seth offered a bait. “I would have thought, at the very least, that you'd be somewhat curious to know what we plan to do with the girl.”
His gamble paid off. Amon raised his head, his dark eyes now fixed on Seth, the steel-gray hate burning through his only outward sign of emotion.
“You've lied about everything else up until now,” Amon reasoned, his voice abrasive with disuse.
Seth nodded, as though to himself. “But you already know what her fate is, don't you, Amon,” he said resignedly, wearily, watching as the dark-haired hunter's countenance hardened at the words.
He slowly paced the other end of the room, still casually brandishing his cigar. “You've heard of the auto de fe, haven't you?” he queried. “You've most likely never been witness to it; you were raised for the most part in the Orient. But perhaps you've heard of it. We do things much differently here, in the homeland.” He paused, and saw that Amon waited for him to continue.
“It is, in essence, the ceremony accompanying the judgment by the Inquisition. In a matter of hours, this auto de fe will begin with a reading of the Testament of Solomon; the ancient, two-thousand year old doctrine describing King Solomon's control of the earliest known compendium of demons. In it, you'll find references to a certain female demoness held capture by him, who goes by a myriad of names. `End of Days', the `Black Moon'.” Seth paused. “The one she is most commonly known as in Hebrew scripture is Lilith.”
Amon's face changed to display anger and disbelief. Seth nodded at his reaction. “Yes, miei amico…what the scientist implied in the video is true. Robin is Lilith, reborn.”
“You're lying,” Amon rasped.
“Hardly.” Seth resumed pacing across the cell. “Do you recall Toudou's exact words in the message he'd made for Zaizen? Devil's Child. Eve of Witches. Beyond wielding fire, Lilith in scripture is the mother of the lilin—which makes her the `Eve' of full-blooded demons. Robin, according to Toudou, was destined to be the mother of our modern-day demons—Witches.” Satisfied with his explanation, he replaced the cigar in his mouth momentarily, his expression calculating as he looked across the cell once more.
Amon understood then what he had already known on a conscious level, after the Coven's revelations the previous night: the Witchcraft rituals we witnessed were just a farce, entirely for our benefit.
“Witches aren't demons,” he asserted, his voice rough. “And neither is Robin.”
A frown came over the blond man's face. “Witches have always been labeled `demons', Amon,” Seth replied vigorously. “You know this, as a member of SOLOMON; you know that because of their powers, Witches are more likely to yield to the temptations of evil, of demonic thoughts and possession.” He regarded Amon thoughtfully. “I'm wondering why I have to explain this to you.”
You don't, was the dark hunter's response in his own head. He had grown up with this indoctrination; it was nothing he hadn't heard before. Such power corrupted, too easily.
Seth went on, “If Toudou were to have had his way, Robin would have survived to bear an army of full-blooded Witches—not Seeds—powerful beyond compare, and totally destructive.” He shook his head as he faced the prisoner on the floor. “Can you imagine it, Amon? They would be unstoppable; they would not spare those who were weaker. They would repopulate the earth, having obtained the ability to spread their genes in each generation. SOLOMON would fall, in such anarchy. Eventually humanity as we know it would cease to exist.”
A realization dawned within Amon…he hasn't been shown the entire tape. Seth hadn't heard of Witches being worshipped as gods. He didn't know that a mutation had denied them as the successors of humanity; he didn't know that SOLOMON had directly interfered with evolution.
All Seth knew was that Robin was a `Devil's Child', nothing more. If he knew the entire truth…
“Do you really want that on your conscience, miei amico?” Seth continued quietly, leaning against the wall. “God knows we already have enough on ours as Witches ourselves, you and I.
“Although…I suppose it's not entirely factual to label you as a Witch,” Seth continued, approaching the prisoner on the floor and hunkering down to meet his eyes levelly, “seeing as you have never awakened to your Craft.”
Amon turned his face away, his unease darkening into anger. They had obviously done their homework on him; he'd been played the fool, many times over.
Seth examined the dark-haired man closely. “They watched you for years, waiting for you to come into your power; all for naught.” He sighed, shaking his head. “I don't blame you. I dreaded the emergence of my own Craft, cursed the moment it had awoken. I felt I lost part of myself that day.” His eyes were momentarily far away, reflective.
He turned them on the prisoner once more, standing up. “Of course, there are some among us who believe that you might be just as dangerous, or even more so, than she is.” Seth tipped the ashes on his cigar. “They are in the minority; but there are some who believe that a Samael, an `Adam of Witches' exists, created by yet another researcher before Toudou's time. The counterpart to Robin's Eve.” Unseen by Seth, Amon went completely still.
Seth finished his statement with a smirk. “Some of them believed that it was you.”
Holding his breath, Amon felt his heart pounding out a painful new tempo within his ribcage. The hunter that attacked us, he thought, suddenly recalling the Craft-user in Siena who had targeted him, in lieu of Robin. He became acutely aware of how vulnerable he was, chained like this; Seth could kill him quickly and easily if he so chose.
But his dread was unwarranted; they had no tangible proof. He alone was in possession of Benedetto's journals—the sole works that implicated him as the Adam. Only he and Jana knew the entire truth of it.
Seth had no idea how close he was to that truth, now.
“However,” the blond Witch continued, oblivious to Amon's internal discourse, “that notion was challenged when it was found that you were still powerless. Robin's Craft developed at an early age. It stands to reason that another such crafted witch would have done the same.” Seth paced the room again as before. “Seeing as we can find no evidence from either Toudou, or any of his former colleagues to support the idea of an Adam, we can assume that it's pure conjecture at this point. Even,” he turned back, “despite the fact that you, one of our best Hunters, Amon, took it upon yourself to abandon your duties as a SOLOMON operative in order to become her warden.” His voice held a faintly amused lilt at the end.
Seth looked fondly at Amon now, a half-grin forming on his lips, shaking his head as though the dark-haired hunter were a misbehaving child. He folded his arms across his chest, leaning once more against the brick wall behind him. “Oh believe me, signore, I saw how you looked at the girl,” he smirked, and Amon's blood turned to ice. “I even have an idea of what may have transpired between the two of you.
“Really, Amon,” he drawled, “did you find it that necessary to go after the under-aged ingénue? You could have had any other woman you wished—I've seen pictures of this Touko Masaki, she's gorgeous,” he inserted casually, “and yet, you chose to be the warden of one so young, it's nearly criminal for a man of your age.” He lifted his chin. “To say nothing of what kind of man seduces a girl raised in a convent…”
When he received no outward response from Amon, Seth could not resist another bait. He moved closer, ducking his head in attempt to meet the other's lowered eyes, his words hushed and confidential. “Just entirely out of personal curiosity…I have to know.” He stood directly over the prisoner, leaning down towards him. “We have not yet done a thorough examination of Robin, but I trust she is still…unspoiled?”
Seething with rage, Amon threw all of his seated weight forward as far as he could—the manacles holding his wrists behind him clinked as the chains secured to the wall were yanked taut. The sudden movement forward, accompanied by Amon's growl, startled Seth enough that he jumped back slightly in response.
“God damn you,” Amon snarled, his chest heaving, dark eyes flashing hate.
Seth took several steps back, adjusting his sport coat in a subtle effort to cover how shaken he was at the sudden display of strength. “Well, if he damns me, then he damns you, too,” he quipped dryly. “We're actually a lot alike, you and I, Amon.”
He turned his face away. “The fuck we are.”
“We've both been in a position of authority, leaders of a team,” Seth began, pacing the room again while watching the prisoner on the floor cagily. “We've both betrayed our comrades at some point. Let's face it,” he said, cynically. “Betrayal is il nome del gioco, in our business.”
Seth stopped, standing in the middle of the room and folding his arms. He spoke more quietly, “And, we both have looked to the women we've loved for redemption.” He saw Amon raise his head, anger still glinting in the gray depths.
“I used to think as you did.” A slow nod was delivered in Amon's direction. “There was a point in time, when I thought Sela and her love for me would be my salvation. That somehow, because she loved me, I would be forgiven for having these terrible powers, for doing these terrible things. Before things had taken a bad turn between us, I had this feeling that because she was with me, that my life might turn out all right…I clung to that, for a period of time.” Seth frowned, his gold head bowed in reflection, as he forcefully brought himself back to the present.
“But unlike you, Amon,” he turned on him, “I am a realist, and I know that there is no forgiveness for us...no salvation, and no forgiveness. There can be none, not for us. We are Witches; we have seen how cursed ones are with these powers. SOLOMON spared us in order that we have a duty to perform, a responsibility as members of the Army of the Cabal, to eradicate that wretchedness from the earth. And we will do it, and keep on doing it, until we are dead.” He locked his eyes on the steel gray ones before him. “You cannot shirk that duty, Amon.”
Amon regarded him coolly, his stoic mask in place once more as he delivered the choice words he'd been holding back since the previous night. “And was it your duty to murder the woman who loved you?” he asked bitingly.
He saw Seth pause; Amon wondered if he'd anticipated that comment. “Sela was no longer loyal to the organization,” Seth asserted vehemently. “She was going to—”
“Open your eyes,” Amon seethed impatiently, eyes narrowed. “You've seen their methods; you know the tricks they use to recruit. Even if you hadn't seen all there is of Toudou's video, you've been with them long enough to know the truth—”
“And just what is that truth?” Seth asked, masking his uncertainty with amusement.
“That the organization turns you against those whom you love.” Amon's voice held a bitter edge. “That they turn families against one another—brother against brother…a father against his child…”
Annoyed, Seth interjected loudly. “It is not simply about breaking up families, Amon; these are dangerous Wi—”
Amon deliberately slowed and assuaged his tone. “…A son, against his mother.”
As he spoke, he looked inwards and felt the strength of conviction behind the words. A son against his mother. It was the truth Vincenzo had hinted at; it was the truth that Robin had tried to make him glimpse, and that Jana had finally laid bare for him to see. It was the bitter-tasting truth that he had begun to accept.
Matoko. It wasn't her fault. The sadness that always hovered on the edge of his perception began to worm its way inside once more, seeping into his skin.
He watched Seth's face; watched as the blond man's features froze at the words, suspended in a telltale mixture of astonishment and grief. Sou ka, Amon realized, his heart weighted down by new knowledge. For the first time, he felt something akin to pity for Seth. We do indeed have more in common that I thought.
“There's more,” he asserted, his voice regaining strength; he saw Seth's face become a neutral mask, probably aware that his grief had been exposed. “The operatives you targeted for death, for disobeying the Cabal—most of them were guilty of the same crime. They had lovers; they were defying the rule regarding personal relationships with other Hunters.”
“What are you saying?” Seth demanded.
“They are afraid of something,” Amon continued somewhat distractedly, working it out in his own head as he spoke. Benedetto said, the Arcanum is sought after by SOLOMON not because they want so much to find it and use it...but because they wish to suppressit.
Seth wore an expression of disbelief. “Afraid of Hunters in love with each other?” he asked, incredulously. “You're telling me that Sela was targeted because she was in love with me, and for no other reason? Amon,” he scoffed, although it was not convincing, “you're even more delusional than I previously surmised.”
Amon was recalling Jana's words…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.
Human evolution. The union that would initiate it…the union...
The Arcanum is not a single person…
The villagers, celebrating them…lovers, being the target of hunts…the strange light and vision he'd seen in her bed—
The God and Goddess. The Adam and Eve of Witches. It is both of us…within our interaction is the ultimate technique, the lost wisdom of Witchcraft…
…Robin and I, together, are the Arcanum.
Benedetto had uncovered it himself; through myth, lore, and the study of the Witch genome, he had solved the riddle of the Secret of Secrets. Through science, with Toudou's help, he had given rise to that which the organization had been trying to suppress for over three thousand years.
But because they had no idea until now who the Eve, nor the Adam was—Benedetto's work had been misplaced, and his remaining colleagues destroyed—and because the understanding of the Arcanum had been lost over millennia with only hints of its details…SOLOMON was targeting everyone. In their eyes, within every male and female Witch, more formidable together than separate, lay the potential for the emergence of the Adam and the Eve…
“…Samael and Lilith,” he said quietly to himself. Sweat had broken out across his dark brow.
You are to bring them to their knees, Jana had said, speaking of the organization. But she had meant with Robin…and he was still powerless, and could do nothing.
He felt drained. He looked up to find Seth staring at him, blue eyes narrowing in calculation.
“What's going to happen to her?” he felt himself asking hoarsely, his throat having tightened up with the revelation he'd just experienced.
No longer interested in baiting his prisoner, Seth continued where he'd left off earlier; reciting with faraway eyes, as if by rote memorization. “The Testament depicts Solomon, in his wisdom, rendering the captive Lilith defenseless with his God-given signet ring. He orders her hair to be forcibly bound, as this also contributes to stripping her of her seductive power; and that she shall be hung up on a stake in front of the Temple of God—in this case, the Duomo—objectified, as a `lesson to the children of Isreal'. This is what lies in store, for Robin.
“Then, she will be burned.” He paused to let his words sink in, his demeanor deadly serious. “If she is fortunate, they will strangle her before the stake is lit, in an effort to prevent her from awakening and using her power on them. Her suffering will be minimized. Conversely, they might only sedate her, and use the greenest wood they can find…burning her alive as slowly as possible.”
Fear crept along Amon's spine like crystals of ice. “Seth,” he said lowly, “you know what you're doing is wrong. She is not evil, nor a demoness. She is not Lilith.” He saw the blond Witch listening; he knew it, also.
“Let her go. My life for hers.” It was half a lie—he wouldn't surrender himself either, he'd find a way to escape—but his main priority was to preserve Robin's life.
Seth turned his dazed eyes on the gray ones before him, a skeptic frown on his face. “You're not the one they want; you know that.”
Amon tested the chains binding his wrists behind him to the wall, once more. It was no use.
He turned his eyes to Seth's again. “Help me,” he said, with quiet anguish. “Help me save her.”
Pressing his lips into a thin line, Seth backed slowly away from the prisoner on the floor.
“I believe I've heard enough of this now,” the blond Witch said slowly, mechanically; as though some unseen control pulled at his strings. “I have to sedate you now, for the trip back to Rome tonight following the auto de fe…it would be in your best interests not to fight it.”
“They'll betray you, the first chance they get,” Amon warned, his tone taking on new strength as he witnessed Seth turning away to fetch the syringe. “They'd sooner kill you than tell you the truth.”
Seth returned, syringe and drug in hand. Wordlessly he uncapped the needle, drawing up the liquid formulation from the small glass ampule. He pressed a button on his cellular; Leor and Chanan, having waited outside long enough, re-entered the room.
“Hold him down,” Seth ordered. The two men flanked the prisoner and restrained him, holding his neck at an angle to one side to expose the jugular.
Amon spoke through his clenched jaw. “You're making a big mistake,” he warned. “Seth—you know they're wrong about her. Seth!”
He struggled, ineffectually. The needle slipped into his vein. Leor and Chanan held him until moments after the contents had entered his bloodstream.
Already the feeling had begun to swallow him; the tranquilizer's effect was instantaneous. He began to pant out his breaths. Nevertheless, he still had some fight left.
“Gods,” he said lowly, with a light slurring of speech. Seth turned towards him, interestedly.
“What was that, Amon?” he asked. Chanan and Leor snorted derisively.
“We were gods, once.” Amon blinked heavily, attempting to focus. He didn't see Seth's expression changing, morphing into something resembling hesitant surprise. “Worshipped as gods…” Worshipped, and loved—if the Sovanan townspeople had been any indication.
Sovana. Robin would never see it again; she would never regain the happiness she'd found there, in their first few weeks during their stay with Jana. Christ, you should have let her drink more wine, he berated himself, let her eat more figs. You should have let her be closer to you…she would have been happy. Such little things had given her substantial joy.
His thought process was slowing. He was going to sleep. What was that, that Jana had said—or was it Benedetto? —Adam had been asleep, somnolent, and had been awakened by Eve calling to him. Perhaps I'll hear her calling to me, when I'm under, his tired brain suggested. He closed his eyes, more slowly and heavily.
“Only…devil,” he mumbled. He could now barely keep his eyes open.
“What's he babbling about now?” Leor queried. Seth was listening again, intently.
“Only reason…she was called `Devil child',” Amon continued quietly, disjointedly, “'s because she…she was…her existence…was meant to awaken the Devil hi—himself…” His body stayed upright for as long as he could hold it; eventually he sank backwards and went completely limp.
“Fesseria,” Chanan interjected. “He's talking jibberish.” Seth was still staring, digesting the words, his gaze far away.
“Andiamo,” Leor urged, and Chanan responded, followed by a reluctant Seth. All three left the cell, dead-bolting it behind them, leaving the unconscious man bound on the floor.
 
***
 
“Three hours until sundown,” Chanan noted. “We still have a long way to go until the ceremony tonight.”
Seth gazed upwards, at the afternoon sun nearing the end of its journey across the sky. No longer a blazing chariot; now it was a harmlessly outlined sphere, having lost most of its radiance and brightness. At the end of the day, it would sink down slowly behind the landscape, defeated and worn. Seth watched it with a sense of melancholy.
“Plenty of time for the military convoy to get here, then,” Leor affirmed.
Seth snapped back to attention. “Military?”
“Si,” Chanan replied. “Didn't you know? They were summoned last night. We should be expecting approximately 200 paratroopers; there's even the rumor that we should expect to see several fortified Ariete tanks show up within the next few hours.”
“All for a single girl?” Seth asked, unbelieving.
Leor shrugged in response. “They want to make certain, signore.”
Chanan and Leor walked on ahead, back through il Campo; Seth stopped in his tracks, shading his eyes from the fading sun, as he looked up again into the sky.
The only reason she was called `Devil's Child', was because she was meant to awaken the Devil Himself.
His thoughts were drowned out by the steady hum of an approaching military-issued chopper. On the side, despite the distance, Seth could make out the telltale six-pointed seal.
 
***
 
 
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Do you fall down, O millions?...
Are you aware of your Father, world?...
Brothers—a mild sentence, from the mouth of the Final Judge!
Chapter 19.
 
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sugoi: (Japanese) amazing, wonderful
Nihongo: (Japanese) Japanese (language)
figlio prodigo: prodigal son
la succube: the succubus, the demoness
mia bambina: my child
collega: partner
che: what
non lo so: I don't know
signore: sir
e non determinato a: it is not determined upon
sul serio: for real
lo so: I know
budiulo: asshole
buon pomeriggio: good afternoon
come va: how are you?
magnifico: magnificent
partite: leave us
per favore: please
capisco: I understand
miei amico: my friend
il nome del gioco: the name of the game
sou ka: (Japanese) I see
fesseria: nonsense
andiamo: let's go
***
A/N: We're almost done! Two more chapters to go...Again, I'm sorry this lapse took so long, but I can assure you all that chapter 19 is coming sooner. Thanks so much for your awesome responses!
In the meantime, be sure and check out my FF.net profile for some updated info, regarding the Renewal site and also a new LJ commentary blog!