Chapter 1

In the hallowed lantern lit amber halls of a medieval cloister, dark robed monks are heard to whisper, "the end of days are nigh”. As these men of God read from sacred illuminated scrolls and sing plainsong at vespers, compline, matins and lauds, a mysterious creature cloaks itself in darkness and listens. Entranced by their ritual and enraptured by their beatific choral music it returns to the cloister night after night. Knowing full well that the creature’s kind are the enemy of such men, it escapes their revulsion by hiding behind holy relics and large silk tapestries as they go about their nightly duties.

Sometimes, the creature hides in empty oak and rosewood coffins left in the cloister workshop. Other times, it silently leaps into the ceiling rafters for cover. But why the creature had chosen this particular monastery to "haunt” is largely unknown. However, it has been alleged by wise women from the edge of the River Po, that the creatures were fascinated with the brethren. They especially delighted to hear monks read Latin verses out loud by candlelight in the stone chapel. However, the creature of St Angelico was not the average Watcher. It would always wait for the monks to retire to their spartan cells before coming out from the shadows to examine the papyruses of the ancient library by moonlight. Tirelessly, it searches for an answer to a question posed millennia ago. Why had God created a creature so reviled by men and heavenly angels? Why had God created her?

According to legend, she searched for the answer throughout the library’s many codexes, parchments and vellums, from dusk till dawn. These ancient manuscripts contained much arcane wisdom, some forbidden, most forgotten. With preternatural understanding, she could read all languages and scripts -- hieroglyphs, cuneiform, Latin, Greek, Sumerian, Babylonian or Semitic. She had read cover to cover the Egyptian Book of the Dead, the Roman epic The Aeneid and Hortensius, the Codex Sinaiticus of Palestine, the Greek Septuagint, the Jewish Torah and Sefer ha-zohar, The Koran, The Hexaplar and the Vulgate. She read the philosophies of Thale, Anaximander, Heraclitus, Anaxagoras, Pythagoras, Parmenides, Empedocles, Democritus, Socrates, Plato and Aristotle. She devoured the theology of Anselm and Augustine’s De natura et gratia. Her gluttonous appetite for the written word propelled by the belief that somewhere, in the written word, the key to unlock the secret of her kind’s fate would be found.

And so she set about protecting the world’s libraries. In fact, it was Ariel that salvaged many of the doomed texts of the great Alexandrian Library fires. As her cruel brethren torched the building and kindled the devastating fires of 47 B.C, it was she alone that stormed the wall of fire to carry to safety dozens of books left to incinerate helplessly. Again and again, she returned to the burning smoke filled library stairwells and into flame engulfed anterooms, searching for items to save. One by one, she threw the books out the library windows and onto the ground below. Once she salvaged all she could, she collected and piled them in her chariot waiting be side the building. She then drove them to an isolated harbour on the outskirts of the city, where an old Phoenician boat waited for her and her artifacts. Together, they set sail for Corsica, the home of her beloved mortal lover.

Ariel had been the fearless Roman General’s mistress throughout his life. And for her unwavering devotion and legendary sensual services, he promised his ageless lover that his bloodline would guard her precious cargo until “Lady Ariel with amethyst eyes arrived to collect them on a cold June eve”. And so, the Grimaldi family sons faithfully bequeathed the treasure to its sons for eight centuries just as the General promised. It wasn’t until 907 AD that Ariel returned for them on an unusually cold evening, just after the summer solstice. She had found a new permanent home for them – a cloister. She had watched this order of monks over the centuries and decided they would be trustworthy guardians of her salvaged library. And so, she requested that the Grimaldi family bequeath the ancient biblios to the Franciscan Monastery in Rome. And they did -- but, not without reservation. At first, they did not believe the family lore (that a Lady Ariel with eyes as brilliant as amethysts would return for the books). So they cross-examined Ariel, afraid the immortal before them was not the true Lady Ariel by a treacherous and dangerous imposter. However, all fears and suspicions quelled at once as Ariel tilted her slender porcelain neck revealing a bloodline branding mark left by the Roman General. They knew at once she was indeed the Lady Ariel of family lore. And so, to honour the General’s ancient promise, the sons arranged the bequeathment and delivery of goods to the Monks of Rome that very evening.

And since that time, the books have been kept safely in the auspices of the kindly monks. In return for the monks’ diligence and care, Ariel rewarded them by helping them, anonymously of course; first, by protecting them from her own kind as well as from vermin and the plague. Secondly, she helped the monks by indirectly translating the ancient texts into Latin. For once, her life did not revolve around romance, but on charity. It was a pleasant diversion from her usual narcissistic pursuits. She had her books and she had the company of holy men. She was intrigued by their godliness and kindness. Day by day, she would find herself becoming less like her former self and more like them. Never in a river of light years did she believe she could be satiated by such a humble existence. She was utterly surprised to find such serenity and solace through their inspired singing and plutonic love. It was a novel experience for her, to be pure of heart and thought as the monks described it. And for the first time in the world she felt at peace with the world and herself.

The Watchers: Introduction

The mysterious package arrived at her door just after midnight. It arrived just as she had fallen asleep listening to the Chinese New Year festivities outside her balconey window. The Dragon dancers were continuing their electric performance throughout the night, clanging and banging their oriental drums with very loud and rhythmic drumming designed to herald in the New Year and ward off evil spirits. It was a sensuous time of year which Francine particularly enjoyed. The streets were filled with beauteous vivid red and gold decorations and framed by a sea of intoxicating aromas of cloves, cinnamon, lemongrass, nutmeg and mandarin.

Francine had spent the day with her friend Alexa enjoying the fireworks. Back home now, Francine was winding down her perfect day in front of the television. Just as the last crowds were dissolving outside her window, she had fallen asleep in front of the television watching a documentary of African women denounced as an adulterer and sentenced to death by stoning. Francine was outraged by what she heard and threw a well-worn bed sock at the TV in disgust. Just as she hit the TV, the unusual sound of horses galloping in the street below echoed in her city apartment. It was a very strange sound indeed as she lived just on the fringes of the city’s Chinatown. The streets were so narrow that people (let alone horses) could hardly filter through them without bumping into each other. The horses seemed to stop outside her window. And then, a few moments later, she heard someone banging on her front door. Spooked by the sound of horses, she shuffled silently towards the door, afraid of who might be waiting there; she looked through her door’s peep-hole but saw nothing. Instead, outside her window, her attention was drawn once again outside to the horses heard galloping away as mysteriously as they arrived. Francine cautiously opening the front door, and at her feet was a square tea-coloured parcel bound with string. It was addressed to Francine in a strange archaic-looking script.