by S. L. Duncan
Gabe kicked his feet under his chair, just in case.
His father held up his hand in an effort to hold back the Scotsman. “There’s no point in berating him now. Gabriel is well aware of his mistake. The question is, why Ethiopia? It was my understanding that the ark was in Jerusalem near the piece of land that once held Solomon’s temple.”
Carlyle leaned against a wall and rubbed his forehead. He deflated, the rigid posture of anger from a moment ago giving way to a more academic slouch. He nodded and tapped the frame of his glasses. “Beneath the Dome of the Rock or somewhere in that vicinity was always the strongest possibility. Though Axum has a history connected to Solomon as well. Ethiopic Christianity tradition suggests that the ark was stolen by an illegitimate son born to King Solomon and an Ethiopian queen known as Makeda of Sheba and secreted away to her kingdom. When Christianity made its way down the Nile far enough from the influential reach of Rome, a denomination of the religion grew around this legend. Unlike Rome’s version, this sect was rooted in the Old Testament, much like Judaism. There has always been a claim by their followers that the ark was hidden from Solomon in Ethiopia, though archeologists and religious scholars never found credence in such boasts as its religious leaders refuse to allow a formal study or, for that matter, access at all. They deemed it merely a tourist gimmick.”
“And now Enoch reveals the truth,” his dad said.
“It seems he has. We should make arrangements to travel there as soon as possible.” Carlyle turned to Gabe and Micah. “But for now, we have more pressing matters to attend. I have prepared the ingredients of the vials for you both.”
Gabe saw two small pewter cups filled with an unassuming clear liquid on the table.
“You are about to take the Entheos Genesthai, the Oil of the Anointed King. It will awaken an inner pathway to the energies of creation, and many great secrets will be revealed.”
Gabe looked to his father for reassurance, but he only stared blank-faced at the vials.
Micah bounced her leg nervously, as if she were about to undergo major surgery.
“Much will be revealed to you. You may experience things that are not from this generation but of a generation from a long ago distant time. You may see events from a future, which have not yet come to pass. Your innermost self will come alive inside you.”
“Okay. Let’s have it, then,” Micah finally said. “If I’m being honest, I don’t know if I want to know anything more about it. Just give me the bloody stuff.”
“Right. No point in postponing the inevitable,” Gabe said and at last looked to Micah. Their eyes met, and they understood one another.
She took his hand and squeezed it before letting go.
Carlyle blessed the liquid with a silent prayer. When he finished he handed Gabe and Micah each a cup.
“A toast?” Gabe offered in an attempt at levity.
“To the future,” Micah said.
“And the past.” Gabe touched his cup to Micah’s, careful not to spill any of its precious contents, and drank the small portion.
The syrup went down without much fuss, like a berry-flavored cough medicine. In a matter of seconds, heat began to emanate from the pit of his stomach. An uncomfortable fever quickly spread to his extremities, causing a prickling sensation in his hands.
He heard Micah gasp. She started to hyperventilate. She screamed and fell out of her chair. Gabe watched as Carlyle caught her. Gently, he laid her convulsing body onto the floor and put a folded cloth behind her head.
Gabe was just aware enough to know that the same was happening to him and barely understood that he was now in his father’s arms, being laid on the floor as well. Candles were placed around their heads. His breath seemed to catch in his lungs. He tried to focus on the interior of the vault, but the candlelight grew at the corners of his eyes.
As his perception of the room drifted away, the straight lines of the ceiling and walls bending and curving, he saw the ghostly liquid image of his father kneel down. Gabe heard the echo of his dad’s breath, and then the candles were extinguished by a darkness that washed away the world.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
Something crunched under Gabe as he lay on the hard, warm surface. He opened his eyes to see the familiar onyx floor now covered in shards of mirrored glass. As expected, the harsh light from the fixture beat down against his shoulders and back. He looked above him, wondering how much time the light had. But instead of the fixture, he saw a sky of endless blue. Its sun shined brilliant, bathing him in its rays.
Carefully, he brushed aside some of the glass and made room to push up from the floor. Bits of mirror stuck to his chest and face. He pulled at his shirt, and the glass fell back to the floor, jingling as the pieces hit. The rest he picked from his skin as he surveyed this world.
The black floor, covered by a sea of endless broken mirrors, met the horizon in every direction. Gabe knew he had just taken the Entheos Genesthai. All his memories and thoughts were clear in his mind. Gone was the confusion and fear of his visions, replaced by a feeling of peace.
“Do you wish to understand Solomon’s power?” asked the familiar voice of a woman. “How he attempted to use it to rid your realm of the demons left behind after the banishment of Mastema’s kingdom?” Her words seemed to play in the air, coming and going as she spoke. “Do you, Gabriel?”
The voice came from behind. Gabe turned to see a singular mirror standing in a small space that had been cleared of the broken shards. He approached his fading reflection to see a scene appear in the glass.
A bearded man wore a ring of gold, its jewel engraved with a pentalpha. He sat on a balcony that overlooked a building site in an ancient city.
“Solomon and his Jerusalem,” whispered the disembodied voice.
The king observed a nearly completed temple, rendered in marble and stone, at the top of a hill. Gold-encrusted pillars stood side by side, guarding the entrance. Solomon wielded the ring in masterful strokes, like a painter using his brush. Distant forms labored over its completion, but they were not men. Their demonic forms resisted against the ring’s power that bound them to its authority, compelling them to work.
Shrieks of protest carried on the wind.
Gabe’s reflection returned to the mirror as the image faded. “Is this what I am to do? Build the Temple?”
“The task was Solomon’s and his alone. Your path is laid before you in many directions. Do you not see?” asked the voice. “To ensure that you walk the right one, you must know your true self.”
True self? Gabe gazed upon his face, noting that he looked normal enough for a seventeen-year-old. He then turned from his reflection. Other mirrors appeared, assembling from the pieces of glass on the floor. They surrounded him, and he counted seven in all. In some, his reflection. In others he saw the burning light of fire shine from within the glass. Again, ancient scenes reflected in a few, but one held his attention.
He approached, and in the glass he could see the front of the cathedral in New York, its wreckage smoldering in ruin. Richard’s mutilated body hung upside down on a cross stuck from the ground.
His father appeared nearby, bound and curled in the grass. Beside him a smokelike specter shimmered against the flames of the church. Gabe felt a surge of panic as his father struggled. He reached out to the glass, knowing what would happen, but something had to be done.
In a flash of blinding white light, Gabe was there in the streets of New York. Clouds of fire loomed over the city’s skyline. Central Park burned in a towering fire. He’d seen it before, but this time something was different.
“Fortitudo Dei,” hissed a voice in the air. Shadows and smoke of the specter swirled together into something physical, and in its shape formed the bleeding man, standing over his father.
Gabe felt something in his hand. He looked down and saw the Gethsemane Sword, complete with the stone of the spear affixed to the end. The blade burned hot, the air around it shimmering like a mirage. Subtle vibration
s of power radiated from the hilt.
The man reached out, and a smokelike shadow leapt from his fingertips and wrapped around his bound prisoner, constricting like a serpent’s vise. He laughed and said, “Your weakness betrays you, boy.”
His dad writhed in agony, dying on the ground.
Gabe stood, unable to move, frightened by the display of dark power. What can I do against such a thing?
Before he could act, the woman’s voice, sad and filled with regret, echoed in his thoughts. “Why do you doubt yourself, dearest Gabriel? Perhaps you were not meant for this after all.”
He hoisted the sword for a strike and leapt at the man. The feathered weight of the weapon allowed the blade to fall through the air like a guillotine and cut through the man’s black suit with a calculated blow.
The bleeding man merely smiled as blood spilled from his chest. He reached back and swung his arm like a club. Gabe was struck on his face so hard, the impact lifted him from the ground, and the sword flew from his hands.
He rolled on the street and tasted blood in his mouth.
The man squeezed his hand into a fist, and the shadows surrounding his father balled into a furious, swarming blanket, like ants on a carcass. After a moment they stopped their attack and pulled away, withdrawing into the man’s outstretched arm. Laughing, his form splintered. As he had in Gabe’s vision before, the man then broke apart into fragments of smoke and disintegrated like ash into the winds.
His dad’s body looked contorted, broken, and bleeding. Gabe knelt down beside him, but it was too late. His father was dead. He felt cheated, having done what he knew was right, and yet he failed. The storm of the coming Apocalypse rolled over the city, a consuming wall of fire that Gabe welcomed in defeat.
CHAPTER FORTY
We can’t win, Gabe realized.
He opened his eyes to the darkness of the dorm room. The alarm clock read 10:30 p.m. In the chair beside his desk, his father slept, wrapped in a towel for warmth.
The vision. The memory caused his stomach to clench violently, the pain sudden and unbearable. He rolled to the side of the bed, and the remnants of the Entheos Genesthai lurched from his stomach and onto the carpet. He spit into a shirt from the floor, careful not to make much noise. His dad adjusted in his seat, but his eyes did not open.
Gabe took stock of himself in the bed. He didn’t feel any different. Unless feeling worse counted. Carlyle had said they would inherit powers and stop the Apocalypse, yet the vision told Gabe that he wasn’t even capable of saving his own father. He had seen the truth: The enemy will be victorious. The End of Days can’t be stopped.
Images of his father lying dead in the street, his body ravaged from the bleeding man’s shadows, filled Gabe’s mind, and then he thought of Enoch. At the Court Inn, he had said something about the enemy’s power. Gabe thought hard, trying to remember it exactly. Something about the enemy being able to feel him within this realm’s stream of life.
He is my reflection, Gabe thought, and the full realization of what that meant thundered down upon him. He can find me. I am leading the enemy here. He glanced at his dad sleeping in the chair. To my father.
Gabe now understood what a danger he was to those around him. The visions had been clear on the enemy’s capabilities, and he was not willing to see such promises fulfilled.
The decision came quickly.
It was rash, he knew, but his mind was made up. The enemy would have no need to focus on his father if Gabe separated himself. He saw no other choice. Running away seemed the best hope for those he loved.
He pushed back the sweat-soaked covers and got out of bed, silent as a thief. A backpack lay in the corner, ready for Ethiopia. In its front pocket, a stack of money and a credit card given by his father in case of an emergency. Gabe only hoped there was enough for travel and food.
His father would never understand. How could he without having witnessed the vision?
With the exception of what he wore, most of his warmer clothes hung in the closet, but the door usually squeaked. If he risked opening it, his dad might wake. I’ll have to make do with what I have, he thought.
A twinge of guilt caused him to hesitate. At least he deserves an explanation. On his desk, he found a scratch sheet of paper. As quietly as possible, he scribbled a note and placed it on his pillow.
Gabe grabbed his bag and opened the door. He looked back at his father and wondered if he would ever see him again.
“Good-bye,” he whispered.
Committed, Gabe stepped through the door without a sound.
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
Gabriel Adam walked out of Castle College into the night, unaware that he was being watched. Prophet had made certain of that. Ever since the boy had arrived in Durham, his every move had been scrutinized, his routine learned, and his schedule memorized.
This evening, however, had proven to be quite peculiar. Gabriel and his father had joined Micah and Carlyle for an unscheduled meeting in the vault room. Sometime later, Prophet watched as the boy and girl were moved from the building by wheelchair.
They seemed unconscious. Hours had passed without a sign.
And now, the American emerged, alive and well and alone. Something felt different about this particular night. Gabriel seemed different, his aura changed. New power yet to be harnessed grew inside him.
He must have it. He has to have it, Prophet thought.
The moment proved too tempting to let slip away. An opportunity had presented itself. Now is the time—before Gabriel learns of his potential.
If he moved fast enough, Gabe thought he could still catch the last train at the station with a few minutes to spare. Unless they somehow found a car, his father and Carlyle would have to wait until the morning to catch up. But it could be even longer, considering how much time it might take before they even realized he had left the city. He adjusted the strap on his shoulder. The missing backpack would eventually give his intentions away.
Gabe cursed himself for not having a better plan. Its entirety amounted to getting to Ethiopia first. The most obvious place to begin the journey was London, which meant he’d be on the train for a while, so it was crucial to catch that last train. If discovered by his father or a more sinister element, he could disappear into the city.
He wanted to continue the fight. But how? Who would know about this war and not disclose his whereabouts to his father?
In the bitter cold, Durham was a ghost town. Even so, he didn’t want to risk being spotted. It would not be long before his father found the note and went searching through town.
Gabe thought it best to take the trail by the Wear and follow the river around the bend, all the way to Framwellgate Bridge. Crossing the river there, it would only be a sprint to the station. The route would take much longer, but he had time if he hurried, and there was little chance of being seen on the path tonight.
An old staircase near the outside of the cathedral grounds led to Kingsgate Bridge. Beside the bridge, another staircase took him to the trail below. He could barely see in the dark, though the path was well worn by joggers, students, and tourists. He followed along, using the river to guide him.
Moving quickly, he closed in on Prebends Bridge, in the gorge just below South Bailey Street. His lungs ached with each cold breath, but the pace had managed to warm his muscles.
As Prebends came into view under the moonlight, he made out a figure standing on the path.
Gabe slowed to a walk. He felt something, as if all his senses were opened to the surroundings. His vision sharpened, his hearing acute. He could smell the river, trees, and mud mix with the scent of a figure standing on the path ahead.
Gabe approached, and the person’s features became clear.
“Odd time of night to be jogging by the river, isn’t it, mate?” Yuri asked.
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
What are you doing down here?” Gabe asked.
“Looking for you, obviously.”
Yuri stepped into th
e moonlight. He looked calm, somehow pleased with himself.
“Well, you’ve found me,” Gabe said. “I’m in a bit of a rush. Mind letting me through?”
“Can’t do that, my friend. Got a bit of business with you. You have something I need. Something you took from that bloody vault. By the way, what do you prefer I call you? Gabe? Gabriel, perhaps? Or would you rather Fortitudo Dei?”
As soon as he saw Yuri under the bridge, Gabe knew their last encounter had been something more than a casual coincidence. “It was you all along. You were the one trying to get into the vault.”
“A task that proved to be more difficult than expected. Even after I killed Balor and stole his keys.” Yuri wavered, as if ashamed of what he’d done.
“And burning cathedrals in New York? I suppose arson is another hobby besides murder?”
“Never been, actually. I hear it’s lovely.”
“There are things bigger than you and me. Bigger than murder. Whatever you know or think you know about the vault is wrong.”
“You mean things like saving the Earth from a war between the dimensions?” Yuri laughed. “Can’t be done. Not by Carlyle’s lot at least. You should know that by now. Has the good professor not done a proper job training you in the Essene way? Those ancient traditions are laughable. Their superstitions will be the end of us all. But then, I suppose you’re Constantine’s man through and through.”
Gabe didn’t answer.
Yuri must have sensed his inner conflict. “Oh, still not a believer, are we? Won’t the Vatican be ever so disappointed. Perhaps I’ve misjudged you. Those religions are as outdated as they are obsolete. The path to the light must be forged anew.”
“So, you’re with the enemy?”
“That vile rabble? Don’t be daft. We have our own agenda. Earth is the reward.” Yuri paused. “Man’s stewardship has become a burden to this world. An infection of festering hate and intolerance built upon religious beliefs perverted by generation after generation.”
