CHAPTER TWO
"And in the darkness was the truth, and the truth spoke to him, saying, 'The Lord has saved you from many things, but fear is not one of them.'"
– Revelations 11:6-8, The Bible of the New World
I look down at my food – a chunk of unrecognisable meat, a glob of numerous vegetables all mashed up in a rainbow mess, a thick coating of overwhelming gravy – and pretend to listen as my friends talk around me. It's something about the upcoming test. It's not the Test, but it's still important, nevertheless, and now that the date has been set, it seems to be the only thing everyone can talk about.
But I don't feel like talking about it.
I haven't been doing all too well in school lately. My marks in mathematics have dropped significantly, I'm failing English, I can't recall half the stuff I've been taught in Geography, and I've all but given up on History. It seems that the only thing I'm even remotely doing well in at the moment is Physics.
Well, that and Religious Studies.
But why count a subject that everyone gets an A in? Why count a subject that the punishment for failing is Expulsion? I have to do well in Religious Studies.
And besides, I want to do well. At the end of next year, if all goes to plan, I'll gain the all-important title of a Pure. It's everything I've worked for and everything I've ever wanted. Just the thought of spending the rest of my life as an impure – as an outcast – makes me sick. I don't want to go through that. No one should have to go through that.
A loud, boisterous laugh catches my attention and I slip a look at the group of six seated at a table to my left. Three girls, three boys, each and every one dressed immaculately in dark grey, gifted with flawless physiques and beautiful looks. At this school, and probably every school in Eden or even the world, the 'popular' group consists of Nephilim – the children/descendants of both humans and angels – and Nephilim only. They're rich, flawless and extraordinarily gifted academically, physically and magically. I dislike them immensely.
"Avalon, stop staring. They'll notice."
I turn my head to look at Kal, warning in his brown eyes. "So what? Let them notice. They know I hate them."
Kal rolls his eyes. "You're gonna get yourself killed one day, you know that?"
"Not if I become a Pure first."
"Well, they're closer to that goal than you are." And he's right.
It's easy to pick the impure from the Pure because of clothing. The Pure wear black while the impure are all dressed in varying shades of grey, depending on their year. The closer you are to becoming a Pure, the darker your clothing is, and so at the start of every year, we're given new clothes – blacker greys to wear.
But the Nephilim are an exception. They wear the darkest shade of grey all through primary and high school until the day they become fully-fledged Pures and can claim their black along with everyone else. I don't really know why they're given darker clothing, but I suppose it has something to do with the fact that they never fail the Test and are incredibly valuable in the eyes of the Lord.
And they sure as hell like to rub that fact in our faces. The smug bastards.
I fiddle with the sleeve of my grey shirt. It's dark, but not dark enough, and for some reason, my clothing has always been a source of embarrassment – it's been a reminder for so long that I'm not good enough, not yet.
But I will be.
Tierney, one of the Nephilim, catches my eyes and winks, and just like that, I've had enough. Abruptly, I stand up, pushing my chair back from the table, the sound barely registering in the crowded dining hall.
"Avalon?" asks Lexa, concern flashing on her pale face. "Where are you going?"
"Back to my dorm," I say in response to my friend. "I'm thinking I'll go to bed early – I'm really tired."
"Are you sure you're okay?" asks Kal.
"Positive. I'll see you guys later." I smile.
Lexa and Kal both flash me matching smiles in response, but their eyes are still worried, as they always have been and always will be. It's the same with everyone; the dining hall is filled with a lot of talk, but vary rarely any laughter. Unless you're a Nephilim, of course. But like with most things, they're an exception.
I walk towards the large arched exit, glad to be putting distance between myself and the six youth who make my life just that little bit harder. And yet – funny thing – as much as I hate them, I can't help the part of me that wishes beyond anything to be one of them. How much easier life would be – how much better.
I leave behind the dining hall, heading down a corridor that's void of people and drenched in darkness. It's easy to get lost in this school, and it's especially easy during the night, when there's no one to ask for directions and no light to help you recognise where it is you are. But luckily for me, I know this school so well I could find my way with my eyes closed.
I suppose it comes down to the fact that I've spent a good four years here. Before that, I attended Wynward Primary, where I spent seven years inside the school gates. Some days it feels like it's been forever since I last saw my parents, on other days, it feels as if I said goodbye to them just yesterday. But no matter how you look at it, eleven years is a long time to be separated from the only people who will care for you no matter what.
But it's like this for everyone – even the Nephilim – and we do get the monthly phone call home. Most of the youth love calling their parents, some hate it, but I feel like I'm caught somewhere in-between. While I love talking to them and hearing their voices again, sometimes it's just too painful a reminder, one that rings in my ears over and over, smugly letting me know that this is all I'll ever get – that I won't get to see them until I finish my education, if I finish, that is. And that's too much to bear when you've already got tests to prepare for, populars to fend off, and the overwhelming worry that sits underneath it all – worry that you'll do something wrong and get Expelled, worry that you'll make that one deadly mistake and will have no choice but to kiss your chance of becoming a Pure goodbye.
I shiver in the cool night air and turn left down the final corridor that leads directly to my dorm. But something about the hallway is off – the darkness feels darker, the silences feels thicker and that eeriness that swarms the school when the lights go out feels stronger, pulsing dangerously, as if in warning.
I pick up my pace, suddenly afraid of the darker patches of darkness and of the way my footsteps echo in the soundless hall, like little bells going off that announce to the world, I'm here, I'm here. I'm halfway to the door that'll lead me into a warm and lighted room when there's a bright flash of light. It catches me so off-guard that I stumble, tripping over my own feet.
I hit the cold ground hard and I only have a second of sight – in which I see only the stone floor – before the images come rushing in, like they have a million times before. A broken clock, endlessly ticking in a dark and empty room; a man dressed in a black coat, standing in front of the school gates while rain thunders down, almost invisible in the night; a flash of lightning illuminating the man's expressionless face; and a wet and grimy cross being buried in a freshly dug hole at the base of a large tree.
I open my eyes and find myself with my cheek pressed against the floor, my breathing hard and loud. Slowly, I push myself up into a sitting position, my elbows and knees throbbing where I hit the ground, and I dust my shaking hands on my pants.
I take a minute to calm my racing heart and allow my breathing to regulate, but the fear that always accompanies the memories doesn't dissipate, and I can't stop shaking. I've never seen those things before. My whole life I've seen the same things again and again and again, and now, suddenly, they've changed – new images, a new face. They're morphing into something that feels like much more than a memory, if that's even possible.
I pull the fresh images from where they have already been stored in my memory and take another look. Each and every one is set in or around the school: the broken clock in room B13, the school's front gates, the large tree on the east side. Dread starts to pool in my stomach as understanding dawns. No, they weren't memories – they were visions. The clock was ticking in the darkness as it probably is now, the flash of lightening that lit up the man's face was probably the same flash that had me tripping over my feet.
My eyes widen, and I jump up, rushing over to a nearby window. Now I can hear the rain that thunders down outside, and I can see it, too, but no one stands at the front gate, and I don't know if I'm relived or disappointed. Is a man visiting my school in the middle of the night a good thing or a bad thing?
I pull away from the window, but then remember the cross being buried under the tree. Is it possible that he is here, right now, digging up the earth? The thought both terrifies and excites me.
I continue towards the dorm while I continue to shake, fear and excitement mixing together to form something I've no name for. I have to force myself to calm down before I do something irrational and foolish – like run off to the oak tree on the east side of the school.
But thoughts of digging up recently buried crosses soon fade as I start to feel that there's something following me. I look over my shoulder to find nothing there, and yet when I turn away, I can feel a presence behind me, stronger than before, and I start half-running, half-walking to the dorm, my mind thinking, what if it's him? And of course, the second the thought enters my head, my entire being becomes fixated on it, and my heart starts to pound in my chest.
Fear is suddenly the leading emotion swirling inside me and I pick up my pace yet again. Voices seem to manifest in the night, screaming, it's him! It's him! and I imagine dark hands reaching for me from the shadows.
Then I feel something cold brush my back.
And that's when I know it's him. That's when I know beyond any shadow of a doubt that the presence behind me is not human, but that of a God, the God – Lucifer himself.