“I find it a bit hard to believe, yes.” He nodded.
“Did you know the Egyptian government has been working for fifteen years now to replace the casing stones on the monument?” she asked him.
“No, I haven’t been there in a while.” It was his turn to be surprised. “Why would they do that?”
“They believe the builders of the pyramid will be returning soon to restore Khem to its former glory. They believe Egypt will again become the center of the world,” she said.
“What about the Hebrew slaves and the ramps and pullies? Are they using thousands of poor wretches to hoist the stones to the top? Or have they thrown out their version of history at last?” He laughed.
“No. They are not using slaves or even thousands of workers. They are… or they were, employing an American engineering firm to accomplish the task. Some of the original casing stones have been located and removed from existing sites, re-polished and put back in place. Others are being quarried in the mountains. It is quite an undertaking, and from what Eduord has told me, it was threatening to topple the entire government into bankruptcy, and now with the influx of refugees draining their purse… but you should ask your Prophet about it. He was supplying a great deal of gold toward the project. I don’t know if he is still giving them money since this new war has broken out. It would stand to reason, the operation has been halted, or, at least, slowed down because of the famine.”
“They are in trouble in Alexandria. I was just there a few weeks ago and no one mentioned the pyramid.” Lucio frowned. “But what has that to do with Mark Andrew’s altar?”
“This altar and the one at the chapel of Glessyn face west.” She picked up the original topic again. “They are the only two I know of in any church of consequence. I am quite sure many of the smaller churches may not be aligned properly due to geographical and economical restrictions, especially in America where there are thousands of churches. I have seen some small towns there with tiny churches made of wood or even aluminum siding, facing in all directions! A very strange thing, American religion. Churches on every corner and little pockets of people who have broken off from larger churches, who have broken off from larger congregations so many times, they no longer even know where they came from. And all because of some petty dispute over doctrine or, in some cases, personal disagreements with the clergy or among deacons. Ridiculous! It is why the church has lost its credibility in the eyes of the people. Without strong core beliefs, there is no church. And more’s the pity they do not realize they all came from the original church of St. Peter founded in Rome and destroyed by the pagans over 1600 years ago.”
“You still adhere to the Cathar faith?” He was again surprised.
“There is no other.” She smiled slightly at him. “The great beast continues to spread itself in many forms, rearing its numerous heads here and there. Catholics, Protestants, Muslims, and Muslims are no better than the so-called Christians! They divide and sub-divide into smaller and smaller groups. Each one thinking they have the truth, when they are only sinking deeper into confusion. The most pure form of Islam truly is in Arabia and the Holy Cities of Mecca and Medina, but even there the marks of ambitious political figures have distorted Mohammed’s teachings to suit their own agendas. Mohammed never meant to give rise to such heretics. Look at what they have done. His own tomb goes against everything he preached to them. Just as Christ did not intend to set men at each other’s throats over semantics, symbols and images. With a big enough stick, anyone can make anyone bow to his will. Take the Word of God, dissect it, rearrange it, stitch it back together in the order you wish and present it to the people as a form of mass poisoning, and soon, the whole world is as brain-washed as those poor souls in Guyana under the illustrious Jim Jones. An appropriately named individual, no? Much like John Doe. Demons take many forms, my dear Lucio.” She smiled up at him and touched his face lightly. “You, of all people, should know that.”
“But mass suicide is nothing new,” Lucio countered. “Look at Masada! They were Jews and they killed themselves. Men, women and children!”
“If they had not killed themselves, the Romans would have put them to the sword, but that is a bit different. They were under siege, and the Romans were not known for their kind treatment of rebels and their families. Besides, the Jews at Masada were proto-Christians, Essenes, Iscaaris and Gnostics. They simply traded the life they had for the next, in hopes they might escape the world that had turned against them. My philosophy on such a decision is no matter how bad it is this time, it could always be worse next time.” She waved one hand about the chapel. “I have lived through many things, Lucio, just as you have. Would it have made much difference if I had lived, died, lived, died and lived again? I would have still passed through the same world. At least, through living one life as long as possible, one can attempt to control the path one follows, correct mistakes, conform more closely to God’s will.”
“Re-incarnation,” Lucio nodded. “A shame to live and learn and struggle and then lose it all only to start over, make the same mistakes again.”
“But you are forgetting even as we live on and on, we always make the same mistakes over and over even though we should know better. At least the reincarnated souls do not have the misfortune of knowing just how many times they have made the same mistakes, failed the same tests, suffered the same heartaches. Sometimes, perhaps, ignorance truly is bliss.”
“That is true,” he agreed whole-heartedly. “It hardly seems worth the effort at times.”
Catharine sat in silence brushing her hair while he watched her.
“And so…” he said after a moment. “What is the significance of the western altar?”
“It faces Atlantis.” She glanced up at him. “Atlantis was in the west. Your Brother, Mark, misses his home. He simply wanted to honor what was. His savior, if indeed one ever came for him, would come from the west or so he believes.”
“How do you know this? Mark Andrew did not come from Atlantis,” Lucio laughed at the absurd idea. “According to his son, Lemarik, he came from Saturn.”
“He did not come from Saturn. He simply owns Saturn. Saturn is his planet. A symbol of his power. Mark Andrew was an Atlantean. Just as his so-called brothers, Marduk, Nergal, Shammash, Nanna and Nebo all own their own planets or celestial bodies. There were others. Sons of the loving God, Enlil, brother of Enki. For many years Enki fought with Enlil even trying to take his sons away from him, claiming paternity of the watchers, trying to make slaves of men and of the watchers as well. And he was almost successful. In fact, you might say Enki was successful to a great extent. Men still worship him under different names. Enki hated men and used them shamelessly to do his bidding, playing with them, playing them against each other, and still, they fight against each other because of him.”
“On the other hand, Enlil, the son of the Creator, loved mankind. He loves all of the creation of his Father. And that is who we venerate under the name of Christ. Enlil, son of God. Jesus, son of God. He has taken many forms. Employed many men to bring his message of love and light. Michael, Melchezidek, Anknaton, Zoroaster, Michael of Persia, Gotama Buddha. The Great Teacher. Always He has tried to lead men away from Enki and his cruel lordship. He sent His sons and His followers out to the world and the world has done its best to annihilate them wherever they have gone.”
“And what of Jozsef Daniel, the Ancient Evil? Who is he? Where did he come from?” Lucio was fascinated by her philosophy. He had heard something of it in his travels, but it had always seemed confused and contorted, like all myths and legends.
“The son of Enki,” she spat the words. “Thrown into the chaos beyond the Seven Gates by Michael in the original wars of the Heavens. And now he is unleashed on the world. Enki must be very proud of him.”
“But what of God’s chosen people? Are you saying the Jews followed Enki?” Lucio frowned deeply.
“That’s exactly right. Why would a God who loved them let them wander aimlessly
in the desert for forty years? Why would he lead them into a land that was already full of people and give them land that belonged to someone else, other than to ensure they would be fighting forever for what was never theirs to start with? The battle still rages in spite of your Prophet’s efforts to bring them together! Why did he not bring them to Europe? A land virtually devoid of people at the time of the Exodus? And certainly, a most bountiful land with plenty of food and water and space to spread out. Instead, he kept them pinned between the sea and their enemies, fighting for a scrap of land that was mostly rock and desert when the entire continent of Europe lay just to the north, populated by only a handful of uncivilized pagans who would have welcomed them with open arms in return for their wisdom and protection. If the God they worshipped had truly loved them and had their best interests at heart, he would have sent them to sunny southern Italy, and there would never have been a Roman Empire.”
“Think of it, Lucio. How much bloodshed and warfare could have been avoided if the Israelites had settled in France or Italy or even Britain or Greece and followed the teachings of Michael and Melchezidek? A doctrine of love and peace and wisdom. Surely Atlantis would have been reborn on the continent if it had not been for the machinations of Enki. The Annunaki sent out from the fallen Atlantis would have been successful, but men have always been more readily willing to follow dark than light. Promises of power and riches. Political aspirations, and ambition, and why? No amount of gold has ever lengthened a man’s life beyond his allotted time and you are right, each one went to his grave only to begin again as a naked child, screaming for the safety of his mother’s womb. Enki blinded men to what should have been their ultimate goal and that is unity with the True God, the Creator. Instead, they are caught in an endless, brutal cycle of life and death and the struggle for power. Impermanent, ephemeral power they cannot take to the grave with them no matter how elaborate the tomb. It is still only a tomb. Your Brother, Mark Andrew, has dragged his little band of men through the years in hopes a longer life would bring them closer to true understanding. Has he succeeded? Do you understand the meaning of life, Lucio?”
“What I don’t understand, la cara mia, is what all of this has to do with you and me and the things you told me before.” Lucio did not want to hear any more earth-shattering news or revelations. He simply wanted a normal conversation with small topics. Very small.
“You and I will be together. It is a simple fact, and one you cannot ignore. If it were not so, why did you come here?”
She smiled at him, and he could think of no answer. He had come directly there as soon as the opportunity presented itself and even though he should have been downstairs with the rest of them sorting through the information they needed to share with the island residents, talking with Luke Matthew about the King of England, plotting, planning, devising, interpreting, thinking, listening, doing all those things that were necessary when planning for war, but he was here. He had not even waited to ask about his sons or anything else. He had not even waited to find out why he had come home to find Mark Andrew fainting on the stairs!
“But I am a married man,” he told her. “It would be a sin to be with you.”
“Then you will have to remedy that situation. It doesn’t matter to me. I put no faith in the Church as you well know. Divorce is a simple matter. I believe you have had some experience with it in the past. Whatever method you choose, will be as valid as any other.”
Lucio considered what she was saying. He had been tricked into marrying Nicole. It was not really a marriage at all, but a farce. He could have petitioned for an annulment, but considering his identity and Nicole’s and the state of the world at large, it hardly seemed possible. He would implement the same process as Mark Andrew had employed when he had divorced Meredith. In fact, there was no need for a wedding under the old law. Actions speak louder than words, but he would have to find Nicole and put the bill of divorcement in her hands. That might prove to be a bit tricky, since no one knew where she was and if she had gone to America, things would be much more complicated.
“There is no need to rush right now,” Catharine told him. “Many things must happen before we take our places in the new Khem.”
(((((((((((((
Omar trudged up the steps in the postern gatehouse where his son, Bari, lived with Joey and Reuben. He thought ironically ‘lived’ was not quite the word for his son’s existence now. Two armed guards sat outside the doors and both stood when he approached them. His hair was still wet from the earlier trek through the eastern gate and bailey, but at least he had dry clothes now and a warm coat, though his heart and his bones seemed chilled beyond redemption. He would have to break the news to Bari about his mother’s death. It was something he had put off far too long. She had been dead for months and still he had not had the courage to come here and face his son. His grandfather had suggested in council they not tell the young man about his mother’s apparent suicide, and almost none of the residents of St. Patrick’s Island had been informed of her death, and those who did know, kept the news quiet. Not even Joey knew the Prophet’s wife had died.
News on the island was hard to come by and most of them depended on Father Andrew’s running commentary from the pulpit and Father Andrew had simply failed to mention her passing. Mark, like his grandson, Omar, had not wanted to deal with Bari Caleb at all, but it was a task that could no longer be put off. They had to decide what would be done with him sooner or later. They couldn’t just keep him here indefinitely, confined to his room, regardless of what he had done or caused. What he had done was inexcusable and the result was unconscionable. Being confined to quarters was not a suitable penance for the nature of the crime and yet, Omar felt perhaps Bari had been too young to understand what he had done. There had to be an explanation suitable enough to show some way to overcome the situation and get on with life such as it was. The situation had brought his own past back to him in painful retrospection. He had ignored his father’s warnings and married his own aunt. She had been only a half-aunt, but his father had warned him such things were not healthy. He had not listened. He should have listened to his father. Now he was paying the price. His father had warned him against producing more children, especially sons. The Djinni had confided to him he would never again produce a son and with his particular brand of innocent candor, had warned Omar not to do it either, as if forgetting Omar was, indeed, his ‘beautiful son’. Omar felt like crying as he thought of how much his strange and wonderful father must have suffered over the actions of his ‘beautiful son’. The Prophet stood outside the door, ramrod stiff as the guard unlocked the heavy bolt and pushed it open for him. Omar had not spoken with Bari since the attempted coup in New Babylon.
“I will be here for awhile, I expect,” Omar told the men wearily. “Make sure I leave alone when I come out. If I try to take him with me, do not allow us to pass and call for help at once.”
The two guards nodded in unison and stepped away from the door, holding their rifles at the ready. Omar wondered if his son had become so very dangerous, and then, drew a deep breath. The room beyond was cool and dim. He stepped inside and the guard closed and locked the door behind him. They had strict orders from Mark Ramsay concerning the Prophet’s son.
“Bari?” Omar stood in the gloom, twisting one of the buttons on his heavy jacket. The young man sat at a desk in the corner of the room with his back to the door. He turned slightly and raised both eyebrows at his father. The light of a single desk lamp silhouetted his figure, casting his face in shadows.
“Father,” his voice was flat and devoid of emotion.
“I trust you are being treated well here?” Omar asked him.
“I am a prisoner here, if you are unsure of my status,” his son answered.
“I am aware of that.” Omar took one step forward. In spite of everything, he still had the urge to embrace his son. “It is for your own protection,” he said lamely.
“That is a joke?” Bari asked
him. “Did you finally come to see me off?”
“See you off?” Omar was confused by his words.
“Did you come to kill me?” Bari asked. His tone did not change.
“I have some bad news for you.” Omar tried to ignore the question.
“What? More bad news? I daresay you have nothing, but bad news these days. Tell me what could be bad news other than the fact that you are here?”
Bari stood up and Omar was shocked to see how much taller his son was now. He was grown. Completely. Not a boy at all. Not even a young man it seemed. He looked to be thirty-five or older.
“Your mother… she is dead,” he said the words abruptly. Somehow, his feelings were changing even as he stood facing his son. Bari was at least four inches taller than his father. He had the look of a Ramsay, combining his mother’s dark eyes and curly hair with his father’s build and facial structure. Sadly enough, he had Lemarik’s dimple in his chin. A strikingly handsome fellow. Truly, Omar’s beautiful son, but, Bari’s beauty did nothing more than anger the Prophet.
“That is not possible,” Bari objected took a step toward him, and then seemed to think better of it when Omar’s expression changed abruptly and he lowered his head, looking up at him from under his brows. Bari backed up and sat on the edge of the small desk. “She is immortal.”
“No more so than the other members of the Order. She threw herself from a balcony in Geneva. She committed suicide. Do you know why?” Omar asked him. At least, Bari’s attitude was making this much easier than he had supposed it would be. Anger was much preferable to anguish.
“No,” Bari shook his head minutely. “Won’t you tell me, Father? Why would my mother commit suicide?”
“Because of what you did. Because of the child.”
“My brother? Or was it my sister?” Bari asked him blandly. “I suppose you are happy.”
The Jealous God Page 33
