The Centaur

by Brendan Carroll

  The door creaked open behind him and Nicole snuggled down beside him, wearing at least two heavy sweaters against the cold. Her hair blew about her face in golden tendrils as the wind plucked at them. Her cheeks glowed red under the brisk breeze.

  “I’m sorry, Lucio,” she said and squinted against the wind as she looked away from him. “That’s a hard word for me.”

  “I know.” He tried not to smile. “It has always been so for me as well.”

  “You know I will have to go after them. It’s simple. I can’t live with myself if I don’t try.” She turned back to face him and smiled at him with her father’s eyes. The entanglement of their lives and the lives of all the Council of Twelve struck him again with more force than usual, and he had to look away. “You don’t have to go with me. I’ll be fine. I know my way around down there… somewhat.” She reached for his hand and squeezed it between her own. His fingers were like ice, hers… warm and soft. “I’ll be back. I promise.”

  It was the same argument that had caused the rift earlier in the evening, but now it was not an argument. They had no audience, no other input and it was a simple statement. ‘I like things simple,’ Mark Andrew’s words echoed in Lucio’s head. ‘I’ll be back. I always come back.’ He nodded. She would go. He really had no way to stop her.

  “I’ll go with you…” he stopped her protest by kissing her lips lightly in the Templar fashion. “Simple.”

  Nicole’s face lit up much too bright. This was exactly what she wanted to hear and his heart sank. Catharine would kill him. Mark Andrew would kill him. The Grand Master would kill him. The mental list continued.

  ((((((((((((()))))))))))))

  Marduk stormed through the piles of priceless relics, jewels, gold and weapons in Ereshkigal’s treasure room, scattering crowns, diadems, scepters and doubloons in all directions while Nergal stood near the crack in the rock that passed for a door, with his arms crossed over his scaly chest. The golden Ark of the Covenant sat on an ivory and ebony inlaid, rosewood pedestal in one corner of the room.

  “Of course it was not Enki, you idiot!” He raged at his unwilling accomplice. “I should know!” He bent suddenly and picked up a small copper and iron ring with strange markings. The object had caught his eye due to its unassuming design and lack of luster. He looked closely at it, frowned and stuffed into the pocket of his black robe. He had gone back to wearing the loose robes and sandals of his favorite personage al Sajek, a character he had taken straight out of the works of one of the world’s greatest horror novelists, H.P. Lovecraft. Of course, he had changed the name to his own liking in order to keep anyone from realizing the truth, but he was a none-the-less a fictional character after all. Marduk was his real name, and his real form was not suited at all for life on the surface of the earth. The unfortunate former owner of the human body he wore was forever lost in the Abyss and none, including himself, even knew what his name might have once been.

  One of Marduk’s particularly nasty powers allowed him to travel backwards and forwards in time quite easily. He enjoyed, or at one time he had enjoyed, slipping back and forth from the present to the future and Lovecraft, whom he had met during a sojourn in the early Twentieth Century, fascinated him, thus the legend of the Mad Arab had grown from pure fiction in the Twentieth Century to reality in the Twelfth Century. The Templars, or at least some of them, had perpetuated H.P. Lovecraft’s myth of the Old Ones eight hundred years before he was born. And it had been Marduk, who had put on the guise of a mysterious trader from the Far East in order to put the fabled Necronomicon in the hands of the author. Ingenious. Convoluted. Intriguing. Impossible to sort out. Just the sort of fun al Sajek liked to have with humans.

  “You should know, I agree,” Nergal growled and flicked a gold ring of exceeding beauty and workmanship into the air. He caught the ring on his tongue and crunched it between his monstrous teeth. Marduk scowled at him.

  “You have no respect for beauty, my friend,” Marduk sat down atop one of the Queen’s classic pirate’s chests. The iron-bound wooden sea chest was full of pearls and gold coins. “At least Reshki knows beauty when she sees it.” Marduk toyed with the ring in his pocket again. It was an enigma.

  Water stood in puddles here and there amidst the glittering piles of swag. Something was not quite right here. He had taken inventory and stock of himself after the strange fainting spell in the water-filled chamber where they had found the Ark. He had never fainted in his entire existence. Now he knew what had happened to him. Several of his powers had been awakened. Two of them were missing altogether and one was greatly disturbed. Asar and Barshak were no longer in his repertoire of entities that made him one of the most powerful demi-gods the world had ever seen. Nebrukir was very agitated, but would not tell him what had transpired. The powers worked for him, but they did not belong to him in the sense they were totally without their own distinct personalities. It took a great deal of effort to keep them all happy enough to sleep peacefully in his head. He had not deemed it necessary to confide this information to his associate, Nergal.

  “Reshki doesn’t know what is good for her. She never did.” Nergal smiled at him.

  “Where did she get all this?” Al Sajek waved one long hand about the enclosure.

  “Here and there.” Nergal shrugged. “She apparently sleeps less than I do. It is a wonder she has not gotten herself into serious trouble.”

  “Where is she?” Al Sajek flipped up the top of the ring and peered into the tiny recess below the jade stone.

  “I have no idea.” Nergal picked his teeth with a silver dagger of exquisite design, spitting out the remnants of the gold ring. “She will not be happy to know her precious treasure house has been flooded.”

  “Flooded?” Marduk stood up. “When?”

  “Just recently.” Nergal swished his tail in one of the puddles, and then pulled the tip of it close to his nose to sniff it. “It smells just like the water where we found your treasure,” he commented casually and then snorted in disgust. He did not like water.

  “Really?” Al Sajek squatted near one of the puddles and scooped up a handful. He smelled it, and then tasted it cautiously. “I believe you are right. This is most peculiar.”

  “It seems our Templar friends stirred up a great deal of trouble with your papa’s little box,” Nergal yawned. He wanted only to go back to sleep in his vaporous bed.

  Marduk stood up and swept his robes up in his hands, exposing his gold slippers.

  “Come, with me, my friend,” he called over his shoulder as he headed out of the chamber.

  “What? Why?” Nergal complained.

  “We may have visitors!” The words echoed back from the narrow passage and Nergal growled.

  More trouble. Visitors! And where was his Queen? Better still, where was his army? He had very few Imgogee left and Marduk had even less Shugoshim. Already, the groggy mind of the ancient demi-god was stirring. His specialty had been war and victory, battle and glory. These skirmishes between humans had left him unimpressed, and yet they had managed to decimate the armies of the Abyss. It was inconceivable. It would not happen again. If Marduk’s ‘daddy’ had plans of returning, he, Nergal, would have something to say about it this time. He would not be caught sleeping.

  “Wait for me, my brother,” he called as his scaly body shrank and reformed into the human form he preferred. His curly hair flowed down his back and his armored feet clinked in the darkness.

  ((((((((((((()))))))))))))

  “What is it?” Michael asked as their angelic host held up the two bags of blood that he had removed from Mark’s pockets and shirt.

  “It is blood. Human blood,” Ashmodel said and wrinkled his nose. “I don’t understand. He bleeds to death with two bags of blood in his clothing. This does not make sense, but he was always a bit irrational… impulsive… prone to accidents.”

  “Sir Ramsay? Prone to accidents?” Galen’s bright eyes widened.

  “Oh, yes… always,” Ashmodel s
aid and pushed the limp body of the Knight of Death over on its side and checked the back pockets of the soaked pants. He found a wallet with the standard items tucked inside. Most of it useless and outdated by several decades. No one issued or checked driver’s license anymore. Credit cards were a thing of the past. Paper money laughable, but apparently the wallet was a habit and Mark was a creature of habit or, at least, he had tried to be. In the front pockets they had found much more valuable stuff: string, wire, a few bullets though he carried no weapon other than his sword and knives, rubber bands, a lighter and a number of other ‘essential’ things. Ashmodel piled it all together and studied it for several moments. It was obvious he saw no need to carry any such things and as far as they could tell, he carried nothing resembling a weapon, nor did his robes have pockets.

  “He has changed a great deal.” The angel smiled sadly.

  “He will be all right, won’t he?” Selwig asked from his position slightly behind Michael.

  “He should wake up soon,” Michael assured the Tuathan. “You should put his stuff back, sir.” He turned to the angel who had methodically rifled Mark’s pockets. “He won’t like that.”

  “Oh? I should think he would not mind. We once shared everything together. Never alone. Always together.” Ashmodel smiled at Michael, but began to put everything in one of the big pockets on the front of the cargo pants. It was not an easy task.

  “Wait,” Michael maneuvered around beside him. “Let me do it.”

  Mark awoke as Michael was placing the bag containing Simon’s blood inside his shirt. He caught Michael’s wrist and twisted it before he could get away.

  “Papa!” Michael shouted when Mark tried to attack him. “It’s me, Michael!”

  Mark stopped his blind attack as Galen and Selwig pulled him off the nephew he had raised as his son.

  “What happened?” The Knight asked as he pushed damp hair from his face. “Where are we?” He asked when he saw Selwig’s face. Beyond the Tuathan he could see a foggy, whiteness of sorts as if they were inside a cloud or, better yet, a marshmallow. The strange thought made him blink rapidly in an effort to clear his vision. The white mist stayed.

  “Uriel!” Ashmodel grabbed him from behind and spun him around on the ‘floor’. The angel hugged him tightly before he could react. “It is good to see you, my old friend.”

  “Who are you calling ‘old’?” Mark took hold of his arms and shoved him away.

  “Ahhh, there is my Uriel,” Ashmodel said.

  Ashmodel was a beautiful creature with silvery hair, violet eyes and a glowing complexion. Much like the creatures described by humans, who had claimed to have seen angels throughout the ages. He fit the bill perfectly for the job of guardian angel. Certainly no one would be frightened by Ashmodel, even though they probably should have been. “How come you to be floating in this wretched filth? I smell the work of Sabaoth.”

  “And rightly so.” Mark turned away from his old friend. He was sitting on the floor, but it was soft and pliant like a very firm mattress. “Michael! Galen!” He was genuinely pleased to see the two ‘boys’ who looked every bit of forty or better now. They crawled toward him and embraced him warmly.

  “They plucked us from the water, Master,” Selwig told him happily. “The great beast! I thought we were done for. To have come so far and then to be devoured by a monster. I was terrified, but now I see things are not always they seem.”

  “Monster?” Mark asked and turned to face the Tuathan.

  “Oh, such a wonder, Master!” Selwig’s face was bright, his green eyes wide. “I thought it was some demon from the Abyss come to finish us off, Sir. And then we were snatched away from the flood and pulled into its jaws.”

  Mark released Galen and Michael and looked from one of them to the other.

  “Where is Lord Lucifer? Why are you not with the others?” Mark climbed to his feet and turned on Ashmodel with a questioning look.

  “Lord Lucifer left us in the desert, Papa,” Michael used the name that he had called his uncle from early childhood. “He said we could not go with him, and we should make our own way home.”

  Mark’s face contorted in rage, and Michael placed one finger on the Knight’s lips to calm him.

  “It was not like that, Papa,” he said in his soothing voice. “He did not understand our limitations. Ashmodel saved us. We made a… wrong turn, you might say.”

  “We went to Egypt,” Galen told him. “We thought my father would be returning there with the Gryphon.”

  “All the way to Egypt? Alone?” Mark looked at his friend again and the angel shrugged.

  “It is true, Uriel,” Ashmodel said and smiled at him again. “They are very brave warriors and kin of yours, I take it?”

  “Kin, yes,” Mark told him offhandedly and examined the healing wounds on his wrist and hand. “Now we must be out of this… place.” He looked up at the white mist over their heads. “There is still the matter of the queen mother to deal with. She is not finished with us.”

  “But…” Ashmodel attempted to stop him as he set off walking.

  “Which way out?” He called over his shoulder. Selwig hurried after him and the younger men followed.

  “Very well then.” Ashmodel caught up with him and took the lead through the confusing fog.

  They came to a mottled gray and black wall that resembled marble in texture and sheen. Ashmodel touched the wall and a round opening appeared as triangular sections of the wall curled in on themselves. A blast of cold air struck their faces, blowing back their hair, and he was looking down on a dark landscape far below, filled with rocky ravines, dry river beds and low mountains. Mark fell back instinctively and caught hold of Selwig’s shoulders.

  “Ashmodai!” The Knight bellowed and turned on the angel. “My ship… you stole my ship!”

  “You weren’t using it.” Ashmodel backed away from him. “We needed to make a rapid exit. There were real dangers in Egypt, Uriel. Beasts of exceeding ugliness.”

  “I should throw you down,” Mark advanced on the angel, but Michael stepped between them.

  “Uncle,” he said sternly and Mark blinked at the face that combined his daughter’s dark blue eyes with Luke Matthew’s face. “If not for Ashmodel, we would have perished, and Selwig would have been lost in the flood, had we not come in this fashion.”

  “Did anyone see you?”

  “Only the dragon,” Galen spoke up from behind Michael.

  “Which dragon?”

  “Inanna. She followed us for the better part of the journey, and then left off somewhere over the Sinai,” Michael continued.

  “Inanna,” Mark nodded slowly. “I need to speak with her.”

  “You would speak with a dragon?” Ashmodel was aghast. “What has become of you?”

  “Some day I will tell you about it,” Mark muttered and checked his side for his sword. He turned abruptly and followed the marble-like living wall of his ‘ship’ until it began to rise. Ashmodel held the others back from following him.

  “Where is my Master going, sir?” Selwig asked with trepidation as his master disappeared into the fog.

  “He will communicate his instructions to Leviathan,” Ashmodel explained as he drew them in the opposite direction. “Let us see what is left to eat. He will be hungry when he joins us again, and he is always… what is your word? Grumpy? Grumpy when he’s hungry. I remember once before he became obsessed with material things…” Ashmodel swung the Tuathan onto his shoulders as if he were a small boy as they walked along the seemingly interminable interior of Leviathan. Selwig was so surprised he had no time to protest before the angel began again. “Your Master and I were sent to quell a small invasion in the land of the Hebrews very near here, in fact. It seemed that the Assyrian King Sennecherib had invaded the lands of King Hezekiah and was about to destroy Jerusalem. But then the tide turned and Sennecherib was defeated in one night.”

  “How was he defeated in one night?” Selwig asked from his perch atop the ange
l’s shoulders.

  “King Sennecherib worshipped a certain god named Nisroch,” Ashmodel continued. “Now this Nisroch was a very wily man, who had set himself up as a god by covering his human visage with a great mask made to look like the head of an eagle. But he was not a god at all. Rather he was a black magician who was well versed in the Arts and lived well and long, as all who practice the Arts in such a manner. It was Nisroch’s idea to send the Assyrian King against the Hebrews because the descendants of Jacob had ceased to pay homage to Assyria by sending the requisite gifts. But the Israelites were in direct opposition of their own god at the time and were worshipping strange gods. To make a long story short, the Kings of Assyria had been sent to Israel and to the sons of Jacob in order to punish them for turning to heathen ways. Unfortunately for King Sennecherib, he let his arrogance overwhelm his good sense, and he began to mock the very god that had been supporting him in the first place. At any rate, we were sent to smite the army of the King.”

  “Smite the army?” Selwig completely forgot his injured pride and leaned close to the angel’s face. “How did you do it?”

  “We… Uriel and I… flew over the sleeping army in Leviathan and caused a rain of poison ash to fall onto them. They breathed the poison and were dead by morning. It was all very painless and bloodless. Uriel used to be much less ready to shed blood than he is now it seems. Be that as it may, when the good King Sennecherib awoke the following morning, he found his army dead to the last man and beast with only his personal escort left to take him home. Lo, the Lord smote the enemies of Israel and they were smitten with the wrath of God!” Ashmodel raised his voice and his fist and brought it down dramatically against the palm of his other hand causing Selwig to jump. The angel laughed and Michael shook his head. He had seen Lucifer perform much the same way, glorying in scaring the weaker-minded among them.