Realms of Fire

by Sharon K Gilbert

  “Must I? The tower has an unhealthy look to it. I argue with her, but she insists I go in. I can hear bells, coming from high overhead.” He grew silent for a moment, his face widening into a look of amazement. “Georgianna is singing! She’s singing, and the tower is changing! It’s growing lighter and more welcoming! The door opens. She’s telling me goodbye.”

  Charles wanted to weep again, dreading the loss of this connexion. “Tell her I love her.”

  “She says she loves you as well. She calls you ‘dearest Father’. How she laughs! Can one fall in love with a child? I enter the tower. She tells me one last thing. ‘I must find my father now. He’s a bit lost.’”

  Swallowing hard, Sinclair nodded. “So I was, but she found me. With Christ’s help, my daughter found me.”

  “I—I, uh... I’m flying!” shouted Holloway. “Flying into the air and passing through a thousand doors at once.” His entire body shook, and the fingers whitened round the ticking clock. “I can feel air slamming against my face and hear voices in languages I don’t understand. God help me! Please, Lord, help me!”

  “You’re all right, Seth,” the alienist told him.

  The body shocks grew more severe, and Charles placed his hands round Holloway’s, helping him to keep hold of the clock.

  The tremors reached crescendo as though timed with the music Beth played downstairs. The sleeper’s jaw tightened, and he screamed. “Help me!”

  Then all stopped.

  His body grew slack. His eyes flitted about rapidly beneath the lids.

  “Where am I?”

  “Have you moved?” asked Kepelheim.

  “Yes, I think so.”

  “Do you see Georgianna?” asked Sinclair.

  “No, she’s gone,” he answered sadly. “Already, I miss her.”

  Charles understood Holloway’s reaction. Georgianna had her mother’s inner light and compassion that imparted courage and strength, even to a grown man.

  Henry took over once again. “Do you still hear the birds?”

  “No, they’ve gone. I’m in a cavern now.”

  “Can you describe it?”

  He panted, as though catching his breath. “Yes, give me a minute.”

  “How’s his pulse?” Salperton whispered to Martin.

  “Rapid but slowing now. What happened in that tower took its toll. We shouldn’t go much longer.”

  “Seth, are you injured?” the doctor asked, now wondering if the rapid journey from the tower had caused the wounds.

  “No,” the sleeper answered. “Just winded. Am I really here? You said I’m in bed.”

  “This is all a memory, but it may feel as though you’re living it. Can you tell us what’s happening?”

  “I’m alone, but I can describe the cavern, if that’s useful. Is this part of my treatment?”

  “Yes, it is. You’re nearly finished. Can you continue?”

  “Yes, I think so. The cavern is remarkable. The ceiling must be fifty feet over my head. I still have my compass—it’s in my pocket.” A brief pause. “The compass behaves strangely, rotating as though the needle’s lost its magnetism. It stops for a second. I think the cavern’s heading east, towards the sea. I can see three doorways. One has a natural look about it, as though part of an ancient cave system. The others are arched and dressed with finished stones. The northern arch leads to a staircase, and the west leads...” There was a long silence. “I’ve walked the width to this other door. All the sconces are lit. Wentworth and Patterson must have been this way and lit them. You know, this may be the Apotheosis Vault, where the transformation into a demigod occurs. I see writing and carved imagery from many different religions. The floor’s covered in red paint—no, wait. Not paint. I think it’s blood. Old blood, and there’s lots of it. If this is the Apotheosis Vault, then it makes a hideous sense. Metamorphosis requires sacrifice.”

  Charles knew that chamber all too well. It was where Elizabeth watched Trent kill her mother. He nearly instructed Holloway to climb the steps—to escape whilst he could—but he didn’t wish to alter the true facts of what had happened.

  “Do you see anything else?” he asked.

  “No, nothing—wait! How can it be? It’s impossible!” His breathing became quick. In his mind, Seth had run to the south wall. He picked up a two-foot high toy. “It’s Beth’s doll. How can it be here?”

  “You recognise it?” asked Aubrey.

  “Of course. It’s that doll Beth found in Faerie’s Copse. The one Connor tried to destroy. How did it get here? I wonder if this is the doll Georgianna mentioned?”

  Another silence followed, and then everything changed. Seth Holloway, now reliving the attack that led to all his injuries, began to scream.

  In the main floor music room, Elizabeth was lost in a trance as she played. Her interpretation of Beethoven’s musical genius danced upon the molecules of air and vibrated each atom, forming sound waves that coursed along the walls and up the chimney. Its power overtook the musician, and Elizabeth Sinclair formed the nexus of transformation itself. The same bright orb which had hovered over Sinclair’s head now floated o’er hers, unseen by all except for the dogs and David Anderson, the former Mr. Thirteen. His entire body shuddered, for he sensed evil within the ball of light.

  Why does no one see it? he wondered, trying to decide if he should attack it.

  Beth had nearly reached the last page, when Holloway’s piercing scream rang throughout the upper corridors.

  She stopped—two measures short of completing the piece. Without a word, the duchess ran from the room and hastened up the staircase before anyone could stop her. Duke James, Reid, and Cornelius Baxter quickly followed. James tried to stop the duchess before she reached the steps, but he was too late. The nimble duchess had already gained the first landing and was climbing the second course to the first floor.

  Henry MacAlpin got nothing more from the session. Fearing for his patient’s mind, he did his best to calm Holloway. “You’re safe! Seth, you’re perfectly safe! Listen to me—concentrate only on my voice.”

  “No! Leave me alone! God in heaven, leave me!” he screamed in manic terror. The clock dropped to the floor as he raised his hands to protect his face.

  All four men tried to hold him down, for Holloway began to thrash about as though trying to escape. The screams continued as he endured a replay of the original attack.

  “Wings! They have wings! Get them off me!”

  “I don’t know how to get him out of this,” Henry told Kepelheim. “Do you?”

  Martin placed the clock back into the sleeper’s grasp. Charles once more added his own hands to Seth’s, holding them and the clock.

  “Seth, you must concentrate on the clock,” Kepelheim told him. “Listen to its ticking, the soothing rhythm. Can you hear it? Tick, tick, tick.”

  “No! Get them off me!”

  “Shut it out of your mind. Wherever you are, close your eyes and listen to the ticking.”

  “Who is she? Where are the others? No, please, no! Aarrghhhaahhhh!!! No, please! God help me! Help me, pleeeeaaaassse!”

  Just then, Elizabeth entered the room, followed quickly by Reid, Baxter, and Drummond. She rushed to the bedside and took Holloway’s right hand.

  “Seth,” she whispered.

  His entire body, which had been in constant motion, stopped completely. The muscles relaxed as though each part of him now listened.

  “Beth?”

  “Yes, darling, it’s Beth,” she told him sweetly. Then, she glared at MacAlpin. “What have you been doing to him?”

  “A therapeutic experiment,” Salperton admitted. “To help him recover his lost memories, but he won’t come out of it. He can’t hear us now, but he hears your voice, Beth. Speak to him. Remember how I called to you when you were lost? Perhaps, you can bring Seth home.”

 
; Charles took her arm. “You don’t have to do this,” he heard himself say, instantly realising the pettiness of the remark.

  “But I do,” she answered without condemnation. “Might I sit?”

  Henry helped her to a chair, and Charles stood behind her. He squeezed his wife’s hand, thinking of Georgianna’s bravery. “Forgive me, little one. Henry’s right. Seth needs your help.”

  She kissed his hand, lovingly. “I’d do the same for any of you. I only pray this works.” Reaching for Holloway’s arm, she was surprised when he clutched her hand as though drowning.

  “Help me,” he whispered, his eyes still shut. “It’s dark, and demons surround me. I’m terrified, Beth. I’m so sorry I doubted your stories, but you were right. These tunnels are filled with evil.”

  She stroked his coppery hair tenderly. “Nothing there can harm you, Seth. Trust in Christ to bring you home. Only our Lord has the power to do that. Do you believe in him? You and I spoke of it so many times. Do you remember?”

  Tears streamed down his cheeks, and he nodded in his sleep. “Yes, I remember. It’s why you kept refusing to marry me. But I know the truth now, Beth! I’ve seen the fallen ones with my own eyes! I’m hurt and bleeding, and it’s freezing here. I can hear screaming, somewhere below me. I think it might be the other men. I dare not imagine what hellions now torment them!”

  “We’ll pray for them, darling. All of us will pray,” she said, looking at the men now surrounding the bed. “Follow the sound of my voice. You needn’t suffer through this torment another moment, for it is only a memory. An echo of what happened. You’re safe at Branham now. In a soft bed, surrounded by friends. Paul is here. You were rescued by him. Do you remember?”

  His hands shook, and they seemed deathly cold. She placed hers round his, rubbing them lightly to bring warmth.

  “Darling friend, listen to me. Follow the sound of my voice. Pull yourself up by pulling on me, if you must! I will not leave you there!”

  In his mind, in the cruel cold of the sacrificial chamber, the Cambridge don managed to stand. He could feel her grip: the delicate, soft palm and dainty fingers that he’d held so many times before. Seth still loved Elizabeth dearly, but she belonged to another.

  “Where are you, Beth?” he asked. “I feel your hand, but I can’t see you.”

  “I’m right here with you; sitting beside you. You need only open your eyes, darling. I’m right here. My grandfather is here, and so is Paul. But most importantly, the Lord Jesus is here. The enemy wants to keep you in chains, Seth. Let Christ break them!”

  His eyelids fluttered, and the grip on her hand grew so tight that it left marks on her fingers for many minutes afterward, but the duchess refused to let go.

  “Look at me, Seth,” she told him. “Open your eyes.”

  Finally, the lids parted, revealing Seth Holloway’s intense blue irises. His clenched jaw relaxed, and the lips widened into a grateful smile. “Hello, Princess,” he whispered.

  Beth immediately broke down, her head resting against Seth’s right arm. Charles made no effort to remove her, and a beautiful peace filled his heart—a sense of compassion and profound admiration for his wife.

  Salperton was at Holloway’s left side, taking the radial pulse. “It’s normal again. Can you remember anything, Dr. Holloway?”

  “I remember everything,” Seth answered, his voice strong. “You brought me back, Beth. You rescued me from a place far darker than I ever thought existed.”

  “Christ rescued you,” she told him, stroking his damp hair. “Now, you should rest. Charles, would you take me back downstairs, please?”

  The duke placed an arm round his wife. “I’ll be back later. Paul, would you remain? Or do you want to spend the evening with Delia?”

  “Is she still in the music room?”

  “Yes, I think so,” Beth answered. “Charles, if you prefer to stay, Grandfather can take me down.”

  “I’ll do it,” he insisted. “Gentlemen, I shan’t be long. Dr. Holloway, if you’d share your story with my cousin? Martin, would you write it down using your shorthand method?”

  “Oh, yes, I’d enjoy making use of that,” answered the tailor. “Once Dr. Holloway goes to sleep, I’ll come join you as well. Let Riga know I hope to hear his new duet.”

  “I’ll tell him,” she promised, leaving with Sinclair.

  Once the door had shut, Aubrey took the vacated chair closest to the bed. “Now, Seth, while it’s still fresh in your mind, tell us what happened.”

  Before entering the lift, Charles pulled his wife into the upper gallery, shutting the door. Without a word, he placed his hands against her cheeks and kissed her tenderly. “I’m a fool,” he whispered when their lips parted.

  “If so, you’re a very handsome fool,” she answered with a bright smile. “Charles, do you think my past with Seth affects our present? No matter what happened with him, my love for you never once waned.”

  “Yet, you nearly accepted his marriage proposal.”

  Her eyes lowered along with her voice. “Yes, but will you let me tell you the entire story? Later?”

  He kissed her again. “Of course, you may. Again, I apologise. I’m spoiling our first Christmas together.”

  “Not at all. The only change I’d make to our celebration would be spending more time with you.”

  “Thank you, little one. I love you.”

  She stroked his bearded cheek. “And I love you, Captain. For all eternity, I shall ever be yours.”

  Chapter Sixty

  Midnight - 33 Wormwood, City of London

  “Shall we begin the meeting?” asked Serena di Specchio. The vampiress wore her typical attire: a black and red gown decorated in glass beads along the bust to enhance her round figure. Her coal-black hair was piled high upon her head and adorned with a ruby tiara, accented with bright diamonds.

  “Thinkest thou a queen, Serena?” teased Saraqael, wearing the guise of Prince Aleksandr Koshmar.

  “Of course, I am a queen! I reign over many, and I do as I wish,” di Specchio answered proudly. “Where is Raziel this evening?”

  Sir Clive Urquhart, just returned from Paris, sat at the opposite end of the rectangular, ash table, smoking one of his special blend cigars. The builder’s beady black eyes blinked like a rat’s.

  “Our leader is delayed in France, dear lady,” Urquhart explained. “When I left, he’d gone to Goussainville, or so I am told. He never speaks to me directly these days, but conveys all messages through his new lackey, Sir Albert Wendaway. I’ll admit, Albert’s a handsome little leach. I suspect Prince Raziel finds him a very satisfying companion.”

  Saraqael began to laugh, and he took the chair at the head of the table. “You think Raza would take a male lover? What human would find that nose attractive? Now, Samael is another story. My elder brother’s always had a knack for presenting himself as exceedingly beautiful to both sexes.”

  “Is Samael interested in men?” asked Gerald St. Ives, the 5th Earl of Wisling. With strong and varied sexual appetites, St. Ives spent many an evening touring both types of brothels to satisfy his twisted desires. The idea that angels might enjoy the same duality intrigued him.

  Saraqael found the baronet annoying, and he ignored the question, whispering instead to Sir Robert Cartwright, a soft-spoken baronet with strong ties to the royal family.

  “I asked if Prince Anatole is interested in men!” St. Ives shouted, angry at being ignored.

  Di Specchio cast her cold eyes upon him. “Why do you ask, Lord Wisling? Is it because you find Sama alluring? Does your heart yearn for strange flesh, as did the men of Sodom? You do know what happened to them?”

  The earl had no wish that his predilections be uncovered, for he was married to a wealthy American, the daughter of a powerful Washington senator. “I find it interesting; that’s all. He’s always struck me as r
ather asexual, if you want the truth. Yes, Samael is quite handsome, but Raziel? He’s far too brutish. The man lacks refinement.”

  “And I?” Saraqael asked. “Do you not find this form enticing, Lord Wisling? Do your deviant inner longings wish me to embrace you? To place my teeth upon your thick neck and bleed you until you scream in ecstasy?” he asked, the full lips curled beneath a gleaming black moustache. “Shall I use you up and spit you out, then remake you into the image of myself?”

  St. Ives cowered upon his chair, but Serena found the behavior tedious. “Must we waste time with these boyish games? You’re far more handsome than Samael, my prince. No woman could resist you, nor any man! Indeed, there is no contest twixt you and your brothers. Not those we’ve met, at least,” she added with a brazen toss of the head. “We’ve not met the other yet, have we?”

  “Other?” asked Honoria Chandler. As the only female member of the dwindling Round Table, she found the idea of a new elohim exciting. “Is it possible Raziel has a rival?”

  In response, Saraqael leapt onto the table and began to stride upon it as though assuming control of the room.

  “Raziel has always had rivals, though he’s loath to admit it. Even at the height of his power, he bowed to many other, stronger elohim. We have a ranking system in the hidden realms, just as you have a peerage system in this one. Before the great rebellion, Raziel stood beside the throne recording all the One spoke. When he fell, he stole the book and gave it to Adam. For that, Samael was ordered to slay him.”

  “Yet Prince Raziel lives,” Chandler noted.

  “Yes, but only because Samael pled for his life. The One relented and allowed the imprisonment. I, too, was there, for I was loyal back then. But seeing Samael wage war against so many of our kind changed all that. I began to read the prophecies of the infernal realms, and these took hold in my mind. The secrets are in Raziel’s book, and that is what we must find! We must locate all the scrolls and reassemble them.”

  “Raziel is doing this?” asked Chandler.

  “He was,” Saraqael answered, standing over her. “But no longer; for a stronger elohim has arisen. Now, Prince Raziel must bow to the one he released. What a fool my brother is! He thought Araqiel would follow him as leader, but even in the divine realms, Ara always outranked Raza! As the psalmist says, ‘A brutish man knoweth not; neither doth a fool understand.’”