The Jealous God

by Brendan Carroll

  “And what would you do to those who would crucify our Lord and command that you deny Christ?”

  “I would spit in their faces!”

  The Grand Master held up a golden crown made of laurel leaves like the ones worn by the Roman Emperors. The candidate spit on the crown and it was dropped to the floor.

  “And what would you say to Jesus Christ, if He were here before you?”

  “I would pledge my life in defense of His life and His blood. The Sangreal. Non nobis, Domine, Non nobis, sed nomini Tuo da Gloriam!”

  The Grand Master stepped forward and took the candidate by the shoulders. He kissed him on both cheeks and then on the lips. “Spes mea in deo est.” The candidate repeated the phrase and the Master turned him about and presented him to his Brothers. Each of them stepped forward in turn to kiss him, repeating the phrase at each kiss.

  Chapter One of Fifteen

  For there is not a just man upon earth, that doeth good, and sinneth not

  The Grand Master of the Red Cross of Gold sat between his Seneschal, Sir Barry of Sussex and his Chaplain Brother, Sir Peter Rushkin. In front of him lay a stack of fresh computer printouts with the carefully translated words of Thoth, the Atlantean. A precursory examination of the translations showed the works of Hermes Trismegistus closely compared with the original Tablets. Not exactly word for word, but certainly close enough to show that either the great Hermes had been Hermes, Thrice-born as the legend claimed, a third incarnation of Thoth or Chequetet of Atlantis, or else he had been privy to the Emerald Tablets himself at some point. There were some obvious differences. The Emerald Tablets were complete, whereas, the translations by Hermes had significant portions missing.

  John Paul Sinclair-Ramsay sat at the opposite end of the Conference Table. He was dressed in the white uniform of a Knight Templar and his pewter cup with Bugs Bunny engraved on it sat in front of him. He had a tiny smile on his face, and his blue eyes twinkled. Only, the full Knights of the Council were in attendance, and Christopher Stewart served them from the wine decanters in the absence of the Master’s personal valet. Even the apprentices were excluded from this meeting.

  For the first time in many years, every seat was filled, and there was one guest. Omar Adam Kadif sat alone in the midst of the empty chairs of the apprentices. He held a gold cup in his hands and stared in wonder at the back of John Paul’s head. Another reminder of what he had once been: A fair replica of Mark Andrew, Luke Matthew, John Paul and outside, pacing the hall like a wildman from the Scottish Highlands, Luke Andrew dressed in Ramsay Blue.

  The Master sipped his wine and shuffled the papers once more. Fourteen pairs of eyes watched him in silence. Only, Sir Issachar d’Ornan did not watch him. The Knight of the Throne was busily taking the minutes of the meeting in the journal in the absence of his apprentice.

  D’Brouchart looked up from the papers and frowned at John Paul.

  “And, why should I believe what you tell me, Sir?” he asked. “Where have you been? What have you been doing? You are the image of the man who tried to kill my grandson in America! How do I know you are not Jozsef Daniel passing yourself off as the prophet John Paul? He is a master of illusion. Full of treachery and capable of most anything.”

  “I have my father’s trust and that of my mother,” John Paul told him. “Where I have been is of no consequence. What I have been doing is of great consequence, but is not the issue at hand. There is the question of exactly what you intend to do about Jozsef Daniel, and how you propose to do it if you do not heed the words there in front of you and in the minds of this Council. He is a great and ancient power of incalculable strength. That he has taken human form surprises me. He has put himself in danger by manifesting himself in such a manner. It is to our great advantage he was forced to take on the shell of my son, may the Creator have mercy on his soul. Perhaps, it was the only way he could free himself to come among us. He is not mentioned in the prophecies, and therefore, I must assume that his appearance is but an inconvenience and not part of what must come to pass. Perhaps, he is mentioned in some other prophecy of which we know nothing. Whatever the case may be, he is here, and we know of him, and it is up to us to deal with him.”

  “I see.” D’Brouchart smiled at him, slightly. “The John Paul I knew was a man of few words except when prophesying. I am still unconvinced of your authority in this matter.”

  The Grand Master glanced about the table. Mark Andrew sat eyeing him with one eyebrow raised. The Knight of Death looked as if he expected the Grand Master to renew his attack on him at any moment. He looked nervous and ready to spring from the chair, but there was just the tiniest hint of mischief in his deep blue eyes that made Edgard’s temper flare.

  Lucio had a triple row of furrows in his brow as if he could not comprehend what his Master was saying. From the look on his face, it was quite obvious he disapproved of the line of questioning. He was eager to get on with the plans for confronting and disposing of Jozsef Daniel. After that, he wished only to find Ernst Schweikert and pay his respects for the nasty little encounter they had so recently enjoyed with him at the Golden Eagle’s expense.

  Konrad’s dark face was unreadable.

  The lighter, brighter faces of d'Brouchart's son and grandsons scattered about the table showed a mixture of great curiosity and grave concern. None of the sons of Simon of Grenoble had ever known John Paul, the prophet. Sir Philip glanced from Luke Matthew to John Paul as if looking for some distinguishing difference between them other than the hair. Luke’s was long, with the single braid above his ear. John Paul’s hair was cut short, making him look even more like the Jozsef Daniel they had known, and the shadow of a heavy beard colored his jaw. He had Luke’s voice, and Meredith’s soft drawl, tempered only by his long stay in Scotland, and his education at the University in Edinburgh. He could understand why his grandfather might be concerned with the man’s true identity.

  “The John Paul you knew is no more,” John Paul continued. “He lives, yet he does not live, he was, and is, and shall be.”

  “Now, you sound like du Morte,” D’Brouchart chuckled, and Mark Andrew’s face turned dark. Luke Matthew bumped him with his knee, and he cut his eyes at his brother. “You must understand my reticence, my son. I have heard many tales and rumors of your coming and going. You ride through the countryside like a phantom. You appear in various places and you make startling revelations. Are you a man or a ghost?”

  “I am neither and both. More than a ghost and less than a man in the eyes of God. Men have been favored by the Creator and cursed by the gods. You should know this better than most, Your Grace.” He held up his right hand. “My father gave me this ring when I was a boy.” The golden ring with the Ramsay family crest sparkled on his little finger. “And I have worn it since then with fond memories of the love that I know he had for me even when he did not know me.” John Paul drew his sword and laid it on the table. “My father made this sword for me when I was a young man and I have carried it always with the exception of a short time when I lent it to my own son. Another pledge of love from my father who did not know how to express his love other than through his work.” John Paul raised his left hand. “This ring was given to me as a pledge of love from my beloved wife, Michele, may God also have mercy on her soul. She was my strength and my life while she was at my side and I will never forget the sacrifices she made to be my wife.”

  “You still speak in half-riddles. If you have taken Jozsef’s body and mind, then these things would be common knowledge to you and the presence of John Paul’s sword could stand against you as it was, as you say, last seen in the possession of the one who is now the property of the Ancient Evil. Are you going to tell me that you simply took it back from him?”

  “I can move freely in this world and the otherworld, Your Grace,” John Paul continued. “To steal into a house and take something is altogether different from confronting the owner of the house. As the words of the Great Thoth will reveal there is only one way to c
onfront and defeat this enemy and that is by standing together.”

  “Unity!” Mark Andrew blurted the word.

  “Yes, unity of purpose and unity of strength as my father says,” John Paul agreed. “I have come here to request your assistance with the task at hand. A confrontation will and must take place.”

  “Perhaps a confrontation is in order here.” D’Brouchart eyed him steadily.

  “You ask for proof?!” Lucio spoke out. “Santa Maria! The man sits before you. He professes his love for his father and his wife! Could this evil presence sit with us and do the same? Could your son bear his presence? I think not!” Lucio grabbed Simon’s arm and turned it exposing his palm. “If this man were Jozsef Daniel, would not there be blood here?”

  “You are out of line, Golden Eagle!” The Master glared at him. “No one has opened the floor for discussion!”

  Lucio let go of Simon and sat back in disgusted silence.

  “If you must have proof, then you shall have it, Edgard!” John Paul stood abruptly, startling everyone at the table.

  He held up one hand and the silence in the room was profound as it seemed that everyone stopped breathing or even blinking their eyes. Mark Andrew looked about and saw that it was so. The only animated persons in the room were himself, John Paul, Omar Kadif and the Grand Master, but John Paul was no longer the shining white Knight in the Templar mantle. He was on the conference table in a squatting position with his long, muscular arms draped over his great thighs. He wore tattered brown clothes and his hair hung from his head in long matted coils like snakes ringed with brass clasps and copper wire. He wore many necklaces made of vari-colored stones, feathers and beads and numerous silver bracelets and armbands. His lower jaw protruded in a pronounced underbite and two long tusks reached halfway up his face on either side of his flat, furrowed nose. The skin on his face was very dark and marked with black tattoos. Only his brilliant blue eyes remained.

  “Lord Nanna!” d’Brouchart almost shouted and stood abruptly, knocking his chair over backwards.

  Mark Andrew remained seated. He had expected, even known this would happen, but to see it was yet another shock for a man who thought he was beyond shock. Omar had dropped his golden cup on the floor and evacuated through the apprentice’s chairs, knocking them hither and thither and now stood with his back pressed against the wall and his mouth hanging open.

  “Do you need more proof, Nebo?” the great creature asked the Grand Master. “Do you wish to transform yourself so that we can dance together under the moon?”

  “No!” D’Brouchart stood blinking at the Lord of the First Gate. “You should have revealed yourself long before now, Lord Nanna! You have made fools of us. Laughed at us behind your hand.”

  “Let those who have ears hear and those who have eyes see!” Nanna told him. “You did not expect me to sit idle while you played your games with humanity, did you? There is much at stake here and time is short!” the creature’s voice echoed endlessly in the room.

  “Du Morte! Were you also privy to this deceit?” The Master turned on the Knight of Death.

  “No more so than I was privy to yours,” Mark Andrew said soberly. “It seems that we are masters of deceit if nothing else, even to the point of deceiving ourselves.”

  “And would you care to reveal your true form as well, Adar?” d’Brouchart asked him.

  “What you see is what you get,” Mark Andrew told him. “My true form is lost even to me.”

  “I doubt it.” D’Brouchart turned and righted his chair. He sat down heavily and waved one hand in defeat. “As you wish. Please! Let’s get on with this, shall we?” He looked about at the frozen forms sitting about the table.

  “Certainly.” The great Nanna waved one muscular arm in front of himself.

  ((((((((((((()))))))))))))

  Jozsef Daniel was escorted into the presence of the Prime Minister amidst an uproar of near rioting people carrying signs and shouting for justice and revenge. These were not being shouted at him, but rather to him. He waved one hand to them and many of the chants turned to cheers at the sight of the golden hand, flashing in the tropical sun before he entered the building with the grim-faced, black-clad, well-armed soldiers pressing around him and his companion, Ernst Schweikert.

  The Prime Minister Jean René Tremelay waited for him in an elegantly appointed room with yet another group of soldiers fanned out behind him against the wall. Several more of his cabinet members sat in chairs crowded behind his desk. This was an impromptu meeting that would have been better situated in a larger room, but Tremelay was afraid of an assassination attempt as the rumors spread like wildfire through his small island country. Haiti had never been the epitome of stability and the attack on the people at the bastion and the slaughter of so many ‘innocent’ people, had pointed to covert actions of a possible foreign source. Tremelay was convinced that Omar Kadif’s Fox or perhaps the American CIA had been responsible for the attempted coup. New Babylon and Washington, along with several other countries in Central and South America had been calling for him to rid himself of the unsavory presence of the ‘False Prophet’ and his friend, Ernst Schweikert. He had met with several diplomatic envoys from those formerly friendly countries and nothing good had come of the meetings.

  The entire world had seemed convinced that this man identifying himself as Omar Kadif, the True Prophet of God, was an evil force and should be given up to them for ‘disposal’. Tremelay, on the other hand, had witnessed personally the power of the man and believed him to be unjustly accused. He believed that Jozsef was, indeed, the Prophet and somehow the world had been deceived by this new man who also claimed to be Omar Kadif, the Prophet of Allah, and yet looked like someone else. To the Prime Minister, it was ludicrous, laughable, if not for the severe consequences his tiny country was already experiencing. Here he had the Prophet standing in front of him. The same face, the same voice, the man, the mystical golden hand, the power, the awesome presence and yet the world was deceived.

  Tremelay was a deeply religious follower of the Roman Catholic faith and a highly superstitious man, a product of his raising in the heart of Voodoo country. He well knew of Jesus Christ’s warnings to his Disciples to beware the false prophets who would claim to be the Messiah. Jozsef had played up this concept quite well, convincing him that an evil power greater than any the world had ever known, had cast him out of New Babylon and was now working to destroy him completely while leading the world into utter destruction. It made perfect sense and Jozsef had backed up his claims to divinity by bringing the ancient pantheon of gods worshipped by his semi-pagan populace into obeisance to the people’s wills, showing, he said, that they were not the true gods at all, but merely servants of the people put on earth by the Creator to serve man, not vice versa.

  The nearby island republics had quickly joined forces with them under Jozsef’s gentle persuasion and his influence had spread to the Central American mainland with surprising speed. They now had Columbia, Mexico, Honduras and Guatemala firmly in their circle and several more teetering on the edge. But Brazil, Argentina and Venezuela, countries only recently recovering from age-old civil unrest and outright war, were harder to convince and still sided with their northern neighbors, the United States and Canada. Jozsef had assured Tremelay that the countries south of the American/Mexican border would soon fall in line with them. Then they would begin to work on America through the largely Hispanic populations in the southernmost states. If nothing else, he had told the Prime Minister, there might be a need for civil war in the great country to bring it in line. Once they had America, they would go after Canada and then on to Western Europe.

  They had also made some headway in the less stable regions of Africa where the oppressed peoples were still looking for saviors of a more African descent. Tremelay had been welcomed warmly in several West African nations so far. The people there were still very mistrustful of the mainly white and Arabic dominated New Order of the Temple equating them with the Med
ieval Christian Crusaders and the radically brutal tactics employed in the previous century by the Muslim extremists in eastern Africa. These countries were predominately Christian in their beliefs, but no longer trusted the Church in Rome nor did they want Islam in their countries.

  Jozsef knew exactly who had attacked him and he knew that the Mighty Djinni’s interests were purely personal, but he had to play this situation right and place the blame where it would do the most good. He affirmed Tremelay’s suspicions that the attackers had most definitely been associated with the Church in Rome and the Fox. He had even produced hard evidence in the form of two ‘Fox’ soldiers killed in the beginning of the fray and several special weapons used by Fox forces. He had also produced a blood-stained search warrant issued by none other than Omar Kadif’s Minister of Foreign Affairs and a Papal Bull signed by the Pope, condemning Jozsef Daniel and his followers in Haiti as heretics to be avoided and handed over immediately to the representatives of the government of New Babylon for prosecution. Where he had gotten these documents was unknown, even to Ernst Schweikert, but they had the desired effects on the men huddled in Tremelay’s executive office. Jozsef was invited to move into the presidential palace in Port-au-Prince and gladly accepted the protection of the Haitian government until he could establish himself somewhere more easily defended. When the meeting was over, Jozsef requested a private meeting with Jean René. The two men were left alone in the office with the multitude of armed guards in the hallway outside.

  “I am deeply moved and grateful for your support, Jean René.” Jozsef leaned back in the chair and accepted the glass of iced tea offered by the Prime Minister. “I appreciate your trust and now I would like to tell you something. And in doing so, I will show my trust in you by revealing to you something… I believe will further convince you, you are on the side of God.”