James Rollins - Blood Infernal

But it wasn’t the presence of such rare artifacts that drew her to a stop.

A figure, covered in a film of dust, stood in the center of the room, but like the Cloistered Ones, this was no statue. Though his back was to her, she knew who stood there. She had once looked into his eyes, black as olives, and had heard his deep voice. In the past, the few words spoken by those ashen lips had changed everything. Here was the founder of the Sanguinist order, a man who had once counted the holiest of the holy among his friends, the one who had died and had risen again at the hand of Christ himself.

Lazarus.

She bowed her head, not sure what else to do. She stood for what seemed an interminable time, her heart pounding in her ears.

Still, he remained motionless, his eyes closed.

Finally, with no word spoken against her trespass, she took a deep shuddering breath and stepped past his still form. She didn’t know what else to do. She had come here with a specific goal in mind, and as long as no one stopped her, she would continue on the course she had started.

But where to start?

She searched the shelves and cubbies. It would take years to translate and read all that could be found here. Lost and overwhelmed, she turned to the room’s sole occupant, its makeshift librarian. Her candlelight reflected off his open dark eyes.

“Lazarus,” she whispered. Even his name sounded far too loud for the space, but she pressed on. “I am here to find—”

“I know.” Dust fell from his lips with those few words. “I have been waiting.”

An arm rose smoothly, shedding more motes into the air. A single long finger pointed to a clay tablet that rested near the edge of a shelf. She moved over to it, glancing down. It was no larger than a deck of cards, terracotta in color. Lines of script covered its surface.

Erin carefully picked it up and examined it, recognizing the writing as Aramaic, a language she knew well. She skimmed the first few lines. It recounted a familiar story: the arrival of a serpent in the Garden of Eden and its confrontation with Eve.

“From the Book of Genesis,” she mumbled to herself.

According to most interpretations, that serpent was Lucifer, come to tempt Eve. But this account seemed to refer to the snake as just another animal in the garden, only craftier than the others.

She brought her candle closer to the most significant descriptor of that snake, phonetically speaking it aloud. “Chok-maw.”

The word could be interpreted as wise or crafty, or even clever or sly.

Erin continued to translate the tablet, finding the story written here much like the account in the King James Bible. Again Eve refused to eat of the fruit, saying that God had warned her that she would die if she disobeyed. But the serpent argued that Eve wouldn’t die, but instead she would gain knowledge — knowledge of good and evil.

Erin let out a small breath, realizing that in this story, the serpent was actually more truthful than God. In the end Adam and Eve hadn’t died after consuming the fruit, but as the snake foretold, they had gained knowledge.

She pushed this detail aside as insignificant, especially upon reading the next line. It was wholly new. She translated aloud, the candle trembling in her hand.

“ ‘And the serpent said unto the woman: Swear a vow that ye shall take the fruit and share it with me.’ ”

Erin read the passage twice more to make sure she hadn’t mistranslated it, then continued on. In the next line, Eve swore a pact that she would give the snake the fruit. After that, the story continued along the same path as the Bible: Eve eats the fruit, shares it with Adam, and they are cursed and banished.

Her father’s words echoed in her head.

The price of knowledge is blood and pain .

Erin read the entire tablet again.

So in the end, it seemed Eve had broken her promise to the serpent, failing to share the fruit.

Erin pondered this altered story. What did the serpent want with such knowledge in the first place? In all the other Biblical stories, animals didn’t care about knowledge. Did this expanded story further support that the serpent in the garden was indeed Lucifer in disguise?

She shook her head, trying to make sense, to discern some significance. She looked over at Lazarus, hoping for some elaboration.

His eyes only stared back at her.

Before she could question him, a sound echoed to her, coming from beyond the library, the heavy grating of stone.

She stared in that direction.

Someone must be opening the nearby Sanguinist gate .

She checked her wristwatch. Christian had warned her that a sect of Sanguinist priests tended to the Cloistered Ones, bringing them wine to sip. But he hadn’t known their schedule or how often they came down here. She had counted on a little luck to get her by.

And that just ran out .

As soon as those priests got closer, they would hear her heartbeat, blowing her cover. She prayed Bernard wouldn’t be too hard on Christian and Sister Margaret.

She returned the tablet to its shelf, but as she turned around, ready to face the consequences of her trespass, Lazarus leaned forward — and blew out her candle. Startled, she stumbled backward. The library sank into darkness, illuminated only by the faraway torches in the main chamber.

Lazarus placed a cold hand on her arm, his fingers tightening as if to urge her to stay quiet. He guided her forward so she could peer into the chamber of the Cloistered Ones.

The ancient Sanguinists stirred. Fabric rustled, and dust fell from their old clothing.

At her side, Lazarus began to sing. It was a hymn in Hebrew. The Cloistered Ones in the chambers outside took up the chant, too. The fear in Erin fell away, caught in the rise and fall of their voices, as steady as waves against a shore. Wonder welled through her.

Figures appeared on the far side. A clutch of black-cloaked Sanguinist priests entered the chamber, carrying flagons of wine and silver cups. They stared at the Cloistered Ones, mouths agape. Apparently such singing wasn’t a common occurrence.

Lazarus’s fingers lifted from her shoulder, but not before a final squeeze of reassurance. She understood. Lazarus and the others were protecting her. Their song would drown out her heartbeat.

Erin stood stock-still, hoping that their ruse worked.

The young priests went about their duty, offering cups to lips, but those same lips only continued singing, ignoring the wine. The Sanguinists exchanged worried glances, clearly puzzled. They tried again, but with no better outcome.

The rich powerful voices only soared louder.

Eventually the small group of priests relented, retreating back down the entry hall and away. Erin listened as that distant doorway ground closed — only then did the singing stop.

Lazarus walked her to the torch-lit chamber as the Cloistered Ones went quiet and still again. He motioned toward the exit.

Erin turned to him. “But I didn’t learn anything,” she protested. “I don’t know how to find Lucifer, let alone how to reforge his shackles.”

Lazarus spoke, his voice deep but distant, as if he were talking to himself rather than to her. “When Lucifer stands before you, your heart will guide you on your path. You must fulfill the covenant.”

“How am I supposed to find him?” Erin asked. “And what covenant are you talking about? The prophecy in the Blood Gospel?”

“You know all that you can know,” he said, his voice drifting farther away. “The way will be revealed, and you will follow it.”

Erin wanted to shake better answers from him, even took a step back in his direction. Questions chased through her head, but she voiced the most important one aloud.