Gene of Isis mt-1

by Traci Harding

  Toward evening on the fourth day we came in sight of one of the world’s great wonders. Directly in front of us, the giant pyramids of Giza were standing at the head of a long reach in the river. Against the cloudless sky their lofty summits seemed solitary and majestic as they were lit by the lurid red gleam of the setting sun. The magic moment tugged on my heartstrings unexpectedly and I found myself wishing that my husband was here to see this with me. Despite the awe of the spectacle I felt homesick, not for England, but for Devere. Home is where the heart is. I had forgotten how much it hurt to be separated from him—not so much at first, but as the days passed I craved his company more and more. Obviously my request to my foremothers to banish my husband from my heart and thoughts had been in vain—perhaps the ladies of the Elohim did not feel my wish was essential to my quest.

  If you are going to pine for your lover, could you please dismiss me and remove the stone from your person? Albray appealed.

  You’re not jealous? I ribbed him in jest, thinking he was trying to make light of my heavy heart.

  Of course I am.

  I was so startled I dragged my eyes from the view to check if he was serious.

  I never experienced what it was like to have a loving relationship. Albray was dead serious. I envy the love you feel in your husband’s company. Perhaps that’s why I find our quest easier when you’re apart from him, then I don’t have to be constantly reminded of what was denied me.

  I removed the stone’s chain from around my wrist and put it in my pocket. Is there no such thing as reincarnation?

  Not for a soul who is bound in death to the service of the ladies of the Elohim. Even if you succeed in returning the vials, I shall still be compelled to watch over them for all eternity. There will be no next-time-around for me.

  Why did you make such a vow, Albray…because of your priestess?

  To save her life. He managed to make his confession sound as if it was not the slightest bit heroic and selfless, but rather stupid and pointless. In all honesty, I think that we would both be happier now if I had not. To care for someone more than life is one thing, but to care for someone else more than your eternal soul is something else. Now both our souls exist in a perpetual purgatory, each more constrained by guilt than love.

  Is there nothing I can do? I so wanted to be able to help my knight after all he had done for me, out of duty or not. Can I not appeal to the council on your behalf?

  No, I will stand by my choice, he stated. I do not regret my vow for myself, but for Lillet. She will not move on in the grand scheme of creation, as it is her right to do. She insists on remaining in the sub-planes with me until I am released from this service, which was my choice and not hers.

  I could see now why Albray claimed their tragic relationship was built on guilt, but there was also selflessness and compassion.

  I only hope that one day she will be called to move on and forget me, he concluded solemnly. Perhaps you could ask the council for that.

  Obviously his honour meant more to the knight than his eternal soul, and despite his wishes to the contrary I decided that I would appeal Albray’s case with my foremothers. It was the very least I could do.

  The next morning at seven o’clock we were crossing from the Island of Roda in another small boat to Bulak, the harbour of Cairo. Half an hour and a short donkey ride later, Cingar and I were entering the walls of Grand Cairo—and what a spectacle of multiculturalism it was. There were Turks, some with eight to ten women in tow completely enveloped in dark silk. There were Greeks, Armenians and Jews in turbans and striking costumes, scantily dressed Arabs and swarthy Bedouin of the desert. Crossing the square we jostled against camels, dromedaries, horses and donkeys, trying to hold our breath for fear of plague until we reached the large wooden gate which divided the Frankish quarter from the often hostile local population.

  ‘Here we shall make provision for our journey to the Suez.’ Cingar assured me that we would be leaving the filthy city before nightfall. ‘Old Cairo is far more pleasant on the senses,’ he assured me. But as the ancient part of the city was situated about four miles from Bulak, my schedule did not permit time for sightseeing. FROM THE HONEYMOON JOURNAL OF LADY SUSAN DEVERE

  Our journey down the Nile was well spent, learning as much about our adversary as possible.

  Mr Devere had been engrossed in reading the journals of Lord Hamilton for some days now and had been relaying the tale of his adventures in the Sinai over dinner every evening.

  ‘The journal claims that when Lord Hereford opened the gateway to the Star-Fire Temple, a creature was released from it that had been dwelling within the mount for a long time…at least since the last time it was opened. He estimated, from the body of a crusader knight found therein, that it may have been sealed for about six hundred years!’

  My husband had gone rather pale and I guessed that, like me, he was remembering Lord Malory’s assertion that Ashlee’s destiny was to destroy just such a beast. Lord Devere looked to Lord Malory who had raised his brows as if to say, ‘What did I tell you?’

  ‘If Molier is the creature I saw when I found Earnest, there is nothing human about him,’ Lord Devere posed. ‘How are we expected to kill something that is not of this earth? The creature shattered into a spirit state just like that!’ He clicked his fingers to demonstrate the speed of the transformation.

  ‘But Molier was once of this world,’ Lord Malory corrected. ‘A man, just like you or I.’ As Lord Devere appeared sceptical, our host decided to explain further. ‘A journal in the possession of our brotherhood, written by a thirteenth-century priestess of the Cathar faith, tells of a renegade Sion knight named Christian Molier. He was assisting her to return a treasure to the Star-Fire Temple in the Sinai after the final siege of Montsègur in the thirteenth century. But when they arrived inside the temple, Molier tried to steal the treasure from the priestess, intending to use the site’s supernatural power to his own ends. Another knight of the order, who remained true to the cause, saved the priestess. The knight sacrificed his own life in order to trap Molier in the mountain, where he remained until Lord Hereford’s visit hundreds of years later.’

  Lord Devere and myself were too stunned to speak, and before my husband could express his disbelief, Mr Devere asked: ‘And do you know the name of this heroic knight?’ My brother-in-law swallowed hard, as if he anticipated the answer.

  Lord Malory grinned broadly. ‘His name was Albray de Vere.’

  Now we were all doubly stunned. I recalled Mr Devere telling me of the spirit of a knight who was advising his wife and I realised, as Mr Devere must have, that the knight was some kind of guardian of the ancient, sacred site.

  ‘Oh, my god.’ Earnest’s mind was churning over, although I was the only one present who knew why he was so astounded.

  ‘Yes,’ Malory confirmed. ‘He was some great-great-uncle of yours. He was conceived during the first crusade, the bastard issue of a priestess in the Holy Land and a visiting forefather of the de Vere line.’

  Lord Devere was having trouble digesting the information. ‘Are you telling me that my forefathers ran around raping Middle Eastern priestesses—’

  ‘No.’ Malory held up a finger to stress the point. ‘It was an arranged pairing, specifically to produce a pure-blood prince of the Royal House of Judah.’

  ‘What!’ Lord Devere stood up, he was so shocked.

  ‘Don’t you get it!’ Mr Devere stood to confront his brother before he launched into a sermon. ‘The knighthoods, and the Star-Fire Temple and its treasures from which Molier draws his power. It’s all about the blood!’

  ‘Please tell me that you are not talking about the bloodline of our Lord Jesus Christ!’ Lord Devere demanded, ready to walk out of the room depending upon the answer.

  ‘We are talking of a bloodline that goes all the way back to the Nefilim goddesses of old.’ Earnest turned back to Lord Malory before his brother could argue the issue, for he had more urgent information to pursue. ‘You s
till haven’t answered the question of how we destroy Molier?’

  Days ago, when we had first left Alexandria, Malory had instructed Devere to call upon his forefathers to shield us all from the sight of the creature my husband had seen—that much of the story Lord Devere did believe. Now that the subject of killing the creature had been raised again, Lord Devere remained present, curious to hear the response.

  ‘We can only speculate, for this quest has never been undertaken before,’ Malory explained. ‘In searching for an answer we have turned to legends dealing with the undead for guidance.’

  ‘Oh, please!’ Lord Devere said in disgust.

  ‘Fortunately for us, Christian Molier and his associates at the Arsenal Library seem to have a fascination with the subject of vampires and similar legends and have written extensively on the subject.’

  ‘Really?’ Mr Devere was surprised. ‘But isn’t that self-destructive?’

  ‘Molier’s entire existence is self-destructive,’ Malory replied. ‘He has done a fine job in his plays and writings of making the vampire appear heroic and misunderstood, but it is written that the three fatal dangers are these: a stake through the heart, but only if it severs the spinal cord, decapitation, and fire.’

  ‘Fire.’ The last point caught Devere’s attention. ‘Interesting then that inside the Star-Fire Temple there are several pits that can be filled with a flammable liquid and set alight.’

  ‘But I still don’t understand how Molier could stay alive all that time in the temple? Or how he has now become more spirit than man?’ Lord Devere was frustrated by all the gaps in the story.

  ‘I think you might best sit down before I explain that conundrum, Lord Devere.’ Malory gestured for my husband to be seated once more and he reluctantly complied. Although my lord found much of the brotherhood’s beliefs hard to swallow, he could not deny what he, with his own eyes, had seen.

  The hours that followed were some of the most fascinating of my life. We were told of the Star and Fire vials, at least one of which Malory suspected Ashlee had in her possession, although Mr Devere would not confirm or deny the allegation. We were told of the vials’ function as keys to a greater treasure, and how the vials themselves contained mysterious ambrosias, miraculously self-filling and said to grant immortality and spiritual advancement to those of the blood.

  ‘But why turn to vampire legends?’ Lord Devere was curious about this point. ‘The defining trait of a vampire is that they drink the blood of the living.’

  ‘A common misconception, fabricated by the church to prevent the drinking of blood,’ Lord Malory answered, before going on to explain the difference between the Highward Fire-Stone, made from ORME specifically to heighten the awareness of the females of the holy line, and the Fire-Stone, made from the menstrual blood of the Nefilim goddesses, which was fed to the males of the line who had been singled out for leadership.

  Lord Devere was solicitous of my sensibilities. ‘This is hardly a fitting topic to be discussing in the presence of a lady.’

  I had to smile at my husband’s embarrassment. ‘I would think I am far more qualified on the subject matter than you are, my lord. I do not find it offensive,’ I assured Lord Malory and bade him continue.

  ‘Molier is not of the blood. Though he is a sworn defender of the cause,’ Malory scoffed, disgusted by the betrayal of the order by such a high-ranking initiate. ‘The text pertaining to his entrapment in the temple stated that although the Star vial had been safely locked away in its annexe, the Fire vial was still in Molier’s possession when the gateway was closed to imprison him. We believe that he consumed the contents of the vial to remain alive all those centuries, and took the vial with him when Lord Hereford accidentally released him from the temple. As the elixir was meant only for the males of the blood, we suspect that, although it has extended Molier’s life and given him heightened psychic abilities, it must also have had debilitating effects.’

  ‘How do you mean?’ Devere was pleased to be breaking new ground, having already known that which currently had Lord Devere and myself reeling in shock.

  ‘Well, for example,’ Malory motioned to Mr Devere, ‘if you were to be fed the Fire-Stone substance, your physical strength would become the equivalent of ten men and your life expectancy would also be increased. You would have the ability to change form and levitate, just as Molier does. However, you would not suffer the same intolerance to sunlight that he does for your atomic structure possesses the Gene of Isis. Your love of your wife, who also possesses this gene, then heightens your psychic powers. No Chosen ruler could be without the understanding of true love and survive.’

  ‘Is that why the very ancient pharaohs of Egypt were recorded as living for extraordinary lengths of time?’ I mused out loud.

  ‘Exactly, Lady Devere,’ Malory said, and my husband looked displeased that I was supporting the Grand Master’s theories. ‘But Molier has no such love of the goddess and even if he did, without the Gene of Isis it would serve him not,’ Malory continued. ‘He is dependent on the Fire-Stone substance and is condemned to live in darkness for the rest of his days. My personal theory is that the Fire-Stone—despite sending all Molier’s atoms into a high-spin state, each a spinning vortex absorbing cosmic light into his physical and light-body—has not enabled him to return that life-giving energy back to the cosmos; that is, the outward-spinning vortexes of his subtle bodies.’

  ‘The chakras,’ Mr Devere noted, nodding in understanding.

  ‘Yes.’ Malory was pleased that at least one person was understanding this discussion. ‘I think, in Molier’s case, his atoms are consuming that vital life force, but as his light-body is unprepared for such a large degree of digestion and transmutation, the consequence is the damming of the cosmic energy within his physical form.’

  ‘You could be quite right about that, my lord,’ Mr Devere concurred. ‘Molier’s light-body is very strange indeed. Whilst his aura sparkles golden, as an enlightened soul does, his chakra centres are bogged with darkness.’

  Malory smiled, amazed and proud at how much his student had learned. ‘You noted this personally?’

  ‘I did,’ Mr Devere confirmed, suppressing a cocky smile. ‘When I met him in Paris.’

  ‘That might also explain Molier’s intolerance to light,’ I suggested, fascinated. ‘As his system is so dammed up by light, he can’t possibly sustain any more.’

  ‘Interesting.’ Malory smiled at my theory.

  ‘So, rather than raising his physical body closer to a spiritual state of being, the Fire-Stone may be drawing Molier’s spiritual body closer to his physical which gives longevity?’ Mr Devere pondered the premise and found it deeply curious. ‘That would surely have devastating effects on his soul-mind? For Molier’s spirit would, in effect, be merging with his physical body, and perhaps even be trapped inside his physical form.’

  ‘He didn’t look too trapped in the physical when I saw him,’ Lord Devere reminded us.

  ‘Not while he remains undead and taking the Fire-Stone,’ Mr Devere said. ‘But what might happen if his physical body was destroyed? Does the soul-mind trapped therein perish? Where do vampires go when they die?’

  ‘Wherever the damned go,’ Lord Malory proposed, and we all knew he was referring to hell.

  ‘If Molier fears his own demise that would explain why he is after both vials. Perhaps he believes that the treasure they will unlock can in some way prevent his eternal damnation?’ I added my two pence worth.

  ‘Well, at least we have a vague motive, I guess.’ My husband was processing so much information that he didn’t know where to start any argument, and so decided to forgo the opportunity for now.

  ‘In which case, death by fire is our best chance for destroying Molier,’ Mr Devere decided.

  Malory realised there was one catch. ‘But only if we can surprise him while he is in physical form.’

  Everyone present took a deep breath and sighed, realising our plan of attack still required quite
a bit of serious thought.

  Mr Devere appeared the most concerned. ‘I just hope we can catch up to my wife before she opens the gateway.’

  LESSON 22

  LOVE FROM THE TRAVEL JOURNALS OF MRS ASHLEE DEVERE

  Eight hours after departing Cairo in the direction of the rising sun, we were travelling across as perfect a desert as if we had moved thousands of miles away from civilisation. The Bedouins referred to the wilderness as the open sea, and loved it better than any landscape the East had to offer.

  I had not forgotten Jessenia’s warning in regard to riding a horse in my condition, and I was not ignorant enough to suppose that a camel would be any more favourable. I had been forced to tell Cingar about my pregnancy so that he could make provision for it. Although he now understood my husband’s frustration and was doubly displeased by my decision to pursue my quest, Cingar assured me that with enough money, anything could be arranged.

  ‘Would jewels or coin be preferable?’ I assured my guide that money was no object.

  Thus it was that I found myself travelling in the style of an Arabian princess. Atop my camel was strapped a carriage compartment, with a roof, two solid walls at the front and back, and a flat floor. To my right and left were thick curtains that could be drawn back, or closed and tied to keep out the desert winds and sand. Beneath me the floor of my travelling compartment was lined with rugs and cushions to absorb some of the impact of the jarring motion of my ride.

  To act as a guide, Cingar had procured a Bedouin man well known to him, in whom he claimed to have implicit confidence. Our caravan consisted of ten camels, our guide and three young camel drivers, all of whom we were required to make provision for during the journey.

  Our camels, at a steady pace, were capable of covering twenty-five miles a day. I was told they could reach speeds of twelve miles per hour, but bearing my condition in mind, Cingar insisted we did not push our luck.