The angry voice of the Golden Eagle and the voices of his son and the sons of Luke and Mark Ramsay had come to him almost unbidden. Luke Andrew had even warned of the skull’s mystical power and the dangers of leaving it exposed and yet, they had spoken freely, not more than a meter from it, leaving it completely open as if they wanted him to find them. To find it! Furthermore, they had told him even Mark Andrew was unaware of its presence, perhaps even its existence.
How these two inexperienced creatures had come by such a priceless wonder was a great mystery. And the Italian was still consumed with his desire to know about Andrea Larmenius! Jozsef had seen her at the battle in the underworld, working her magick and directing the battle from the field. A woman! They were obsessed with women! There was not a single man among them that did not think of women, or concern themselves with women a dozen or more times per day. Some even reflected on the attributes of the opposite sex several times per hour, depending on their age and proximity to one another. Jozsef failed to see what all the fuss was about, but then he had a slight advantage over them now.
He had been vaguely interested in them when he had first taken over Omar Kadif’s palace in New Babylon. Ruth Kadif had been an interesting experience, but she had been more trouble than she was worth. He had been glad to be rid of her. He could not imagine living with one of them for very long, at least not in close proximity… not sharing the same sleeping chamber night after night. It was a ridiculous arrangement. Destined for nothing but trouble. Women were much too tedious. They were hard to understand, easily damaged and irrational. Or so he had thought at first, but then an unexpected surprise had come in the form of the wife of the little one who had confronted him on the ramparts of the bastion and almost, but not quite, consigned him to oblivion. Now he carried her in his head as well as the remnants of her husband. Her presence was much more coherent than the skittering remains of his body’s former master.
She was almost completely intact as far as he could determine. She did not understand what had happened to her or where she was, but she was much more than a simple woman as Ruth Kadif had been. She had been quite powerful in her own right and very lovely as women go. Further, she had added a new dimension to his understanding of these creatures with which he found himself in conflict. He now felt somehow more complete than before he had absorbed the woman. Surely, these creatures would have been better off if they did away with males and females and assumed only the one form, incorporating the traits of both genders. He thought perhaps the disparities created by the separation of the sexes might be a contributing factor to their inability to overcome the obstacles they faced on the spiritual level. They seemed to be, for the most part, completely unaware of the potential they carried within their brains, incapable of becoming more than what they were. It was almost as if they were convinced they were confined within the limits of their physical existence to the preclusion of anything else. A sad state of affairs for them. Very fortunate for him. It should make their conquest much simpler.
At the moment, the Djinni’s granddaughter was preoccupied with a futile attempt to reconstruct her husband. It would keep her mind off of her plight and make her much easier to control while he was learning to master his latest gift from the Templars: the strange device with the two crystal orbs.
(((((((((((((
Simon tapped the key on the cell phone and stuffed it back in his pocket.
“How is he doing?” the Grand Master asked him as he waited for Gil to pour him a cup of coffee. They had finished their breakfast, said their closing prayers and now sat enjoying each other’s company in the relative solitude of the early morning. Only he and Simon and the old cook seemed to be up and about so far.
“He is quite well.” Simon smiled slightly. “He says the wound is healing nicely and attributes it to the magick of the Tuathan healer. Perhaps, I should take some lessons from him. I could use some good first aid techniques for… for…” his voice trailed off. He did not want to say mortals. Every time he thought of anything to do with the state of the Order or its members, he felt ill… not physically, but mentally. The events of the previous day and the words spoken in Council had severely shaken his entire faith. It went against everything he had ever known or been taught. Just when he had thought he’d reconciled the two worlds he now knew coexisted with their own with what he had believed for most of his life, something new would surface and set him back again.
This last encounter with the inestimable powers of the Abyss had set him back to such an extent he’d been unable to assimilate most of it and had simply prayed it away in his room, asking God to help him through each day, one minute at a time. He recognized his state of mind as being classic denial. He wanted to hear no more secrets. He wanted to learn nothing more of the past and he wanted only a bit of normalcy. Just a bit. A day on the beach with one or more of his sons or grandchildren perhaps… a fishing trip with Simeon or… “He met with the elders, and they are going to the Temple Mount this afternoon. They have agreed to show him the Temple, but they will not allow him access to the Holy of Holies, of course.”
“He is still depressed over the loss of the treasure,” Edgard commented offhandedly. They were all depressed about it. The Urim and Thummin were essential, if they were ever to open the Ark properly… successfully.
“Yes.” Simon nodded. “But he must proceed in spite of the loss. God will return it to us. It can be no other way. I do not profess to know how or when, but I am sure it will come to pass. My concern now is where to find a proper wife for him.”
“I hope you do not intend to arrange a marriage for him.” Edgard looked up at the light fixture above the table and sipped his coffee. “Such things do not work well in this day and age, and I know of no suitable candidates.”
“He will make his own way, but he did mention if I knew of anyone he might be interested in, to let him know.” Simon shook his head. “There are several young ladies living on the Isle of Ramsay who might be interested in meeting him. Nice girls… hmmm. I know their parents.”
“You will not play matchmaker. I forbid it,” d’Brouchart told his son firmly. “We have had enough disaster in that respect already.”
“But you found Rachel for me, Father,” Simon reminded him. “Truly, I could not have asked for a better wife.”
“There are no more Rachel’s.” His father would not hear it. “He will have to make his own way as you have said, but I want you to make every effort to encourage him when you get the chance. Push him a bit. He seems a bit laid back as they say somewhere. The urgency of our situation and the condition of the world would indicate time may be running short. That was a very close call in America.”
Simon nodded. A very close call. They could have lost Levi.
(((((((((((((
Levi walked along the crowded street in the heart of old Jerusalem. The call from his father had lifted his spirits, and he whistled an old tune he remembered from somewhere as he wove his way in and out of the crowd. The market was in full swing and the smells and noises were overwhelming and fascinating. Here the people were much closer to the earth than in Scotland. Life was more in tune with the cycles and rhythms of the land, itself. The differences between these ancient cities and the modern cities of the west were far greater than simply the age of the buildings and the plumbing. The language, the dress, the mood, the feel… everything was different and he was quite pleased to feel at home here in this Holy City of God. He could readily understand the ties his people felt for their land and even considered Omar Kadif’s preference for the near east only natural. Omar’s influence was seen everywhere. The Jews, Muslims and Christians who lived here now enjoyed a peace and security had never before existed in this part of the world. He had to admire the Prophet for having accomplished so much in this previously war torn land. Surely he had been inspired by God and helped by Him as well. But Levi knew this state of grace was only a reprieve.
Omar’s world was
already crumbling. His reputation had been irreversibly stained by the trials in which he had been forced to participate concerning the alleged atrocities committed by the Fox. Jozsef Daniel and General Schweikert had further damaged his cause, and the latest scandal perpetrated by Bari Kadif had cast more suspicion on him. The people still openly proclaimed his divinity, but with less enthusiasm as in the past. His picture was no longer prominently displayed on billboards at every corner. He had been replaced by advertisements for computers and cell phones, cars and clothing.
The people had lost interest in their savior. They had grown accustomed to him, and his miracles no longer impressed them as before. And Levi also knew people had a tendency to connect image with deed. The Prophet’s physical appearance had changed. He was no longer the superstar of God. He no longer caused women to faint at his feet. Such had always been the fickleness of humanity. He had lost his sensual appeal and that had cost him dearly. More than Levi cared to admit. Rare indeed was the wise ruler who was also pleasing to look upon. Omar had possessed everything and still… still it had not been enough.
The priest stopped in front of a booth displaying ripe strawberries. His favorite. The merchant began to speak to him rapidly, discussing the quality of his wares, beginning the barter, before he could even respond to him. Before he knew what had transpired, he was paying the man for a huge basket of the luscious fruit. The smell was wonderful. He tugged at the bandage on his throat in the heat and held the berries under his nose.
He turned away and stepped onto the sidewalk, directly into the path of two young boys on motorized skateboards. The merchant shouted, and he tried to jump back, but the nearest boy struck him broadside, knocking him one way and the berries the other. The boy, frightened of the merchant’s angry verbiage, leaped to his feet, grabbed up his board and chased after his friend, quickly disappearing into the crowd. The merchant helped him up and dusted his black clothing, further embarrassing him. A small group of spectators paused briefly to stare at him and then moved on.
Levi already felt like a freak in this crowd. His large stature and blonde hair attracted a great deal of attention. Westerners were not uncommon on the streets, but priests who resembled priestly Vikings were bound to attract a number of stares. He began to regret having left his hotel as the merchant continued to fuss over him hysterically, promising to chase down the boys and personally thrash them for him. Levi extracted himself from the obsequious man and went to salvage his strawberries. A slender woman dressed in a long, mint green Arabian style robe with intricate embroidery had stopped and was bending over the scattered berries, gathering them back into the basket.
“Thank you, Madam.” Levi spoke to her first in one of the Arabic dialects common to the city. He bent beside her and picked up a few of the less battered fruit. “I can manage.”
She straightened up and looked down at the top of his blond head as he rounded up the last of the strawberries. Her head was covered with a long, white and gold hijab that covered her hair. It looked more modern than most of the traditional clothing in the marketplace and yet, a thin scarf of gold covered the lower part of her face, leaving only a few wisps of curly blonde hair and bright blue eyes exposed. She looked far too refined to be picking up his spilled fruit. Unlike the devout Muslim women who still covered themselves completely in public, her bare arms protruded through slits in the cloak and her wrists were adorned with many silver, gold and bejeweled bangles and bracelets. Levi was disturbed by the shocking blue eyes when he stood up and faced her. He had expected brown eyes and brown skin, but her arms were very white. He had to assume she might even be Saudi royalty of some sort, but where were her escorts? Her chaperone? Levi wanted no trouble.
He thanked her again in Arabic and then in Yiddish when she did not respond as he backed away from her. The fruit monger’s stall stopped his retreat, and he bumped his head on the cross beam. A small monkey, belonging to the merchant reached down into his basket and swiped one of the luscious berries while fussing at him incessantly. He shooed the beast halfheartedly and then had to laugh when the monkey slapped him on the ear and took another berry in compensation for the scolding.
“I’m sorry.” He shook his head when the woman made no move to depart. “I don’t speak your language.” This, he said in English, his language of choice after long years on the Isle of Ramsay and St. Patrick’s. His enrollment at Oxford had not lessened his love for the language and caused his brothers, who preferred Italian and French to practically disown him.
“I believe you speak it quite well,” she answered him in English, and her eyes crinkled in what could only have been a smile though he could not see her mouth. “You like strawberries, Rabbi?”
“They’re OK, but I’m not a rabbi.”
“Oh?” She looked about the street at the people streaming by as if searching for someone in particular. “You wear the yarmulke. I assumed from your… appearance… you were a man of God.”
Levi reached up quickly and removed the little cap. He had forgotten to remove it when he’d parted company with the representatives of the Sanhedrin in front of his hotel.
“I’m Catholic, actually.” He smiled. “I toured the Temple.”
“Oh, I see.” She looked about again quickly, almost nervously.
“Thank you for your help,” he told her again and shifted the basket in his hands away from the persistent little monkey who had returned for more free snacks.
The woman laughed again and said something in a language Levi did not recognize. The monkey chattered briefly as if answering her and then climbed onto the colorful cloth roof of the stall.
“You must have a big family,” she said, and he was taken aback by her words.
“No. Yes! I mean…” He looked down at the enormous quantity of fruit had apparently prompted her remark. “Well, I do have a large family, but I am here alone. I believe the merchant overestimated my appetite.”
“Perhaps he rightly estimated the depths of your pockets.” She laughed. “You must be careful. These merchants will strip you of your money.”
“I’m sure.” He nodded. “Thank you for the warning.”
He nodded again and smiled and turned away from her, continuing his stroll through the market. He had not missed her obvious concern with the people around them. There was something amiss with her behavior. Again, he wanted no troubles. When he stopped to look at a pole covered with colorful paper fish dangling from strings, she was beside him again.
She pushed one of the ornate little sculptures and it swung back and forth, spinning in the breeze.
“They will sell anything,” she told him. “Who would want a paper fish?”
“A paper fisherman?” he asked and raised one eyebrow.
“That is very funny. You are quick-witted. That’s very good.” She smiled again with her eyes. He had to assume she was a beautiful woman, if the rest of her face matched her eyes.
“You are not Muslim.” He told her as if she needed to know.
“No.” She bent over a basket full of paper flowers and then rose up again, twirling a bright pink one in her hand. “Paper flowers. I wonder where the paper bees are?”
“Sir!” Levi called to the merchant attending the booth. “The lady would like some paper bees,” he addressed the man in Arabic. The most prevalent language in the city these days.
“Ahh.” The merchant reached under his table and pulled out a basket full of all sorts of paper insects. “Here you are, my friend.” He held up two tiny paper bees in his hand. “The finest selection of paper insects in the world. Would you care for some dragonflies to go with your bees? Or perhaps a butterfly or two for your lady’s hair?”
Levi frowned and then shrugged and reached into his pocket to produce money for them.
“Here you go.” He handed her the ornaments, which turned out to be pins.
She took them readily and attached them to her cloak.
Levi turned and stumbled over a basket full of paper snakes. S
he shook her head and took the basket of berries from him, hooking it over her left forearm and then too his left arm and turned him around, ushering him down the street before he could destroy the booth.
“They will think I am a Mormon,” she told him as they moved on.
“What?!” He frowned at her. “Who? Who will think… a Mormon?”
“The Mormons wear bees,” she told him.
“Ohhh. I didn’t know.” They walked along, arm in arm like old friends, but now it was Levi who was glancing about nervously.
“Everyone has identifiers these days. The Mormons wear bees. The Baptists wear fishes. The Catholics wear crosses. The Jews wear yarmulkes. The Muslims wear kaffiyehs like Omar with white and purple tassels. The Muslims claim the Prophet is Muslim, you know. The Christians say he is of Christian parentage. The Hindus say he is Hindu. The Jews say he is none of the above, but, as usual, they will not claim him as one of their own. And the Buddhists… well, they claim nothing.”
“And what do you say?” he asked her. Her voice was very pleasant.
“I say he is all of the above and more,” she told him. “What do you think?”
“I think that means you are none of the listed denominations. As for the Prophet, it is unimportant what he is, ultimately, as long as he believes in God.”
“Do you think he believes in God, or do you think he is God?” she asked him.
“Omar Kadif is not God. I assure you!” He laughed.
“You speak as if you know him personally.”
“Who? God or Omar?” He smiled down at her. He was beginning to relax a bit.
“Omar. We all know God, do we not?” She looked into his eyes, and he began to want to see what was behind the veil. At this irreverent thought, he looked away quickly.
“I might.” Levi watched her from the corner of his eye. She moved quite freely through the crowds. Very confident, yet still, she seemed a bit concerned with something. Almost distracted.
The Jealous God Page 12
