Book of Fire. Michelle Kenney

I’d rumbled its hiding place a long time before. I wondered briefly how much else he knew, that I’d never opened it, at least not since that one time when I was a child.

      The Book of Arafel was a precious community possession, and only key members of the Council were permitted to peruse its pages. A record of key events and Council decisions since the day Arafel was founded, it had always resided with us as direct descendants of Thomas. The book was weathered and unimpressive on the outside, but had taken on a mysterious charm ever since I’d caught a glimpse of what was concealed inside.

      It happened the same year Dad died. Grandpa received a small delegation from the Council when we were reading Classical Tales and Mythology, one of my favourite for colourful pictures of fantastic legendary beasts. Grandpa always indulged my insatiable appetite for myths of the old worlds, and together we would ransack the library for any small reference to their tales. Sometimes he even made up games to test my recollection of their names and special anatomy. It was thanks to him that I could draw and tell so many of their magical stories from memory, something the younger schoolchildren loved.

      On this particular evening, he left the Book of Arafel on his small writing table when he went to speak with the Council, and unable to stop myself, I’d lifted the cracked leather cover. The strange weighting of the paper was the first thing I noticed. And although I tried to flick through the leaves, the book fell open in the centre as though those crudely cut pages were begging to be read first. Their content mesmerized me instantly. Grandpa had returned before I’d had chance to study the pages closely, but the mystery of the unique drawings and text had always stayed with me.

      I couldn’t imagine what relevance such an old book might hold for me now, but I reached across and eased the sizeable volume from under the bed mattress anyway. He threw me a mischievous smile as I passed it to him.

      ‘There’s not much you don’t see is there, Tal? Good. I was counting on that. Now come and sit beside me the way you used to when you were knee-high to a grasshopper!’

      My eyes pricked with a rush of heat. It was one of Dad’s favourite nonsense sayings and hearing it always made me feel as though he were back in the room with us. I knelt beside Grandpa’s chair and leaned into his comforting warmth. At nineteen, Eli and I had long finished our school education, and were fully involved in village life. Like everyone else, we spent six days a week fulfilling our chosen community role. For Eli, there was no life outside animals, while I was following in my father’s footsteps by teaching in the village school. Either way, family time was a precious luxury to us both.

      ‘Look.’

      Grandpa’s voice lowered to a whisper as he ran his finger down the centre of the aged leaves and opened them about halfway. He turned the book around on his knees and indicated I should read. It had a loose spine, which rattled as it swivelled. I dropped my eyes to the faded writing, and tried to concentrate.

      ‘Research: Voynich Manuscript//Genome Investigation: 10th May 2024

      ‘Author: Thomas Hanway,’ I read, frowning heavily.

      There was a faded CLASSIFIED stamp emblazoned across the front page, and I knew immediately I was reading something of significance. I looked up and, encouraged by his slight nod, turned the sepia-stained page. The dense, incomprehensible text was still there, as familiar as though it had burned a fiery imprint somewhere in my subconscious, and yet still no clearer than it was all those years before.

      The pages were covered in strange misshapen, circular drawings, and annotated by lines and words I didn’t recognize. And written into the borders were more faded words, some of which could have been written in English or ancient Egyptian, for all I could tell. Each drawing was different – some contained hieroglyphic markings, others smaller distended circles and more indistinguishable writing. I stared for a few seconds, before exhaling. Thomas’s research was a complete enigma.

      ‘I don’t understand it,’ I ventured after a moment’s silence. ‘It looks like an adult has written over a child’s drawing.’

      ‘Ah well, that’s scientists for you!’ Grandpa leaned forward to brush the text gently.

      ‘You recall everything I’ve told you about Thomas?’

      I nodded uncertainly.

      ‘Good. Well, these central pages are all that’s left of his work: precious, classified scientific work. You know Thomas as the pioneering forefather of Arafel, and he was. But he also had a life before Arafel … in the city,’ he continued, gazing at me intently.

      ‘Thomas was working on a huge Government project at the time the Great War broke out, as a Lead Scientist in the team that created the Lifedome.’

      I looked at my grandfather sharply. It was the first time I’d heard of a connection with the dome.

      ‘Something happened while he was carrying out important Government research, something big enough to make him abandon everything he knew, and run.’

      ‘Do you know what it was?’ I prompted breathlessly.

      Grandpa drew a deep breath and scrutinized my face.

      ‘Have you ever heard of the Voynich, Talia?’ he whispered so quietly I had to strain to hear at all.

      For a second, it seemed as though even the leaves of our white oak paused their dance to listen. I shook my head.

      ‘The Voynich was an ancient medieval manuscript, which baffled historians and scientific cryptographers for centuries. Thomas was a very clever scientist, Talia, and just before the war he made a discovery about the Voynich, something that changed his mind dramatically about the purpose and sanctuary of the Lifedome.’

      ‘Is this … the Voynich?’ I asked wonderingly, pointing to the open pages resting on Grandpa’s lap. My skin prickled with the prospect of the real-life ancient mystery unfolding before my very eyes.

      Grandpa chuckled softly. ‘Oh no, the Voynich Manuscript was a wonderfully ornate ancient manuscript, which we believe may have been lost during the Great War. What you are looking at is Thomas’s own research into the Voynich, although some believe it’s of rather more importance …’

      I tried not to show my disappointment. ‘What … what does it mean? What did he find out exactly?’

      ‘Well therein lies the real mystery.’ Grandpa pondered this for a moment. ‘We’ve never been able to understand its significance. He attempted to persuade the authorities at the time to listen to him, but instead they arrested him. Luckily, some of his team remained loyal, broke him out of prison, and together with his key research … these pages … smuggled him out of the city to start a new life as an Outsider. Thomas bound the pages inside the Book of Arafel, so they would always be safe, together with his account of Arafel’s beginning.’

      I stared in wonder at the new light in Grandpa’s face. I’d never seen him so passionate, or serious.

      ‘You remember what I taught you of Thomas’s vision? We must live freely, know our place in the forest, and take only what we need to survive.’

      I nodded.

      ‘Yet, Thomas left something else on his deathbed too: a secret request to his family and descendants, that we protect the Book of Arafel from the Insiders – with our lives.’

      The words hung on the air and I shifted, trying to digest the enormity of what Grandpa was saying.

      ‘But, you must know more,’ I tried after a weighted silence. ‘You must have some suspicion as to the meaning of Thomas’s research?’

      I reached out to touch the crinkled paper, and a twinkle crept back into Grandpa’s eyes.

      ‘There’s my Talia, always asking why,’ he responded cryptically. ‘And all I really know is our beginning is hidden in these pages somewhere, and by that I don’t mean Arafel’s beginning – I mean yours, mine, and every other creature that ever walked this earth …’

      I gazed back at the grandfather