A Pale Horse

by Wendy Alec

  He dropped his gaze to the wild, barren ice plains surrounding his great forbidding fortress. The legions of the damned were gathering.

  From the solar systems and above the earth they flew. From their opulent royal palaces on Saturn and Jupiter, Uranus and Venus, the menacing giant six-fingered satanic princes arrived, one by one, in their winged chariots of the damned. From the constellations they flew. From their citadels on Orion and Draco. From Centaurus and Ursa Minor. From their magnificent castles in the Second Heaven above Ethiopia, Grecia, and Babylon they came. From Siberia and from Persia. The great and terrible rulers of the darkness assembled on the ice wastelands of Mars.

  The sinister Black Ice Magi rode across the plains of Mars on their headless three-humped camels. Close behind flew the ghostly witches of Babylon from Venus, and the dread Warlocks of Ishtar from Mercury, on the backs of winged werewolves and dragons, their pale faces raised in ecstasy to the ice blizzards.

  From the great depths under the earth they came—thousands of dauphin scribes with cloven hooves, ascended out of the Popocatépetl volcano, through the heavens, toward Mars. From under the oceans and from the desolate lunar depths of the Marianas Trench, they came—Hera and the banshees of Valkyrie, riding on Leviathan and giant sea serpents. From the molten center of the earth came the Wort Seers of Diabolos. The Necromancer Snow Kings and the one-eyed ice Cyclops flew through the ice crevices of the secret doors of Antarctica on their six-headed gargoyles, their great horn claws slashing through the glaciers.

  As far as the eye could see, the Fallen were gathering.

  Answering the call. To hold high court in the Dread Councils of hell.

  On the ice wastelands of Mars, a ghoulish screeching filled the solar wind as the thunderous pealing of the monstrous bells of Limbo echoed from the spire across the bleak ice plains of Gehenna.

  Lucifer lifted his scepter, his white fur cape billowing in the violent ice tempests. In a semicircle behind him stood the thirteen dread Warlock Kings of the West – their pale green parchment like skin and hooked noses visible beneath their crimson hoods. The only sounds on the ice waste- lands were the ominous mutterings of the Warlocks’ incantations.

  Lucifer turned to face the damned gathered across the ice wastelands—the great assembly of powers of evil and terror, the rulers of the dark world. His intense sapphire eyes blazed fiercely.

  “Secure the gates!” he commanded.

  Instantly, a hundred thousand of the Black Horde, Lucifer’s elite militia, appeared from their snow caverns. Their black hair hung well below their thighs, and their yellow eyes blazed with demonic fire.

  There was a monstrous shuddering. The gates of the Ice Citadel closed.

  Lucifer raised his scarred imperial features in ecstasy to the dark blizzards that blew in from the White Dwarf Pinnacles.

  “I welcome you, princes, kings, esteemed rulers of the darkness of this world. I welcome you, great magi, witches, and warlocks of the Second Heaven. I bid you welcome, esteemed banshees of Valkyrie from under the oceans, Wort Seers of Diabolos, and Necromancer Kings of the secret places under the earth. You may worship your emperor.”

  The entire assembly bowed low.

  “We worship you, O Lucifer, O great Satan.”

  Lucifer paced up and down the ice pavilion.

  “Our time as the Fallen is short. Untold millennia have passed since the First Great War—the War of the First Judgment—and our iniquitous and unmerited banishment from the First Heaven.”

  A dark murmur erupted. Lucifer raised his hand.

  “Over two millennia have elapsed since our undeserved and crushing defeat by the Nazarene at Golgotha,” he hissed.

  This time a deafening, bloodthirsty cry erupted. Lucifer surveyed the Fallen. Smiling malevolently, he raised his scepter a second time.

  “Yes, we have bided our time. Yes, we have been patient. Yes, we have been judicious.” He paced up and down.

  “But now the days of the Fallen draw rapidly to a close. The three and a half years prophesied by the Hebrew Daniel have passed. The Tribulation is here. The Great Tribulation is nigh. Three and a half years remain.”

  He stood, imperial, silent, and held out his hand. Marduk passed him a missive.

  “Mark well the seal of the Royal House of Yehovah!” he cried, “for in not so many moons it will be the Royal House of Lucifer the light bearer.”

  Lucifer held the missive up high.

  “Last dawn, I received a visit from a former comrade. My brother, Chief Prince Michael. Archangel.” He bowed.

  “He bore this very missive. A missive from Him who abandoned us,” he hissed. From Him whom we served fervently. Devotedly for eons. A missive from Yehovah.”

  He opened the missive slowly in front of the Council.

  “A dark threat. An ultimatum. He lays only two choices before us: desist in our genetic programs before forty moons are passed, or we the Fallen will be expelled. Driven out by force. Not only from the First Heaven but also from our present place of habitation as well. The Second Heaven.

  “Venus, Mars, Saturn—our planets. Our constellations. We will have only one abode left: that parched tract of dust. That unsightly, hideous planet. We will be driven to Earth.”

  A thunderous roar erupted from the Fallen. Lucifer motioned for silence.

  “We will not stand idly by and watch the demise of our great fallen angelic race!” His eyes burned with an evil fire.

  “We will WAR.”

  The colossal prince of Grecia stood: eighteen feet tall, his head two feet in diameter, with sparse orange hair. His yellow eyes glinted with evil as he raised his copper-bound arm.

  “We will WAR!”

  A second monstrous roar erupted from the Fallen.

  “We will WAR!”

  Lucifer smiled, then raised his head in the direction of the planet Earth.

  “The day of the Third Great War with Michael my brother and the armies of the First Heaven is upon us. When the seal of the Pale Horse is broken and Nisroc, prince of hell and death, crosses the Kármán Line, all who bear the seal of the Nazarene will be caught up into the heavenlies.”

  A cacophonous whisper broke out over the wastelands.

  “We have waited two millennia for their forthcoming evacuation. We relish the removal of the Nazarene’s subjects from our planet. They have greatly obstructed our progress in the realm of men, with their confounded supplications, the incursions of the angelic hosts through the Portals to assist them.

  “The Nazarene,” he spat. “Visitations to this wretched planet. Nightly.”

  The satanic prince of Draco rose to his full height of seventeen feet. His red eyes glinted, and his matted black hair fell below his thighs.

  “Golgotha!” he thundered.

  A murmur of terror rippled through the Council.

  “Their removal ensures His removal. It ensures our victory. Yet we must ask ourselves the question, why does Yehovah remove them at this time?

  “Because He would rescue them. From the coming Judgment. The Great Tribulation.”

  Lucifer’s face contorted with loathing.

  “Does He rescue us, the Fallen, from His judgments? Does He show us, the Fallen, grace or mercy for our weaknesses? Our rebellions?

  “No!” Lucifer roared. “He banishes us. He condemns us for the rest of eternity. First to exile. Then to the Lake of Fire. Are our sins, are our weaknesses, our frailties any less or more than those of the Race of Men?”

  A louder roar erupted from the Fallen on the ice wastelands.

  “Are my sins, are my weaknesses, is my rebellion any less or more than those of the Race of Men? And if He wins the war, our Father has chosen not only to exile me but to chain me and imprison me for one thousand years in a bottomless pit, and then for eternity in burning sulphur, the Lake of Fire. Do you see even one of the Race of Men condemned with such ferocity, such abiding hatred, such unparalleled injustice, as I, Lucifer?”

  A huge commotion broke
out among the Fallen. Lucifer stared out at the Dread Councils in satisfaction. He waited for the uproar to subside, then spoke again.

  “Moon after moon, eon after eon, I have personally approached the High Courts of Heaven with our legislators of the Fallen.

  I have traveled to and fro on the face of the planet Earth, scrutinizing even the most hallowed of the Race of Men. First and foremost, followers of the Nazarene. Case after case of the Race of Men I have brought before Yehovah’s advocates in the angelic High Courts of the First Heaven. But if they bear the seal of the Nazarene, because they have accepted the terrible sacrifice, at every turn our meticulously researched cases are thrown out of court. The blood of the Nazarene, it seems, covers every failing of the Race of Men.” He spat.

  “And those that reject the Nazarene?” The Warlocks of Ishtar slithered.

  Lucifer raised both hands dismissively. “Those who reject the terrible sacrifice share our doom: the conflagration of the Lake of Fire. They are not my concern.”

  “So, Your Excellency,” hissed Marduk, “you are implying that there is unequivocal punishment for the Fallen and the Race of Men?”

  Lucifer stopped in mid step, and his eyes darkened with rage. He pointed his scepter at Marduk.

  “We the Fallen do not have the codicil.”

  He held out his hand.

  Marduk scuttled up to him and passed over a slim golden casket from the Library of Iniquities. A thin plume of white smoke arose from its contents.

  Marduk read: “‘Codicil 7998 as pertains to the Race of Men—Codicil as pertaining to eternal absolution, clemency, exoneration.

  “‘If one undefiled from the Race of Men is willing to shed his lifeblood on behalf of the Race of Men,” Marduk announced, “and become a substitute for judgment, the said Race of Men—past, present, and future generations—will be released from eternal judgment by the death of that one. Pardoned. Absolved of each and every transgression, crime, offense. A soul for a soul. This is binding Eternal Law for those of the Race of Men—if they accept the great sacrifice of the Nazarene.

  “‘A soul for a soul, for the Race of Men.’”

  Slowly Marduk took a second golden casket. A dark plume of smoke arose from it.

  “‘Codicil 8898 as pertains to the fallen host, inclusive of the Watchers, Nephilim, Demonic–Codicil as pertaining to eternal absolution, clemency, exoneration.

  “‘In fact, the great sacrifice was undergone by Christos in his capacity as one of the Race of Men. Absolution for the Fallen does not fall within its boundaries.

  “‘Each and every transgression, crime, offense is punishable by eternal chastisement. No absolution is recorded.’”

  He hesitated. The silence was palpable.

  Finally, Lucifer spoke.

  “Forgiveness for the mewling Race of Men, but no such compassions for those of us who served Him faithfully for millennia. No such clemency for our fellow rebel angels, those of us His cherubim, His seraphim. And what of His Watchers?” Lucifer spat.

  “What of His Watchers, who reek of sulphur?”

  Lucifer stared distastefully ahead.

  “Chained in the bottomless pits, in dungeons deep below the molten earth.

  “What did they do to deserve such cruelty, such callousness, from one whom they once served so devotedly? Because the Watchers cohabited with the daughters of the Race of Men. Do you see the daughters of the Race of Men imprisoned thousands of feet below the earth’s surface. NO!”

  Lucifer raised his arms to the swirling skies.

  “If they repent, they receive His mercy. If they repent, they receive absolution.”

  Lucifer took a deep breath. Finally, he regained his composure.

  “Yes, we fell. Yes, He discarded us. Yes, He abandoned us. And as for the mewling Race of Men! Already He prepares their rewards and their mansions. And now He would whisk all those who bear His mark out of harm’s way, protected in an instant from all that would come upon the earth.

  “For all these past millennia, I have stood at times day and night, in the High Courts of the First Heaven, with my legislators, bringing accusation against the Race of Men. My patience with Yehovah is at an end. If He will not excommunicate them, then I will take action, and we will mutate every genomic code of the Race of Men until there is not one pure, untainted bloodline that remains.

  “We the Fallen shall storm the gates of Eden. We the Fallen shall storm the gates of the throne room of the First Heaven.

  I, Lucifer, shall wrest the throne from Yehovah.

  “I, prince regent, seraphim, was born to rule.”

  Lucifer raised both hands to the ice skies. The violent, swirling winds blew his hair and cloak. “I will ascend into heaven. I will exalt my throne above the throne of Yehovah.”

  A strange, evil fire burned in the blazing steel blue eyes.

  “I will sit upon the mount of the congregation. They will worship me.

  “I will be as GOD.” He stared at the Fallen with insane glee. “We will WAR!”

  Chapter Twelve

  Hollyhock Cottage, Ireland

  Dylan Weaver stared blearily at the run- ning databases on the three machines in front of him.

  “There’s no record, Prof. No record of Adrian De Vere’s DNA anywhere on any of the updated ten-kingdom databases worldwide. That’s a three billion net. All intel sources, east and west, come up void.”

  He shook his head.

  “If it ever existed anywhere, it’s been systematically wiped—I’d say, by his pet troll, Guber.”

  “It leaves us only one option,” Lawrence murmured. “Without it, we don’t have definite proof that Adrian and the clone are one and the same.”

  Nick grinned wryly. “A DNA sample. From the president of the entire Western World. You think he’s going to be forthcoming?”

  Alex cocked one eyebrow. “Not impossible.”

  Nick raised the remote. “Speak of the . . . ”

  Nick and Lawrence exchanged a glance. Adrian’s chiseled features filled the TV screen. The room fell silent. Jason sank into the armchair next to Nick, who was sprawled out on the sofa, half covered by five dog-eared issues of the Irish Independent.

  “Turn it up, Alex.”

  The camera zoomed in on Adrian, standing on the iconic white marble steps outside the entrance to his new world headquarters in Babylon.

  “He’s unveiling his bailout plan,” Lawrence murmured. “He’s going to bail out every superbloc whose economic infrastructure has been shattered.”

  “At precisely eleven-o-five a.m. here in Babylon, Iraq, the AXIS Ten Accord, cementing the long-awaited one-world government—the most momentous accord in our lifetime —has been sealed.” The announcer continued. “Signed by kings, prime ministers, and presidents of ten of the world’s supereconomic regions . . . ”

  Adrian stood between the Indian and Pakistani prime ministers. “This morning . . . ” Adrian hesitated, staring directly into the camera lens.

  Jason shook his head. Adrian cast an almost hypnotic spell when he was on the box.

  “ . . . long-standing feuds, factions, and wars have been set aside to create our new one-world government—the AXIS Ten Accord. The premiers of India, Sri Lanka, and Pakistan are united in their commitment to the Asian Bloc. As are Russia, Georgia, China, Taiwan, Colombia, Brazil, and Mexico.”

  The camera slowly panned back across the leaders of Canada and the United States, Japan, Australia, New Zealand, South Africa, Israel, Pacific island nations, Eastern Europe, Latin America, North Africa and the Middle East, Central Africa, South and Southeast Asia, Central Asia, and the Western European Union.

  “Eighteen months ago,” Adrian continued, “on what was known internationally as the World’s Black Friday, economic collapse and world famine struck at the aorta of Western and Eastern society. Bank balances were wiped out over- night. A thousand top-ranking banks, from London to Tokyo to New York, were in liquidation by morning. The Eurozone collapse of last decade pa
led in comparison to the devastation to the world banking infrastructure that we face today.

  “In the shadow of this, and as a result of the referendum of the people of the ten kingdoms, today I am unveiling a new world banking order.”

  “Well, that’s the end of democracy,” Alex scowled.

  “And freedom of speech,” murmured Jason.

  “Fifty trillion dollars in gold has been released from the International Security Fund’s vaults in Switzerland, into the European Union’s Solidarity Fund. And the immediate implementation of a one-world currency. Our new ten-kingdom axis will be known as the AXIS Ten.”

  “He’s done it.” Jason shook his head. “He’s brought them all to the table. It’s the seventh world empire. A new world order—a ten-kingdom world alliance. One-world economic system.”

  Dylan Weaver turned to Lawrence. “Last one coming through, Prof.”

  Lawrence took the remote from Nick and clicked the television off. “Jason, you saw the certificate of death issued by the presiding doctor on call that night.”

  Jason nodded. “Nothing abnormal. Heart attack.”

  “Yes, acute myocardial infarction,” Lawrence said softly. “I commissioned an autopsy.”

  Jason stared at him, incredulous. “She didn’t have an autopsy, Lawrence.” He sighed. “By the time I was in touch with the hospital her body was en route to the Chapel of Rest. Instruction issued by next of kin Adrian De Vere.”

  Dylan stood up, document in hand, and passed it over to Lawrence.

  “Ah,” Lawrence said with a note of satisfaction. “Your mother’s autopsy report.” He placed his glasses over his nose. “Your information is out of date, Jason. The autopsy report is right here. From Vernon Sinclair, a trusted ex-colleague, retired MI-six forensic pathologist, top of his trade. Used to looking at what lies beneath.”

  “So what?” Jason rolled his eyes in exasperation. “What’s Mother’s body got to do with anything?”

  The whole room fell silent as Lawrence read. The first page, then the next four. Finally, he laid the report down on the table before him. He removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes, then nodded to Weaver, who tapped the holographic screen.