VIETNAM
the hanoi institute
two weeks previous
{ a n o t e o n t h i s c h a p t e r }
This is a flash of memory, so it is meant to be disjointed. The writing may seem plain and the dialogue is deliberately very simple. If I was more confident in my own writing, I'd leave it but I thought for now I'd clarify. Thanks!
-
Her mother braids her hair, like she always does, entwined with pretty gold strands of thread and the smallest bright flowers. It's part of her gear and a long woven tradition, like a steel helmet, but in the form of long, thick twists. Both of them look oddly elegant in the wake of battle.
Battle. It's a strange word, even with the soft vowels of Vietnamese it sounds harsh and cold. HiepThi Li's hands are cold too, shaky while holding her silky strands of hair. When she is done, she leans forward and kisses her forehead. Her mother is beautiful, as radiant as a summer sunset, but she looks nervous this evening - well disguised, but nervous none the less.
"There," she says, the comfort of her mother tongue are welcome one, "Very beautiful. Even if it shall be covered in ichor by dawn."
She lifts a hand to touch the shrunken flowers in her hair.
"Yes."
"You are quiet."'
She turns her head, "I'm only thinking."
Her mother nods, her long fingers curling around Evelyn's loose hair, almost absentmindedly, "I supposed it is better than not thinking. Now, go find your brother. We'll meet in the entrance hall."
She nods and stands up. She wears gear, tight white cotton trousers, and an equally pale cloak, loose and covered in black runes. It won't stay that white for long, but that was the idea - more blood, more success.
She leaves the room and her mother behind, taking the winding corridors in her stride, the notions as familiar as the curves of her face. Her brother was in one for the back rooms, the orangery, to be exact. She leans against the vanished doorway. He's as pretty as she is, but that was by no slight hand of the angels - a spitting image. He is painting. While she has her piano, he has his canvas and brushes. Zachariah paints something beautiful, a girl with dark hair and white lace clothing, a halo of gold around her head. They all have the same grass green eyes: her, her bother and the painting.
"I've painted you," Zachariah says, still focused on his small canvas.
"How did you know I was here?" She says, stepping into the room.
Zachariah now turns and grins, "You're conspicuously loud, Evelyn Doyoung. But come and see this."
She moves towards him and scrutinises the painting. It really is her, the delicate watercolours really depicting her own features. The likeness is uncannily similar.
"It's wonderful," she breaths, tracing each line with her gaze.
"When I'm done," he puts his brushes down now in a glass of murky water, "I think this might be my best piece."
"I look like an angel."
Zachariah smiles, maybe a little sadly, it is hard to tell, "You are the closest on Earth to just that, Evie."
She doesn't reply. Instead, she wanders to the mantle, resting upon it. He is three years her senior, but his wisdom was far older, and morals more noble than any of hers. As far as she is lovely and sweet, he is kind and loyal. She wishes for that.
"Mama wants us in the hall," she says. Zachariah nods, standing up. He is already in gear, as he pushed painting supplies out of the way.
"Yes, I except they shall be here soon."
A letter springs to mind, written in red blood, sticky and dark. It feels as if she has only just remembered it and now she does, it makes her stomach grow horribly cold. It asked for her, to take her by force to Edom and keep her there for her gift. They tried every no generation, for her, for her mother, for her mother's mother. No reply meant a demonic storm on the Institute, and of course, no reply had come.
"Zachariah," she begins to ask, "Have you ever seen a Greater Demon?"
He stops with packing away watercolour pans, and looks to her, reaching for her cold hands.
"No," be says, "But, Evie, you must understand, we'll never let Sammael have you. Even if we've never fought a Greater Demon before.
He could sense her nerves, that was not hard. But Zachariah was better at reading her than most, and it was only the words of her feathery-winged councils that panted doubt in her head.
"Gabriel says we might not be able to stop Sammael."
Zachariah half frowns, "Doesn't Gabriel always say morbid things like that?"
This is true.
"Yes," she says diplomatically, "But he is an Angel, so he must know something."
He rolls his eyes, "Regardless, he's miserable. Come on, let's get some weapons."
They're in the weapon room. She takes two ornate axes, dual wielded, shaped like deadly cleavers. They are her favourite, sharp, deadly and elegant. A bow and arrow too, slung hastily on her back, though her accuracy could sometimes be very sloppy. Zachariah takes a seraph blade and a set of daggers. He used to be a far better fighter than her, but she had trained hard until they were even - she is competitive.
They walk to the hallway. Her family is there, her mother, her father, her brother and herself. The whole of the Hanoi enclave, gathered as protection. She's shaking, only gently, her slim and unscarred hands wrapped around her sickles. Her father smiles at her, careful and reassuring. He is kind too, a different kind to her mother and brother, a slow and steady kind - his wisdom seems immeasurable.
"You will all be fine," he says, "It will be over by the time the Sun returns."
If the Sun returns, she thinks. She wonders what it would be like to die. She's not scared, as such, Shadowhunters just weren't.
The doors open, and the black is overwhelming. There are stars, only little ones, barely visible in her eyes. A hand grips hers, soft and unmoving. It's her mother's. Another on her forearm. Her brother's. One more on her shoulder. Her father's.
And they sing for her, her family and her Enclave. It's for her, and it's for the Angels and it's for the Nephilim.
"Và họ không còn có thể chết nữa; vì họ giống như những thiên thần. Họ là con của Chúa, vì họ là con của sự sống lại!"
It's Luke 20, verse 36.
There is nothing, no demons. And then there is everything.
———
luke 20, verse 35-36
https://www.biblestudytools.com/passage/?q=luke+20:35-36
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