Clearly, Devere was disposed to accept, but I, however, was not.
‘We shall get back to you on that count, Mr Molier,’ I said quickly. ‘We have much to consider before laying any firm plans, you understand?’
‘Of course,’ he said.
‘I’ll send word before evening if it is possible for us to leave tomorrow.’ I took my brother’s arm and when we had departed the library I was relieved.
‘You have some very creepy associates, Mr Devere,’ I commented in an aside to him.
‘I should not have waited to speak with her.’ Devere was cursing himself. ‘God knows what she thinks of me now, if she has connected me with that thing!’
‘Thing?’ I repeated. ‘That’s a rather cutting description for anyone. Mr Molier wasn’t quite that bad.’
‘There’s something definitely not right about that man.’ Devere sounded deadly sure about that. ‘Let us hope that we never have to find out what that defect is.’
‘Whoa.’ I put Ashlee’s journal aside. The story was starting to spin me out, or perhaps it was lack of food that was making me lightheaded. ‘This is too much.’ I slid off the bed to put the kettle on. I badly needed a cup of tea. Does Albray really expect me to believe that my new employer is a vampire and that Ashlee Granville could walk through walls! ’Give me a break!’ I prepared my cuppa feeling frustrated and annoyed—but why? Was it because I didn’t believe Albray could be so gullible as to swear to the truth of the story I was reading? No, that wasn’t what had me all flustered.
Keeping your company, each day brings its own rewards.
It was both enchanting and perplexing reading a tale that Albray was a character in. I so envied Ashlee’s relationship with him—if they really were as close as the journal boasted. I wanted him as a confidant and a friend too, not just as a teacher and protector. Why was it that Albray would let his guard down with Ashlee and not me? Was it because I was so wanting in psychic ability? A magical flair certainly seemed to be the main female attribute that Albray found alluring—it figured that it was the one attribute I didn’t have.
I had to pull myself up at this point and remind myself that Albray was a phantasm, or a hallucination, or something to that effect. Whatever he was, it was certainly not a healthy relationship to be obsessing about.
The storm was still giving my tent a good battering, and rather than go straight back to my reading, I thought to check my email. Andre had sent me a note to ask how I was faring in the storm and if I needed anything. There was also an email from C & M constructions. My heart skipped a beat when I saw Christian Molier’s name on the bottom.
Surely this is not the same man that killed Albray, or the same man Ashlee fled Paris to escape? I calmed myself with my realistic reasoning. ‘Unless Albray means Molier is a reincarnation of the man that murdered him, but they have the same name.’ Perhaps this Molier was a descendant?
In the email Christian Molier apologised for not being at Mt Serâbit to welcome me to the team, explaining that he had a very high melatonin output, and strong sunlight affected his mental capacity.
Indeed, melatonin came from the Greek words melos, meaning black, and tosis, meaning labour, and thus people with this condition were referred to as ‘night operatives’—which could have been where Albray got his vampire notion from.
Mr Molier also informed me that he knew where to obtain some of the white powder that was found in the Hathor Temple last century, and that a barrel would be delivered within days.
This was good—I could test my theory. Still, I had the distinct impression that this was the last thing Albray wanted.
As I was online, I thought I might surf the net and investigate another part of Ashlee’s tale that had me intrigued—the Mary Magdalene connection.
Albray had said that Ashlee was a descendant of the Black Madonna, which, if proven true, would mean I was as well! Devere had also hinted at some godlike gene that was passed down through this Grail bloodline via the female descendants.
I started my research with the god-gene and discovered that recently it had been discovered that the prominent gene of succession is carried within the blood of the mother, known as ‘mitochondrial DNA’. I also found an article online which talked about the Gene of Isis and the Grail bloodline, which sounded like a pile of chivalric propaganda, but I wanted to see what it had to say.
The writer spoke of a bloodline that extended back through time to the very dawn of civilisation. It spoke of select men being fed the ambrosia of the gods in order to heighten their mental, emotional and physical ability.
Interestingly enough, Gra-al, an old Mesopotamian term, was translated as the ‘nectar of supreme excellence’. The Celtic word Graal meant ‘cup of the stone’.
The article went on to say that an ancient Royal Scottish Order of knights were known as the Order of Sangréal, and they were closely allied to the European Order of the Realm of Sion. The knights of both orders were adherents of the Sangréal, which defined the true Blood Royal of Judah: the bloodline of the Holy Grail.
Which means that Albray is most probably connected to the same brotherhood that Earnest Devere later joined. ’Even wonderfully clever Ashlee hasn’t worked that one out yet,’ I smugly mumbled to myself.
What is that you’re doing?
Albray startled the life out of me. He was leaning over my shoulder and staring at my computer screen in complete awe.
‘Magic,’ I teased, returning to the previous page.
Albray knew I was teasing him, and he gave me a disappointed look.
‘Research,’ I replied more honestly. ‘I was looking into the Gene-of-Isis.’
And how is the reading going?
I drew a deep breath. ‘I’m up to where Ashlee flees Paris, and I’ve got to ask you…how is it possible that my boss, Christian Molier, could be the same man Ashlee fled from in Paris and the same man who killed you nearly six hundred years before that?’
Star-Fire, Albray replied. Or, in Molier’s case, mainly just the Fire. He’s been taking it so long to sustain himself that he can no longer expose himself to sunlight without risk of brain damage.
‘Albray…’ I thought it time to give him a little science lesson. ‘Molier can’t go out in the sun because he has a high pineal gland secretion.’ As I said this, I realised that this was something else my boss had in common with Ashlee’s Mr Molier.
And what do you think caused this condition of Molier’s? Albray posited, as if he already knew the answer.
‘A defect in Molier’s DNA.’ I shrugged and then thought to explain. ‘DNA is—’
I realise you refer to his genetic code, Albray said, surprising me with his knowledge. In Molier’s case it was a forced mutation…he was not born with the disorder.
‘How do you know?’ I asked, as he sounded so sure about it.
I knew Christian Molier when he could still frequent the great outdoors in the daylight hours. It was not until that day in the library with Mrs Devere that I learned of his skin condition.
‘And you’re sure it was the same Christian Molier?’ It was not a favourable look I received in response. ‘I’m sorry.’ I accepted that it was a stupid question. ‘Then explain to me how this Fire substance works, and what it is made up of. I mean, I understand the Star substance and most of its creation process.’
Star-Fire is the melding of Heaven and Earth, male and female, the physical, emotional and mental bodies with the spiritual body. The Fire preceded the Star; it promoted perception, awareness and intuition, stamina, the immune system and, thus, longevity. Ever wonder why the leaders of the ancient world lived so long? They were fed this ambrosia. But the Fire was not brewed to enhance psychic ability…that could only be activated upon a pleasurable union with a female of the sacred bloodline. Still, the light would remain, although dormant, in a spiritually unawakened person.
‘But what was the substance made of to make it so sacred and vitality-promoting?’
It is said
that the Fire vial contains an extract drawn from the menstrual flow of the Nefilim goddess, Ninharsag, also known as Isis, Albray baldly stated, and I began to feel sick. ‘Oh, my god!’ I covered my mouth, shocked. ‘Is that what you meant when you said Molier was a vampire?’
Albray nodded and I really felt sick. If it makes you feel any better, the drinking of blood was banned before my time by the church, who wished to undermine the power of the ancient order of Star-Fire priestesses. But by that time, alchemy had come of age and the process to create the Star was rediscovered and then lost. But together they are the body and blood, the bread and the wine, of Christianity, and in Egyptian belief they are the white wheat and red barley fields of Heaven.
There was a desperate scratching at my tent flap.
‘Come in!’
It was Andre who crawled in under my door. ‘Bonsoir, Mia. I was just heading up to the Hathor Complex. I think the storm is dying down a bit, and, in any case, inside the complex we will be protected from the elements. I thought you might want to come have a look?’
‘Ah…?’ I glanced at Albray, who rolled his eyes and gave me leave with a wave. ‘Yeah, that would be great, but can I meet you in the mess? I just need to get changed.’
‘Aw, you take all the fun out of life,’ Andre grumbled. ‘I could just turn around. I promise I won’t look.’
I just folded my arms with a smile and waited for him to depart.
We need to work on your psychic skills, Albray impressed on me as soon as Andre left.
‘Look, I’m really sorry to disappoint you but I don’t have any psychic talent.’ I stripped off my shorts and pulled on a pair of jeans. ‘And here in the real world, I have to work.’ I looked up to find Albray gobsmacked, and then I realised I had changed my outfit and he probably wasn’t too used to women doing that in front of him. ‘Look, if my body is so offensive, you could leave, or turn away, or—’
On the contrary, I am honoured. He tried not to smile too broadly.
Inside, my heart leapt. Albray finally saw me! ‘So you are human after all?’ I posed the question in a suggestive manner to see if he’d bite.
He leant back a little. I think that you Grail women enjoy teasing me.
‘I never tease,’ I informed him bluntly.
Then what do you call this?
I gasped in amusement at his implication. ‘You know what I think…I think you’re the tease, Albray.’
He appeared even more amused and shocked when the accusation was thrown back at him. I don’t know what you mean.
‘Is that right?’ If he wasn’t going to admit to feeling anything for me, there was little point in pursuing this conversation any further. ‘Well then, I’m going.’ I turned away from Albray, removed my singlet and replaced it with a long-sleeved white shirt. ‘I shouldn’t be too long.’ I didn’t look back to catch his reaction, but threw a scarf over my head, wrapped the ends around my shoulders and braved the gale outside.
Even though it was not far to the temple complex, Andre drove us there in his cherished Humvee, which went everywhere with him. He’d scored this oversized, black, super-tough, soft-top jeep when he’d done some excavation work for the American military, and their gift to him had ensured that, to this day, he never spoke of what the project with the US military had entailed.
‘Alone at last,’ Andre announced, as we completed our dash through the Main Court, the Sanctuary, the Portico and into the shelter of the Cave of Hathor.
‘Alone is right.’ I avoided his implication. ‘The storm must be keeping the tourists away.’
‘Oui. The tours won’t come up here in these conditions. So,’ he indicated the shrine in which we stood, throwing his arms wide, ‘what do you think?’
This cave had been carved into the natural rock, and had flat inner walls that had somehow been rubbed smooth. In the centre was a large upright pillar of Amenemhet III.
‘It must have been magnificent,’ I mumbled, and recalled the words of the man who’d uncovered the whole of the Hathor complex in 1906. ‘There is no other such monument known that makes us regret more that it is not in better preservation.’
‘Well, the place was buried and lost to the world for about three thousand years,’ Andre remarked.
Not entirely, I considered on the quiet—for Albray had been here in the thirteenth century and Lord Hamilton’s largely ignored work had brought him here in the early nineteenth century.
The sands of time had taken their toll on what must once have been an imposing and majestic structure. And yet, the walls still had many tales to tell. I moved closer and pulled out a notebook and pen. It seemed highly likely that this temple would hold clues to opening the mysterious entrance we’d uncovered—or hint at what we might expect to find therein. ‘It states here that the main function of the temple masters was the production of mfkzt.’
‘Oui,’ Andre confirmed. ‘There seems to be a dispute as to what that actually was. Some think copper or malachite, but as this mountain is riddled with turquoise mines we were told that turquoise is the most likely possibility. And the goddess Hathor is known as the mistress of turquoise.’
‘As was Isis,’ I added, ‘but only if the word mfkzt has not been mistranslated. Petrie didn’t uncover turquoise at the site, only our strange white powder.’ I stepped back to consider the entire wall. ‘The numerous mentions of light and bread in these hieroglyphs suggest “our Bread of Life” seems more on the mark. Hathor was also renowned as “the mother of light”. Ra may have been the sun, but Hathor was the divine power behind the great solar deity.’
This went back to what Albray had been saying about kings only being awakened by their queens, for the females carried the power of the gods and men could only hope to absorb that power via a good marriage. Perhaps this was why women were bound to be made happy by the love they gave, and men by the love they received.
‘Hathor was also a protector of women…’ Andre added.
Granting females the power to awaken a superhuman ability was certainly a way of ensuring their survival and the respect of men. I remembered the effect Ashlee Granville had had on Earnest Devere—he’d gone so far as to describe his love as an addiction!
‘Which probably explains why only a woman can open the door we’ve uncovered,’ Andre finished his thought.
‘So, let us suppose,’ I hypothesised, ‘that the priests did manufacture the manna or ORME here—’
‘To what end?’ Andre played devil’s advocate. ‘To open the lower entrance we’ve uncovered?’
‘To manufacture superior building materials to make such a structure, perhaps?’ I raised my eyebrows, intrigued by the idea. ‘They would certainly have used such a substance to enlighten their priest-kings and priestess-queens…’
In my mind’s eye I saw a vision of how this place had appeared at the height of its glory. This had been a structure so grand as to rival any ancient temple of the period. Desperately clinging to my unique ancient perspective, I turned to view the undamaged altar and column and the unweathered text that lined everything herein. Beyond the one entrance into the Cave of Hathor, I beheld the closed-in Portico and through another grand doorway sunlight fell onto the paved floor of the Sanctuary of the Goddess that was open to the sky.
I blinked and snapped out of my trance. It wasn’t like me to vague out like that and my imagination usually left a lot to be desired. ‘They could have used the substance to heal their sick.’ I resumed my contemplation of the true purpose of this place. ‘They could probably nurture the earth and enhance their produce, and any number of things I cannot even conceive of. It certainly explains why Moses might have led his people here. There’s a whole new slant on the golden calf incident, as Hathor was sometimes represented as a cow, and manna has also been called alchemist’s gold.’ I smiled, as I thought that Lord Hereford was probably right in assuming that this truly was the mountain of Moses.
Which reminded me—I had yet to read Lord Hamilton’s account, and that
might prove mighty insightful at this stage. After all, he had opened our mysterious door…how else could he have the Star vial in his possession? I made a mental note to scan through Hamilton’s journal upon returning to my tent.
I ceased my wondering and looked at Andre, who was smiling amiably at me.
‘Your mind is an amazing place, Mia Montrose.’ He moved to approach me, when his beeper went off. ‘The gods really hate me!’ He grabbed his pager from his belt to read the message. ‘It’s Molier. I’ll have to head back down to camp to call him. Do you want to stay a while? I can come back for you.’
All alone in an ancient Egyptian temple? Hell, yes. ‘That would be great, Andre. Merci.’
In Andre’s absence I got some work done. I’d discovered what I suspected to be the quantities of asena, acacia and mfkzt (manna?), needed to make the Star vial substance. The names of the ingredients had all been chiselled away, so I was not sure which quantity belonged to which substance in the sacred brew.
I was so engrossed, I didn’t look up when I heard Andre return. ‘I think I’ve found the formula.’
When an enthusiastic response was not forthcoming, I looked up to find Akbar and wished I could have prevented my gasp of shock. ‘Akbar, you startled me.’ I stood up to address him, as he was some distance away. ‘Did Andre send you to fetch me?’
‘You do not belong here,’ the imposing foreigner, all dressed in black, stated calmly, then pulled a large curved sword from beneath his robes.
‘Do you mean I do not belong in this sanctuary?’ I attempted to reason with him while I inched around to put the remains of the altar between myself and he who was threatening to cause me bodily harm.
‘I mean…on this mountain.’
Akbar came running at the altar and somersaulted over it, whereupon I made for the cave entrance, only to be confronted by another pair of locals who grabbed hold of one of my arms each and dragged me back into the cave-shrine.
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