Blood Infernal: The Order of the Sanguines Series by James Rollins, Rebecca Cantrell Page B
Authors: James Rollins, Rebecca Cantrell
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and consulted her map. To her left, a smaller archway led to another room. The medieval mapmaker had noted that this room contained the Sanguinists’ most ancient texts. If there was any knowledge of Lucifer’s fall and imprisonment in Hell, that’s where she should begin her search.
She headed there and found another hexagonal room. She pictured the layout of this library, imagining it sprawling out with similar rooms, like the comb of a beehive, only the treasure here was not a flow of golden honey, but an ancient font of knowledge. This room was similar to the first, but here there were more scrolls than books. One wall even held a dusty shelf of copper and clay tablets, hinting at the older nature to this particular collection.
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
She headed there and found another hexagonal room. She pictured the layout of this library, imagining it sprawling out with similar rooms, like the comb of a beehive, only the treasure here was not a flow of golden honey, but an ancient font of knowledge. This room was similar to the first, but here there were more scrolls than books. One wall even held a dusty shelf of copper and clay tablets, hinting at the older nature to this particular collection.
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
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