Gene of Isis mt-1

by Traci Harding

  The door to the room opened abruptly and I withdrew my hand from the duke’s and stepped away. I feared my husband was coming for me, but it was the Duchess de Guise and therefore I curtseyed deeply.

  ‘Enough is enough, my dear duke. I shall not allow you to arrest this woman.’ The duchess confronted her husband on my behalf. ‘Have you not seen our son?’ she appealed. ‘He is healthier than he has ever been. And our servants are recovering also.’

  The duke was smiling as he said, ‘Anything for you, my love. You win. I will not arrest her.’

  Surprised to have won so easily, the duchess decided to push her luck. ‘You will allow Mademoiselle Winston to depart Orleans this day, with all her companions.’

  ‘And on my best horse.’ The duke turned to me: ‘I do believe that was our arrangement?’

  When the duchess saw my large smile and my affirmative nod, the penny dropped. ‘Including Cingar Choron?’ she said hopefully. As both the duke and I nodded, the duchess was possessed by happiness and embraced her husband. I looked away as they renewed their affection for each other.

  ‘It seems that whatever harm has been done to my house, you have completely undone,’ the duke said at last, calling for my attention. ‘True to the reputation of the fey, the magic you weave is pure inspiration.’

  De Guise was not implying heresy this time. It was a true compliment; Albray had also referred to me as one of the fey, at our first meeting.

  ‘Just science and training, your grace,’ I insisted once more, smiling.

  The duchess was delighted and clapped her hands together. ‘We shall make provision for your journey…food, wine, and an open cart to transport your party.’ She looked at her husband, certain that he would agree to anything in his present mood.

  The duke cast his eyes over me as he seconded his wife’s kind offer of assistance. ‘Perhaps some new clothes for our heroine,’ he commented as his steward returned with the surgeon.

  ‘Could I impose on your grace for a suit of men’s clothes?’ I felt this was the perfect opportunity to change my identity. I would leave the lady behind in Orleans.

  ‘My very thought,’ the duke concurred, having witnessed my fall during the duel. ‘I think we can devise some far more suitable attire for one such as yourself.’

  It soon became clear that Gasgon de Guise was indeed a man of his word. I left his house with a full belly, new attire, a sword, a pistol and all the gypsies, who were quite amazed at their release.

  The horses that had carried Rumer and me to Orleans were hitched to the front of a cart large enough to carry supplies and the members of our party, of which there were fourteen.

  I sat astride in the saddle of a fine white stallion named Destiny and as I rode from the house of de Guise, I embraced a real sense of achievement. It wasn’t that I had helped so many, or that I had left happiness in my wake: I had proven to myself that I needed no mortal protector. I had stepped into my own power and I felt like a valiant prince—there would be no going back to being a vulnerable princess. Come what may on my journey to the Sinai, I could handle it on my own…with just a little help from my friends in the spirit world.

  My stomach would not forgo lunch any longer. I didn’t want to leave Ashlee’s tale, but the sound of my hunger pangs was becoming a serious distraction.

  As I walked out into the blazing sun, the campsite was like a ghost town and I began to wonder if I’d been deserted.

  I found the cook in the mess tent and he informed me in broken English that James Conally had accompanied Andre to town to meet our shipment. Those who remained on-site were sensibly sleeping off the heat of the day in their tents.

  I picked up a tray of spoils: a sandwich, a chocolate bar, some fruit and more water, and returned to my abode. Awaiting me on my desk was a note marked with a small red cross that looked suspiciously like my birthmark.

  I opened and read the note, which was written in Arabic. It was from Akbar: he was awaiting an audience with me in the Cave of Hathor. I’d forgotten my suggestion to Akbar that we talk this afternoon.

  Oh dear. This presented me with a slight dilemma and I sat down to eat my lunch and dwell upon it.

  I didn’t feel safe going to meet with Akbar and his men alone. If I took Albray’s stone along on my person, he would know my mind and perhaps perceive my little dream about him. I could carry the stone in my bag or a pocket, but I didn’t like not having Albray on hand. After much pondering I decided I would swiftly summon Albray and ask him to accompany me, and then place the stone in my bag. If I was quick, hopefully my knight wouldn’t have the chance to perceive any of my little fantasies about him.

  Miss Montrose, how are you this fine day? Albray asked upon arrival, sounding suspiciously chirpy.

  ‘Well, thank you.’ I slipped his stone into my bag. ‘And you?’

  Very well, he affirmed, still smiling broadly.

  I’d never seen my knight so jovial before. ‘And what is the cause of today’s frightfully good cheer?’

  Albray shrugged off his good mood. ‘I don’t know…some days it’s just grand to be a spirit.’

  I wasn’t too sure what to make of that. I was unwilling to raise the subject of my dream; if he raised it, I could deny it.

  ‘Akbar wants to meet with me.’ I explained the reason for the summons.

  Yes, Albray nodded, and you would do well to heed his advice.

  ‘What makes you say that?’

  Albray fixed me with a knowing look. I told you I would be of service if left at leisure.

  That seemed to explain what Albray did with his free time in the land of the living. ‘My own personal spy,’ I said, honoured, before I departed the tent with Albray following. ‘What did you find out about him?’ I whispered my question, even though the steep dirt track I ascended to the ruins was completely devoid of people.

  He belongs to an order of warriors known as the Melchi. They protect the interests of the ancient Egyptian order of Melchi-Zadok.

  Melchi-Zadok, roughly translated, meant priest-kings, and this ancient order had eventually become known as Melchizedek.

  The later Scottish chapter of these priest-kings carried on the traditions and teachings of the famed Fisher Kings of folklore.

  ‘Another Grail association!’ In my mind, all this information was beginning to connect and merge into new theories, quite opposed to any that had been presented to me to date.

  The fairytales and legends which developed out of Grail lore served the equivalent function in the Cathar faith as the parables of the New Testament served in Catholicism. This fairy lore was born in the eighth century following the implementation of the Donation of Constantine, which, incidentally, my order knows is a complete forgery.

  The Donation to which Albray referred made its first appearance in the middle of the eighth century, but was thought to have been written by the Emperor Constantine some four hundred years before, although it was never produced or mentioned in the interim. This document changed the political face of Europe. It proclaimed that the Emperor Constantine appointed the ‘universal pope’ as Christ’s elected representative on Earth, and as the papal dignitary held authority over any earthly ruler he had the power to create and destroy kings. In 751 AD the Vatican began to dispose of the Merovingian line of kings and replaced them with a new dynasty, the Carolingians. This being the case, it was not surprising that Albray’s order believed that the pivotal document was a forgery.

  The Donation transformed the nature of monarchy: from an office of princely service to the community it became an office of absolute rule; the kings of Europe became servants of the church instead of servants of the people.

  ‘Except in Scotland.’ I realised the significance of the Scottish chapter of the Sangreal Knights. In fact, Robert the Bruce and all of Scotland had been excommunicated by the pope of the day.

  Indeed, Albray said. The Grail legacy was forsaken in all but the Gaelic realms.

  ‘So when the Bible states that
some of Christ’s apostles were fishermen, what the text might actually have said was that they were the Fisher Kings of an ancient priesthood and that they harvested men’s souls, rather than the produce of the sea.’

  Albray seemed pleased by my reasoning. Exactly. Christ himself became a priest of this order after his crucifixion. In the Bible this promotion into the inner sanctum of the senior priests is recorded as the ascension, which reads to the layman like some supernatural occurrence. But the Essene priests, the Magi, employed the names of the Old Testament archangels. The head priest, or Zadok, was the Archangel Michael, and his ambassador was the Archangel Gabriel, and so on. The name of the inner sanctum of the Melchizedek order was referred to as—

  ‘Heaven!’ I guessed the punchline. ‘In which case, the two angels who guarded the passage to heaven during Jesus’ ascension were Essene priests guarding the inner sanctum of the order.’ I stuck out my bottom lip as I considered this made far more sense than my previous understanding; though I’d not really bothered to form any theories on the subject, as I had always considered the Bible as a propaganda tool rather than a serious historical reference. ‘So,’ I proposed lightheartedly, ‘heaven has sent an angel to me.’ I motioned to the ruins ahead, wherein Akbar awaited.

  So it would appear, Albray conceded with a smile.

  I passed through the crumbling Shrine of the Kings into the Main Court, which led to the Portico and the entrance to the Cave of Hathor. Not that there was much to define one chamber of this dwelling from another—the walls and columns were crumbling into the sand and the roof was nonexistent. Only in the cave carved out of the mountain did a roof still remain.

  It was clear to me that the structure Andre’s team had uncovered, but not yet opened—which Hereford called the Star-Fire Temple—had obviously superseded the Hathor Temple complex, for there was no evidence that supermetals had been used in this structure or it would probably still be standing in its entirety. It seemed more likely that this complex was purely for the purpose of the construction and maintenance of the Star-Fire Temple beneath.

  Akbar’s two associates stood guard at the entrance to the Cave of Hathor. As I approached, the Bedouins bowed deeply, having comprehended that falling to the ground before me was not appropriate. I took the time to learn their names, which served to set all of us more at ease. They were Kadar and Kamali, neither of whom was as large and imposing as Akbar, but then, they were really little more than youths. They advised that their lord was waiting inside the cave.

  I entered the cave. Raising the already unbearable temperature of the day was a tall flaming torch, the handle of which was wedged into the ground where it stood. Akbar was nowhere in sight. Looking up, I noticed the absence of the weapon I’d hung in the roof during my previous visit. ‘You managed to retrieve your sword, I see.’ I announced my arrival, although I felt sure Akbar was well aware of me already.

  ‘With some difficulty.’ Akbar emerged from behind the pillar of Amenemhet the Third. ‘I shall only ever draw it in your defence from now on,’ he vowed.

  ‘That’s comforting, Akbar.’ I wiped the sweat from my brow with the palm of my hand. ‘Could we not have met down at the camp? There’s nobody there.’

  ‘Any walls belonging to Molier have ears. This place I trust.’ He took a seat on the ground and I joined him.

  ‘You are implying that my tent might be bugged?’ I was shocked.

  ‘Molier likes to know everything about everyone who works for him.’ Akbar further inflamed my fears.

  ‘Then how is it that you managed to obtain employment?’ I wasn’t sure I believed that this expedition was as cloak and dagger as he implied.

  ‘I am just an Arab,’ Akbar explained, ‘and not considered a threat.’

  What if the surveillance situation was true? What would anyone listening make of my conversations with Albray? If Molier had killed Albray, would he suspect to whom I referred? I looked at Albray, who was asking what the term ‘bugged’ meant. It is an electronic means of listening in to the conversations going on in my tent, I explained simply.

  Albray was worried. That would mean that Molier could be aware of my presence here!

  I’m so sorry. Now, because I was too lazy to use our psychic link, I might have given my ace-in-the-hole away. He can’t harm you, can he?

  I’m not worried for me, Albray clarified. Molier has the know-how to banish me in order to get to you. You must not let him get his hands on the stone.

  I will not, I vowed, touched that Albray was more concerned about my welfare than his own. ‘What interest does Molier have in me?’ I asked Akbar.

  ‘His is a sinister and perverse purpose. He has a lust for supernatural power and sacred knowledge that is second to none and he will do anything to achieve his goals.’

  What did I tell you! Albray was impressed by Akbar’s assessment.

  ‘But what is Molier’s agenda?’

  Akbar fixed me in his gaze. ‘He seeks the Plane of Shar-on.’

  I frowned. ‘But the Plain of Sharon is in Israel.’

  ‘That is a longstanding confusion,’ he informed me. ‘The Plane of Shar-on is not of this world. In pyramid texts it is called the Field of Iaru.’

  ‘The dimension of the blessed.’ I had heard of that.

  ‘It is the dimension of the orbit of light,’ Akbar stated.

  ‘Well, that sounds like a nice place. I can understand why Molier would want to go there.’ I rolled with it. ‘I still don’t see the malicious intent.’

  ‘Molier shall never achieve his goal,’ Akbar assured me. ‘An abomination such as he could never ascend to Shar-on. The porthole would be shut down forever if he attempted to utilise it. Our problem is that Molier still believes this avenue is open to him, via a daughter of Isis, such as you are.’

  From reading about Earnest Devere’s heightened psychic awareness, obtained through his union with Ashlee, I suspected I knew what Akbar was driving at. ‘Then…I would not be of use to Molier unless I love him.’

  ‘Exactly.’ Akbar was pleased that I was following his explanation. ‘But Molier could enchant you into believing that he is a man you love. If you currently hold feelings for someone he could assume their appearance in order to get to you. Does any one man hold your heart at this time?’

  What an embarrassing question to be asked with Albray crouched right alongside me. If I said no, I might give Albray the wrong impression, and as I doubted that Molier could impersonate a ghost and get away with it, there was no point trying to explain Albray to Akbar.

  ‘I would not ask if the answer was not vital for your protection,’ Akbar prompted, as I was taking so long to reply.

  ‘There is not a man alive who interests me at present,’ I told him in all honesty.

  ‘Are you sure?’ Akbar grilled. ‘No movie stars you have a crush on?’

  I laughed and shook my head. ‘I’m far more likely to have a crush on a professor than a movie star, but all the same, there is no one.’

  ‘Then that only leaves Molier the option of enchanting you into believing that you are in love with him.’ Akbar was thinking out loud.

  ‘You make him sound like a sorcerer.’

  ‘That is exactly what he is.’ Akbar awarded me his full attention once more. ‘He has cheated his physical nature on every level, and now he seeks to cheat the cosmic order on a spiritual level as well.’

  ‘He expects that a union with me is going to do that for him?’

  ‘No.’ Akbar smiled, amused by my naivety. ‘He would seduce you only in order to open the door to the temple complex inside this mountain. He needs a daughter of the blood to do that.’

  ‘So he does.’ I bit my lip as I considered this. ‘So, Molier is of the blood too,’ I assumed.

  Akbar shook his head. ‘That is why he is an abomination. No other man in recorded history who did not carry the Gene of Isis has ever been fed the “ambrosia of the gods”. It is our understanding that only those souls who are ready for s
piritual advancement will be born into the bloodline, and to abuse divine order is an offence against the gods. Molier does not carry the gene of Isis in his molecular structure, so the Fire-Stone substance could not react on it to activate his spiritual enlightenment. However, it has mutated his DNA in ways that we could not, and cannot, predict. He is the only abomination of his kind that we know of so there is no precedent for his crime.’

  ‘So Molier is after the Star and Fire vials,’ I ventured, ‘but to what end? It is my understanding that the Star substance is virtually useless to a man unless he has the love of a daughter of the bloodline.’

  ‘You know about the vials?’ Akbar was obviously very curious to know how I got that information.

  I only nodded so that he would continue to fill me in on what he knew.

  ‘Urim-Schumir and Thummim-Schethiya—the Fire-Stone and the Highward Fire-Stone—are treasures of the House of Gold. When these are brought together over the Ark of the Covenant they manifest unified light and perfection and create a porthole to the Plane of Shar-on.’

  Now I was beginning to fathom the big picture, although I could scarcely believe it. ‘Are you trying to tell me that the Ark of the Covenant is hidden in this mountain?’ In Hereford’s account regarding the Star-Fire Temple, he and his wife had never opened the door in that inner chamber. Was this what it contained?

  ‘I could not tell you,’ Akbar conceded, as the door to the complex had not been opened in several lifetimes. ‘But it is said that one of the Arks is still hidden here.’

  ‘One of the Arks?’ I queried, believing that only one existed.

  ‘Even a text as incomplete as the Bible clearly hints at this, for it mentions both the Ark of the Covenant that was made by Bezaleel to house the Tables of Testimony and the Ark built by Moses, supposedly to house the Ten Commandments.’

  ‘And which of these is thought to be housed in this mountain?’ I queried.

  ‘Hard to say,’ Akbar admitted, ‘for both were fashioned here on Mt Serâbit.’