by Carl Sargent
They all realized the elf was talking as if he’d dealt with a Catholic pope dead for more than half a millennium, but Serrin didn’t seem fazed at all. He continued with his line of thought, each question marking another faltering but significant step in his reasoning.
“The Shroud’s face is Leonardo’s. So is that of the Mona Lisa, and you put her on the Shroud icon, except that you made her black.”
“Forgive me,” the elf said. “I never could resist a little self-advertisement.”
“You’ve come among a heretical cult that believes John the Baptist is the true son of God. Why?”
“They’re wrong, of course,” the elf said evenly, apparently unaware that he wasn’t answering Serrin’s question. “But they’re one step closer to the truth.”
“Why is the Magdalene the real focus of the Last Supper?” Serrin suddenly shot at the elf. Gray eyes met him firm and full, and the elf looked as if some weight had fallen from his shoulders. Serrin was suddenly shot through with a chill, a realization and understanding that hit him full in the heart and guts.
He is Leonardo.
And that is not all he is.
“So, now we come to the truth,” Leonardo said, rising to his feet. He had a sweep of grandeur about him that impressed itself even on the samurai, who stood stock-still looking at him with near-awe on their faces.
“You must understand, the Mandaeans were not taken in by the Pauline propaganda. They knew all the reasons why the older stories were true; the significance of Paul arriving in Corinth and Ephesus claiming himself to be the first Christian missionary and finding churches already there, as the Acts of the Apostles so foolishly gives away, and the churches were those of John. They also grasped the deep significance of baptism, and the Muslim people hereabouts regard their long adherence to that practice as very, very strange. The central significance, of course, is that the baptizer always initiates the baptized. He is senior to him, more initiated, more acquainted with the mysteries. He is no follower. He is the bearer of the knowledge, not the acolyte in search of it. How that managed to turn into a tale of John being little more than a spiritual warm-up act is one of history’s more endearing little tales.
“John, indeed, was a messenger and a prophet, but not for who most people think. The politics of what ended up as what are laughably called the canonical gospels is, again, an intriguing historical study. For he served someone quite different. As I do too, in my way. And that way grows very important now.”
“This is madness,” Michael said. “You speak as if-”
“I know, as if I’d been there,” the elf finished impatiently. “You won’t believe me so I won’t bother with that. Not now. Theres an easier way to let you know.”
“The Magdalene,” Serrin said insistently. “The Magdalene figure. The face on the Shroud. The face at the supper.”
“Yes,” the elf whispered. “Now, Serrin, I could tell you to go to the cathedral at Notre Dame, or in a hundred other cities throughout Europe and Asia Minor-though Notre Dame is the best example because Paris is the city of love-and gaze on the Black Madonna looking out over her people. It is an image they have never been able to replace with their wretched medieval Virgin, no matter how many times they mistranslated that one, simple little word. Because a virgin is barren and joyless, a symbol only of fear and body-hating revulsion, and the true Madonna is close to the lives and hearts and souls of all people and her spirit infuses them instead of denying the rightful wholeness of their souls. The Magdalene was her priestess, and John her initiate. That’s the heresy. That’s what’s worth a nuclear warhead bearing the Papal seal. And it’s the secret I seeded into all those designs, and I laughed at the popes and their venal servitors who paid me to create those idols of false worship. The secret has always been there for anyone with eyes to see, right in front of the noses of those who would deny her.”
The air in the chamber started to acquire the tang of metal and ozone. A figure began to manifest behind him. Tall as the elf seemed to be, risen with exaltation, the woman behind him seemed to be of unearthly height and fullness, richly dressed in satin and pearls and the gems of an ancient potentate’s treasury of pillage of far-flung, exotic lands.
Serrin knew from experience that it was the materialized form of a Great Spirit, but it seemed to him to carry an emotional charge far greater even than that he’d known on the very, very few occasions he’d met such a being.
“She is Isis.” the ancient elf whispered, the only one able to speak at all. This is my mistress and my passion. This is the truth. What you have been told until this day is lies, It is now time that this truth be known by all the people of this world, and many people are very, very afraid of that.”
The woman was impassive, the ebony of her skin perfectly smooth, her eyes closed, her hands folded into her lap. She stood utterly still, and when they looked upon her they felt an indescribable yearning, a longing for her presence to stay with them and for much more. The incarnation faded, impassive to the end, giving no recognition of either their presence or their existence.
“There is an occult belief that has persisted, though it has never been widely held,” the elf said finally, once they were alone again in the chamber, “that Biblical events are merely a retelling of the story of Isis and Osiris. In such beliefs, Osiris is identified with Christ. There is a darker understanding and knowledge of this.
“If you want the simple translation, for Osiris read John; for Isis read the Magdalene; for Salome read Nephthys; the rest you can fill in for yourselves. if you don’t know, you’ll learn, soon enough.”
“If you go to the world with this,” Serrin said slowly, trying to regain some composure, you’ll be regarded as simply another nut.”
“I think not,” the elf said evenly. “For a start, it’s time I showed them all how I made the Shroud for Innocent. There will be the debris of the missile you are here to verify. Then again, I do have something of an advantage when it comes to dealing with the lies history has told us.
“After all, I was there.”
“I can’t take this in,” Michael said, shrugging in helplessness. By the looks on the faces of the others, neither could they.
“You doubt? I can identify with that,” the elf said, suddenly grinning. “The gospels do manage to record my presence with that tag, after all.”
“But what are you going to do here? Why so much money? For what?” Serrin pressed him.
“Because of the Works,” the elf told him. “I want to bring some of the better minds of the world here. I remember the old times, all those great artists and engineers at the behest of the Medicis and the Borgias. Ah, such times! I want that again.
“Indeed,” he continued, suddenly almost humble, “I hoped that I might invite some among you to join me. I think you, Mr. Sutherland, would enjoy working here.”
Michael looked at the cyberdeck and wondered. Fine, he’s glitched, but by hell whatever that thing is I wouldn’t say no to looking into it. Just a few weeks, maybe…
“And you, Serrin, you I would be glad of for the Great Work.”
“And that is?”
“That is something deeper and darker, a greater mystery,” the elf said without the pretension such words might well have carried from anyone else. “There are times in the history of the world, Serrin, when mana rises and falls. When it is potent and strong, many wonders and glories arise. An Awakening, some have called it. We are in such a time now. But dangers come with such limes, dangers all but beyond imagining. I must work with others to counter those dangers.”
“That sounds both vague and paranoid,” Serrin told him.
“It may, but you are noted for your paranoid nature and at times you, too, are rather vague,” Leonardo said tartly. The sharpness of his voice was so unusual that Serrin almost startled, and his mouth formed into a smile for an instant before he reassumed his usual grave appearance.
“You know of astral quests, of the threshold, of the dangers of the
metaplanes-or you think you do.”
“I know something of such things.” Serrin wasn’t sure where this was leading.
“There are dangers beyond which are very great and real. At this time, the barrier between us and those dangers is eroding and must he shored up. To do so will take immense effort. That is the Great Work. However. I ask only that you spend a month, perhaps, learning of such things and deciding whether you are willing. Then you may-”
The elf broke off without warning. He cocked his head to one side for a moment, as if listening to something inaudible to anyone else.
The moment’s respite gave Streak the chance to tell Serrin about something whose significance he’d finally realized. “You know, I saw something in that book you had on the Shroud,” he said. “Did you realize the face doesn’t have any bloody ears?”
Serrin had missed that. He’d seen the presence of things that had remained hidden or at best obscured, but he’d missed an absence of something. If this elf was really who he said he was, or rather if the face of Leonardo’s was one he’d worn, then the missing detail was perfect. A self-portrait with the identifying characteristic carefully omitted.
And, of course, what irony there must have been in the gullible of the centuries worshipping an image of himself.
“There may be some trouble,” Leonardo informed them. “Several military aircraft have landed at the airstrip. I think that Renraku may have been overenthusiastic in their approach to potential discussions with me, which is not wholly unexpected. Michael, I would very much appreciate it if you would mediate here. I am very eager to speak with them. I had hoped we could come to some arrangement, as I suggested to you. Will you help me?”
“I’ll do what I can,” Michael said nervously.
“By the way, Salai tells me it is now time you went out into the desert with him,” the elf said to Streak. “The missile has been brought down safely, and we have the protective clothing and measuring instruments you will need.”
“Show me to it, unless you’d rather I took up a position in the bunker and helped you blow away these yobbish gatecrashers for you,” Streak said cheerfully, his good humor recovered after seeing Serrin surprised by his insight.
Michael and Streak got into the elevator with the young man, and as they ascended Michael wondered what he was going to say. Outside the building, the Renraku military had taken up their positions and were clearly ready to begin any bombardment deemed necessary.
Michael thought about it, and walked out into the hot air of the afternoon with his palms out, announcing who he was and the fact that he was working for Renraku too. Johanssen told the commanding officer to hold fire, definitely and absolutely.
“Em, hi, guys. Look. I don’t know how to say this, but you really don’t want to blow up what’s in there.
“Frankly, at twenty billion you’ll be getting a bloody bargain.”
Johanssen looked at him, reconsidered his order, then picked up the phone to Chiba.
29
The second of May was the day when eight megacorps were scheduled to have their Matrix systems blown to frag and back. Midnight came and went and nothing much happened. At one o’clock, seven of them got a message informing them that their tardiness in making the due payment was reprehensible and that as a result their systems would, periodically, be subject to complete surveillance-and that all of their future operations would have to be conducted with this fact in mind. Only four heart attacks were recorded among the relevant personnel during the following hour, which, given their usual bad habits of smoking, drinking, and eating far too much expense-account drek, wasn’t much more than par for the course. Moreover, given their natures, it was probably more or less what they deserved.
The eighth corp was trying to figure out how the frag they could possibly manage to justify such a transfer of funds to the shareholders. Two of their best researchers had been dragged out of bed, piled into a plane, and despatched to Ahvaz. Within an hour of their arrival they’d agreed with Michael that twenty billion was a pittance.
“We can call it a sponsored R amp;D lab, write it off against taxes as profit reinvestment and retooling.” was the best the accountants and marketing people could come up with.
“And who’s going to be in charge of it?” came the obvious reply.
“This elf who calls himself Leonardo. Barking mad but he’s a fragging genius according to our to computer guys, and we pay them enough to know shit from salami on rye. Anyway, he says he can do it anytime he likes. Bust our systems, that is.”
“What’s he offering for twenty billion?”
“The deck. Training for some of our top people. Priority access to research findings. Look, our military guy got a peek at a defensive laser system he had in there. Said it was awesome. Not only that, nobody but nobody picked it up on sat. He’s got to be good. Think about what we could do with this kind of stuff.”
Management thought about what it could do with it all, and a lot of them fantasized about screwing the frag out of everyone else on the block.
They began to talk about payment in installments.
Back in London, a group of recent arrivals were trying to shake off an all-encompassing exhaustion and put the pieces together for themselves. Much of what had happened was still taking its time sinking in.
“Renraku looks like they could buy into it,” Michael told them. “Pay the guy hefty doses and get the research works. He says it’s all toys to him anyway. It’s that Great Work he’s really into.”
They’d had an hour or so with Leonardo after the arrival of the Renraku squad, and then the elf asked them to leave and think over his offers. There was so much to do, he said, and too much urgency to spend longer with them.
“They may come next week, or it may be ten years from now,” he’d told them, though his words were mostly for Serrin, “but come they will, unless the work is done in time.”
“I wonder, I really do,” Michael mused. “I mean, that deck. It was incredible just hitching. The chance to study it… and Renraku would pick up the tab. They’re talking about building him a huge lab out there. They’d love him in Chiba, obviously, but he won’t go. He wont leave the people of Ahvaz. And I don’t think Renraku will try to kidnap him, and they’ll sure as hell go to extreme lengths to make sure no one else does.”
“It was funny hearing him talk about Venice,” Kristen recalled. She had a smile on her face nearly all the time these last few days.
“Yeah. Just something he wanted to do, get rid of all of the drek in the canals. “Couldn’t bear to see it like that, so filthy.”
“I wished we’d had more time with him,” she said wistfully.
“Do we really believe it?” Geraint was still turning the impossibility of it all over and over in his mind. “Do we really say to ourselves, this is Leonardo in the flesh, alive after half a millennium?”
“I don’t know and it troubles me,” Serrin said. But he already had something else in mind, and was eager to find a pretext to take himself off.
“Not to mention all that slot about John and Isis and what not. What on earth is anyone going to make of that?”
“The Vatican took it seriously enough to try and nuke him,” Streak pointed out. “It was their missile, no question. I just sent him the full ID. Got some dosh back too. Working for two masters these days, boss.”
Geraint grinned back at him.
“I’not sure whether what he was saying was true.” Michael said slowly. “I know he believed every word of it, of course. But, even if it’s true, I reckon that religious belief and reason are sworn enemies. He may have the evidence, he may have alleged firsthand accounts, but I reckon blind faith won’t bow to that. Many still believe in the Shroud, even long after science has proved it a fake. I think he overestimates the reasonableness of people.”
“He’s got a good precedent for that,” Streak chipped in. “Let’s hope nobody nails this bloke to a tree for doing it.”
“Yeah,”
Geraint said. “But do we believe it?” There was a long silence. Michael broke it.
“We were there.”
“Sure.”
“And we got it from the horse’s mouth.”
“So what are you saying?”
“I think I believe him,” Michael said, as though weighing every word. “And if that means that I think history is a lie and a lot of people have suffered and been deceived for two thousand years because of that, then I think… I think I believe that too. But don’t quote me.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Geraint gave a small, surprised laugh. “I reckon, however that I just might agree with you.”
Serrin got away with Kristen in the early afternoon and began to drive westward. He didn’t know if he’d be expected, but when he arrived at the end of one of those English early-summer afternoons of real beauty and pleasantness, the cat, at least, was waiting for them. He’d known it would be.
“Hello, puss,” Serrin said. “I have the same gift for you as before, but this time I shall retreat at once so that you can enjoy it without being embarrassed.” He knelt down and placed the catnip-stuffed cloth mouse before the cat’s front paws, got up, and walked away without looking back. The cat dragged the mouse off under a lavender bush and began to savage it.
Merlin opened the door and looked out uncertainly, even slightly fearful, his eyes darting from one of them to the other.
“Are you all right?’
“I think so,” Serrin said, patting him on the shoulder. It might have seemed odd to him once; this was not a being of flesh and blood, but the spirit had a naive kindness rarely found in beings so made. The old elf was at the foot of the stairs, about to ascend them, and he turned at the sound of visitors. When he saw Serrin and Kristen, he smiled faintly and waved them in.
“He was telling the truth, wasn’t he?” Serrin asked, hardly waiting to be seated before beginning his questions. History records him as Leonardo. I have no idea what other names and faces he may have worn.”
