Elias

This journey with Ramiel was smoother than the previous one. Ramiel set them down in a deserted notch where two buildings abutted one other at an odd angle. While Elias blinked, his eyes slow to adjust to the light, Abigail headed down the cobblestoned alley where Harold waited for them.

"Welcome to Bolivia," he said when Ramiel and Elias caught up to Abigail.

Welcome to Bolivia, indeed. Elias couldn't decide where he ought to be looking: the graffiti-laden buildings, the local adverts or the excess of power lines running in every possible direction.

The four of them followed the downward slope of the alley until the path led them to a wide square with old, stately buildings on every side. Elias guessed this was an old colonial settlement — this was architecture he associated with Spain and the European Golden Age, not with the native people of the region. Despite their age, the countless columns and the balcony balustrades on every building were freshly painted and the windows were spotless.

An elderly woman in a pleated skirt and a brightly-coloured shawl was working across the length of the square, using a large palm leaf as a broom. And at the square's far end, where flags of South American nations fluttered in the wind, were a trio of tourists huddled around a map. The rest of the open space was the domain of pigeons. Judging by the light, Elias guessed it was still early morning here.

"How close are we to the coordinates on the map?" he asked.

"We are here," came Ramiel's reply. His gaze was on the mountains that overlooked the city and the ramshackle buildings nestled up there.

Abigail spun around slowly, taking in the scene. "So how do we find them? We could ask around I suppose. A man with horrible scars and twin girls — one missing an eye. They'd stick out in a crowd."

"This is a large town. Do you really think asking random shopkeepers and whoever else is going to get us anywhere?" Elias said.

"A few shopkeepers won't hurt, but we need to sweeten the deal," Harold said. "We should exchange dollars to local currency. And since no one thought far enough ahead to activate international roaming on their phones, we'd better procure local SIM cards. Should we get separated, a mobile phone will go a long way. What say you, Ramiel?"

The angel looked thoughtful. "You and Abigail should go ahead, Elias and I will follow just behind. Make what purchases you need and look out for possible accommodation. We might be in need of a room."

Ramiel waited until Harold and Abigail were a good twenty metres ahead of them and out of earshot before he turned to Elias.

Glaring, he preempted the angel. "What do you want with me?"

"I would like you to try the ritual Najran and Jala developed for Najran's daughters."

"You can't find them yourself? You found Abigail and me easily enough."

"They are protected, likely by similar means as you and Abigail are now," Ramiel explained. "When we first met, you had no such protection. I merely asked that foul-mouthed reaper for your location. Reapers have no difficulty finding people."

Ramiel stuck his hands into his jeans in clear imitation of the French backpackers that strutted past them. Had he been hurt when Abigail said he would be unable to blend into the crowd? She was absolutely correct, of course. He might have traded that three-piece of his for jeans and a windbreaker very similar to the one Elias himself wore, but he couldn't hide himself. His height, his hair, his eyes — everything drew attention to him. The gaze of every person walking by lingered on Ramiel.

Once they reached a more modern looking street with shop fronts and stylish advertisements, it was clear they wouldn't find anything open at this hour — every store was shuttered. Abigail and Harold decided to try their luck with an ATM instead.

"Will you consider trying the ritual?" Ramiel pressed while they waited for Harold to puzzle out the machine.

"You didn't make it sound like the twins had a very good time of it."

"You are a seer, they are not."

Elias frowned. "What does it matter?"

"This ritual was designed for a seer. The power of a seer derives from —" he cut himself off for a moment, before continuing. "Your language lacks the right vocabulary, but I shall endeavour to be clear. Your sister's talents appear to be active in form. Her powers are dormant until she feels compelled to use them. A seer's powers, on the other hand, are never dormant. The latent energy of your ability is continually leeching out of your body and interacting with your environment. It interacts best with other nephilim, but proximity is also a critical factor."

Thinking about it, Ramiel's words made sense. Throughout Elias' childhood, his visions had been of his family. They had been mundane images — Max out with a cricket bat in the backyard or his father doing the ironing upstairs. Only in high school, when he had begun to spend more time with his friends than his family did the subjects of his visions broaden.

"But why is it getting worse now?" Elias asked. As much as he hated to discuss personal matters with Ramiel, he was aware this might be his only chance to understand what was happening to him. "You said the effects of your blood would fade, but it's only getting worse. I've had four visions in the last two days alone and the after-effects are... Well, to be honest, I thought I had a brain tumour."

Ramiel winced and cocked his head. "Has your sister been exploring her powers?"

"Yeah. Why?"

"She may be inadvertently influencing your visions."

"Seriously?"

"I encountered a similar scenario once before," Ramiel replied. "Long ago."

Is that really it? All because Abigail wanted to muck around. Elias chewed on his lip. At least, the next time he asked Abigail to cut out her attempts to imitate Ramiel, she couldn't claim he was simply being spiteful by getting irritated at her.

"Is there a way to stop this happening?"

"To control your visions? Yes, however, it is a difficult skill to master."

"Well, there's not much choice about it really," Elias said. If the visions don't stop, one day I might just gouge out my own brain matter. "We can agree on this, ok? I'll do this ritual of yours, then, the moment this is done, you'll teach me how to control the visions."

Ramiel looked dubious. "I am uncertain you will succeed, few seers have ever managed control over their visions. Unfortunately, seers bear a heavier burden than other nephilim. However, you have my word, I will explain the method to you. Is Harold finished with the machine? He will need to find a suitable place for us."

"Good luck," Abigail said and shuffled to the edge of the garden.

Elias didn't look at her. His eyes were focused on the sigils Ramiel had drawn for him on the empty pages of Jala's notebook. He ought to have asked more questions before he agreed to this.

"The longer we dally, the higher the probability of an intruder," Ramiel said.

Yeah, I'm aware.

Harold had found them a hotel on the edge of the city centre. The two rooms they had rented were nice enough, but they hadn't chosen the hotel for the quality of its mattresses. The ritual required Elias to place sigils as close to the earth as possible, which was why they now found themselves out in the small garden behind the hotel swimming pool.

Considering the temperature in Bolivia was now just above ten degrees centigrade, Elias had to wonder what masochist would make use of this pool. But this was in their favour today — they were less likely to be interrupted. Nevertheless, Harold was positioned by the pool to waylay anyone approaching. Should someone wander in when Elias began the ritual, an explanation would be difficult to provide.

God, if you are there somewhere after all, don't let me fuck this up. And let's agree that this is the last time I am doing this, ok?

Elias shrugged off his windbreaker, then stripped off his sweater and undershirt. The cold air stung. Hurriedly, he set Jala's notebook on the ground and accepted the thin, silver knife Ramiel had offered him.

He slid the blade diagonally across his left wrist. Too shallow. He had barely cut past the surface. Gritting his teeth, Elias made a second cut. This time blood flowed freely.

"Time for finger painting, kids," Elias muttered under his breath.

Cradling his injured arm, he set the knife aside and sunk to his knees. He dipped two fingers of his right hand into the bloody mess that his left wrist had become and began on the first of the three sigils. At least the required sigils for this ritual were simple.

"These are good. You are doing well," Ramiel said when Elias finished.

Elias glared at him. "Pass me my shirt."

He had packed some bandages in his bag, but had forgotten it back in the hotel room. Not wanting to ruin his sigils by spilling more blood on them, Elias quickly wrapped his shirt around his wrist and took up the knife once more.

Small nicks only. Don't turn this into a bloodbath.

Elias took a few deep breaths to steady himself. No luck. He couldn't stop shivering. The cold air, the adrenaline and the blood-loss made for a potent combination.

Ramiel had told him the precise location was immaterial, as long as it was somewhere on his arm. So Elias picked a spot below the crook of his elbow — easy to access with a knife, easy to hide under a long-sleeved shirt. He spoke the memorised words as he made his cuts. One, two, three. He could be Zorro with a touch of dyslexia. The fourth was a deeper, vertical stroke that needed to bisect the first three. He finished this part of the chant with a pained hiss.

The next one was more difficult. He needed to replicate the sigil on his right hand, so he had to make the cuts with his left hand. Elias worked slower, but the end results were passable.

For the final sigil, he grasped the knife with both hands and guided the tip of the blade into the skin at his solar plexus. Slowly and all the while stumbling over a particularly tricky patch of Enochian, he carved a circle into his skin.

He struggled through the last two lines of the ritual, the plunged the knife into the middle of the sigils he had painted into the earth.

Elias' vision exploded into a cacophony of light and phantom colour. A low pitch buzzing assaulted his ears. Too much. Too bright.

"Eli?" Abigail sounded as if she was speaking from kilometres away.

This can't be right. He clenched his eyes shut and clamped a hand over his face. But he still saw the light. The trees, Abigail, the gilded figure of Ramiel with his wings folded yet still visible and most of all from the Earth itself.

"Elias, you must concentrate," Ramiel said. He too sounded distant and unclear, but he was calm and that gave Elias hope that he hadn't fatally botched this ritual. "It is overwhelming, I realise, but you must look at it all. Find the spot where the light is brighter, that is where the anchor will be."

"The hotspot? Ok, yeah, as we discussed. Right, let me try," Elias muttered. Or he might have well shouted it out loud, with the humming in his ears it was difficult to modulate his voice.

He opened his eyes and through his fingers, peered out around. Light and colour swirled about him. Was this how God had seen his creation? Elias had never imagined anything so amazing.

"Elias!" Ramiel called out.

The hotspot. Yes.

He wouldn't find it in this garden. As Ramiel had instructed him, Elias tried to focus beyond his immediate surrounds and look out to the rest of the city. And his vision stretched. Where is the hotspot? He could see Harold, as bright as Abigail, sitting on the poolside chair. At the same time, he watched hotel staff, their figures having an odd red hue, cleaning the rooms or working through paperwork in the reception.

Simultaneously, he saw all the car-choked streets beyond, bursting with people. No hotspot, but the people. So many people, all oblivious to the miraculous light under their feet. They were all red. Abigail and Harold's golden colour must be because they were nephilim. Then Kiara and Misha would also stand out too; I just need to follow the light.

Yet as he searched every corner of the city, he found no more people with a golden hue. Instead, over and over his gaze slipped to a blurred muddle of colour and shade a few streets from the square they had visited that morning. Something was twisted there, bending onto itself again and again, unable to unravel.

"I don't know if it's them, but there is a place where something is...wrong," Elias said. "It just doesn't look right."

"Can you lead us there?"

Elias couldn't make out the speaker or perhaps Abigail and Ramiel had both spoken. Not that it mattered. They both wanted the same thing from him. He nodded in reply and mumbled out something he himself couldn't understand.

Ramiel grasped Elias by the shoulders. "You've done well, Elias," the angel said, pulling him a few feet to the side. "It will be well now. Let me heal this."

Elias let Ramiel do what the angel attend to the wounds the ritual had necessitated. When he smoothed the skin in the centre of Elias' chest, the humming silenced and his vision shrunk. The world was shadow and grey.

As Ramiel helped him dress, Elias stared up at the sun, which hung high over a cloudless sky. How can something so dim be the sun?