The Templar's Curse by Sarwat Chadda (classic books to read TXT) 📕

now? Was she sitting in the dark, thinking about her? Or was she eating and laughing with her witches, as she called them? Billi felt envious. Not sure why, but she liked Erin more than she should. Maybe she was attracted to that wounded psyche? Like Kay and, yeah, admit it, like Faustus.

Ivan? He was different. He gave her a break from herself, from her brooding nature. He was the life and soul and being with him warmed her, like she was standing in the field on a summer’s day. But too long in the sun and you got burnt. It was a plain and simple truth.

Faustus, duvet rolled under his arm, stopped at the living room door. “You still get up for vigils?”

“Like a good little Templar.”

He scratched the back of his head. “That’s something I don’t miss. Goodnight.”

He shut the door the door and a few moments later she heard the springs of the sofa creaking.

She felt more at ease in the company of the wounded. But who was she trying save? Them, or herself?

CHAPTER 19

The sun beats down on her and the wind is parched, gritty. Billi shields her eyes from the blistering intensity of the noonday sun and gazes out across the desert, and the vast ruins.

Gigantic stone beasts, winged bulls with the faces of bearded men, lie half-buried in the white sand. Their gaze, sightless and solemn, warn Billi that nothing lasts forever. Once they guarded royal palaces and city temples but now?

What is she doing here? She’s looking for something. She couldn’t find it in the present, so is searching the past instead.

Great friezes, dozens of metres long, cover the cracked and broken walls of the ruins. Ancient, nameless kings and gods perform meaningless heroics and celebrate victories against forgotten kingdoms whose own people and civilizations turned to dust thousands of years ago.

What is the point of it all?

How ever long you live, kingdoms rise, they fall, and are forgotten.

What’s the point of going through the same cycle, again and again?

Billi hears scraping, the sound of digging. She follows it to its source and there, clawing at the sand with her fingernails is Erin. “Come and help me, Billi. It’s got to be here, somewhere.”

Billi helps. She’s her friend, isn’t she? But while she is dressed in rough, practical clothing, Erin’s wearing a shimmering green and gold skin-tight one-piece. “I love your outfit.”

Erin holds out her arm. “It’s not an outfit. See?”

Not an outfit? The sun shines upon the scales that she has instead of skin. They change colour as she turns her arm, ranging from green to royal blues and gold to platinum.

“What sort of snake are you?” Billi asks.

“An eternal one. But I can’t find my new skin, Billi. Help me dig.” Erin’s frantic as she claws the dirt, tears swell in her eyes. “I don’t have much time!”

Billi starts digging. Erin rips her fingers bloody, sobbing. What is she looking for?

Then Billi feels something. Could this be it? “Look.”

Erin joins her as they pick away at the hard-packed sand. They break the pieces away and reveal... a face. A buried statue? But the skin is soft, and warm.

Erin laughs. “You did it, Billi! Thank you! Thank you!”

But dread builds in Billi’s heart. She brushes the sand from the cheeks, and centimetre by centimetre the face is revealed.

Ivan.

Then he opens his eyes. They are not the grey eyes of the boy she loves. But are deep emerald and bisected by vertical pupils. The eyes of a snake.

Erin laughs.

***

What a freaky dream. What did it mean?

Out in the desert amongst the Mesopotamian ruins and with Erin, the snake version, and digging up Ivan.

Snakes were believed to be immortal. That was what everyone was after. To live forever. But why? Did it really appeal so much? Maybe because she was only eighteen, Billi felt immortal anyway. She was as good as she would ever be. What happened ten years down the line? Twenty? Those years seemed impossibly far away, but one day she’d be the same age as her dad and how did he spend his mornings? He ached. He was slow first thing, she would see him wince as he reached for the mug on the shelf.

Snakes. Immortality. Erin and Ivan. All mixed up in her subconscious. Was it trying to make sense of it all, give her clues? Or was it like most dreams, irrelevant? Was she trying to see a pattern that wasn’t there? She rubbed her face, trying to get herself awake. Not even six but she had a lot to do today.

Sizzling. She heard something sizzling. And what was that smell? Onions frying? Yeah. And someone singing. Couldn’t make out the lyrics, and whatever the song he was making a mess of it.

Billi sat up and pulled on a jumper. The apartment heating wasn’t the best, and the mornings were getting autumnal. But whatever was happening in the kitchen, she wanted to be a part of it. She heard the kettle boiling and the toaster pop.

“Morning,” said Faustus. He stood over the hob and was sprinkling fresh chillies in with the omelette. “Give me another minute. Pour out a cuppa, will you? Four sugars. I’ve got a feeling today’s gonna be a long one.”

Billi took two mugs off the shelf. “Didn’t think you were a morning person.”

“You know I’ve been dreaming of eggs? The commune voted to go full vegan last month. Now I’m all for living a better life, but a man’s got to have a few pleasures otherwise what’s the point?”

He’d put the toast, butter and marmalade out already and, blimey, were they fresh flowers in Dad’s pint glass? Where and when had he got those? “If you do this every morning, then you can stay.”

Faustus chopped the omelette in half with a jab of the fish slice then slid each piece onto a plate. “You couldn’t afford me. I’m high maintenance.”

“Then maybe you should be the one going out with Ivan.”

Faustus