Lemarik pulled off his gloves, shoved his tongs into a bucket of water and then his helmet while his face underwent a remarkable number of expressions in rapid succession. The Djinni suddenly flashed into motion and became nothing but a blur for several seconds. Schweikert did his best to follow him around the lab and watched as the Djinni rushed about the lab, gathering all sorts of instruments, tools and gadgets from the counters and floors. He had apparently been working on his transmigrator.
Ernst wandered about the lab, looking at the miraculous things on the shelves and tables, some of which were alive.
“He has gone after her,” Lemarik spoke more to himself than Schweikert when he slowed down.
“Who?” The General asked.
“Huber, the Queen Mother.”
“Ahhh. Why… why would he do that?”
“Because he believes she is his fault.” The Djinni opened a cedar chest under the counter and pulled out a heavy silken robe, dark purple in color. He held it up and shook it vigorously.
“How could she be his fault?” Ernst asked. “Why would he fling himself and his sister off the roof? I thought it more likely he was committing suicide, and she was trying to save him.”
“She is not his fault. He probably jumped off the roof into the sea in order to find passage to the Gates, and he knows very well he cannot commit suicide by drowning,” the Djinni explained while he pulled on the purple robe.
“Wait!” Ernst crossed the room and stopped in front of him. “Are you going to the Seventh Gate?”
“Why would you think I’m going to the Seventh Gate?” Lemarik narrowed his eyes sharply.
“I heard the angels talking about the Seventh Gate.” Schweikert shrugged. “They left and took Armand de Bleu with them.”
“Why did you not tell me this?” The Djinni took hold of his collar.
“It never crossed my mind you didn’t know.” The General was terrified. Lemarik could easily rip him to pieces.
“I…” Lemarik began and then dropped him roughly. “I thought we were all trapped here.”
“The angels did not share your pessimism, sir,” Ernst said as he straightened his collar indignantly. “They left in the beast.”
“Ahhh, ooooh. The Behemoth. Of course, they went cross country.”
“Cross country?”
“They went by conventional means.” Lemarik gathered a few small items from one of the cabinets and stuffed them in his pockets.
“Conventional means, hmmmp!” Ernst started to turn away and then spun around. “Are you going after them?”
“I must,” Lemarik told him tersely. He pulled the robe close about his legs and looked down. He wore golden slippers with curled toes, baggy silver trousers and a loose vest under the robe. “Hmmm. A change of clothes might be in order.”
Ernst watched in fascination as the Djinni spun once and then stopped. He opened the robe and inspected himself. He now wore a white shirt embroidered with red birds, long, puffy sleeves and a ruffled collar under a fitted waistcoat of gold brocade over tight black riding pants tucked into the tops of dark brown, side-buckled knee boots. A set of silver spurs jingled on his heels.
“Nice,” Ernst commented. “Costume party?”
“The Italian’s favorite riding outfit… give or take a stitch or two,” he said.
“Aren’t you concerned that your son and daughter might be killed on the rocks?”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” Lemarik took a deep breath and prepared to take his leave. He held out his arms, but Schweikert grabbed hold of him.
“Take me with you,” the General pleaded. “I can’t stay here. Too many people have grudges against me. Your nephew, Jozsef, will kill me the first chance he gets. Even Semiramis has something against me. I believe your granddaughter… what is her name, Anna? She might murder me, herself. I’m afraid I’m in a very bad position here without Omar to protect me. If you leave, I’ll have no protection. I’ll be at the mercy of these people. What of John Paul, the Prophet? I know of him. I thought he was dead.”
“Of course not,” Lemarik said, but lowered his arms and placed one long finger under his chin looking first in one eye and then the other as the general stared at him in obvious terror. “I suppose you are right. I will have to take you with me.”
Before the General could make a move, Lemarik had scooped him into the robe, swirled about and left the lab by unconventional means.
(((((((((((((
Luke Andrew sat on a stone bench in the confines of the small cavern, which had turned into his own personal version of hell. How he had come to this sorry pass, he had no idea. First, he’d found himself on trial by the local natives for witchcraft, condemned to death, and then strapped to a stake for char-broiling. From that unthinkable fate he had been miraculously saved by Luke Matthew, who had appeared from nowhere. Then he’d been covered in spider webs and, again, set afire by what, he could only guess must have been the good Queen Mother, Huber, herself. And from that hopeless situation, he had been miraculously saved yet again by his father, who had apparently sacrificed himself for his freedom.
All of that had brought them to this new crisis wherein he’d had to listen to an incredible list of criminal charges levied against him by this automaton from the dark ages. His first impulse had been to simply walk out, but that idea had been crushed by the presence of the judge’s henchmen. A growing number of shadowy creatures, somewhat human in form, with long, curved blades on the end of equally long staffs were gathering outside the mouth of the cavern. He’d been soundly slapped on the back of the head and seated quite roughly three times before resigning himself to his fate… at least temporarily. The guttering torches on either side of the judge’s bench had raised the temperature inside the cave considerably and lessened the amount of breathable air to ‘just barely tolerable’, as Luke Matthew had complained earlier.
The King’s complaint had fallen on deaf ears. When he’d pushed the point, Lord Kinmalla had pointed out that none of them actually needed air to live. Apparently, the good Lord did not recognize Lily Ramsay as a living human being or else did not care that she might be one. Of course, Luke was not quite sure whether Lily was really alive or dead. He leaned his chin in his hand and closed his eyes. His mother sat stiffly by his side, staring into space with a blank look on her face. The judge had already pronounced judgment on Lord Nanna, which meant relatively nothing to Luke Andrew. He could not begin to think of his mother and Lord Nanna as one and the same. It was simply beyond his grasp.
Now he was waiting for the judge to return with his own sentence for the crimes of which he had been pronounced guilty. Murder, kidnapping, waging war with men and faery creatures without a proper permit, interfering in the affairs of humanity without proper authority, instigating wars, riots and insurrections without proper authority. These were the major crimes of which he had been accused. There had been a number of lesser ones, too numerous to remember. Disrespecting the rank of his own father had been among them, attempted matricide another. He had been appalled. He could connect most of them with actual events in his life, but he’d never thought of them as crimes at the time. In fact, he’d thought himself quite reformed and cleared of his early miscreant behaviors by his later sufferings. But this was not the case. He would receive a lesser sentence than his mother, no doubt, but what it might be, he had no idea and really did not want to know.
His head drooped as the heat caused him to doze, and he found himself in the desert, just after sunset with Omar, the Prophet. They were sitting in the tall director chairs Omar had particularly preferred in front of the Prophet’s purple and white tents, watching the moon rise over the purple horizon. A billion stars littered the dark sky over their heads and a dying cloud of dust showed where the General’s convoy had only just disappeared beyond the hills.
“I’m glad you are here with me to see this.” Omar turned a whimsical smile on him. “I could not have done it without your help, Uncle.”
“Oh, I w
ouldn’t say that,” Luke said, but smiled in return. “You will give me a big head.”
“You know I love you like a brother, Luke.” Omar paid no attention to Luke’s attempt to brush him off. “You are the only one who understands me.”
Luke nodded, but did not meet the Prophet’s eyes. He didn’t understand Omar Kadif. No one could understand the Prophet, least of all the son of Mark and Meredith Ramsay, both of whom did not even understand their son, what he was or where he had come from. He didn’t understand why his own father had so little regard for him when Omar’s father doted on him shamelessly, to no avail. Omar shunned the attentions lavished on him by the Djinni and sought the company of the outcast Ramsay son. Why? It didn’t make sense. Omar could have had everything, anything. Lemarik would have given him the world with the snap of his fingers, but Omar wanted to change the world, be a healer, a Prophet, a Holy Man. For what? For who? Who could really appreciate Omar for what he was? Omar was a saint, a sage, a god… a benevolent god, who would heal the sick, raise the dead, change water to wine, feed the hungry, clothe the poor, uplift the downtrodden. Luke looked up at the great swath of the Milky Way spread across the sky, calling to him with cool starlight and dark velvet spaces, beckoning him to come away, leave this place, come home, come home…
“Luke?” Omar’s voice cut through his thoughts and he felt cold water soaking his trousers. He jerked his head up and stared at the distraught face of the Prophet in the reddish glow of the torch light. Omar was dripping wet, shirtless, bootless and in his arms was the limp form of Dunya Kadif. Her head was thrown back and her face was pale and lifeless, water dripping from her hair onto his lap. “Luke, help me with her.”
Luke jumped up from the bench and took Dunya from him as the others crowded around him, asking questions. Lily’s questions were loudest, demanding to know who these persons were, who had suddenly appeared from nowhere in their midst. Luke Matthew helped Omar to his feet and looked him over cautiously, trying to decide if he was real or yet another illusion.
His skin was blue from lack of oxygen and he was shivering uncontrollably in the heat. The numerous, colorful tattoos that Sabaoth, the Ancient Evil, had decorated Jozsef Daniel’s body with stood out starkly in the torch light. Birds, scrolling vines and exotic flowers from the tropical jungles of Haiti covered his chest and stomach, while a crouching jaguar coiled, ready to spring from his shoulder. More designs trailed away down his back, too numerous to count.
“Where have you been? Where did you come from?” Luke Andrew asked as he ripped off his own light jacket and draped it over Omar’s shoulders.
“I… we were on the roof,” Omar stammered and looked up at his uncles in bewilderment. “I was going to jump into the sea. I wanted to get to the Seventh Gate and Dunya tried to stop me. Then something happened. We fell. Together.”
Meredith, Merry and Lily were fussing over Dunya, whom they had laid out on the front bench. Lily had covered her with her woolen shawl and was rubbing her hands, while Merry looked her over for injuries. Meredith was trying to revive her.
“Dunya?” Meredith spoke close to her ear. “Can you hear me? Wake up, Dunya!” Meredith slapped her cold cheeks lightly and the smaller woman coughed up a mouthful of salt water.
“Why, the lassie looks drowned!” Lily commented and stood up, drawing back from them. “What is happening here?”
Meredith still experienced emotional difficulty each time she came into contact with Dunya. No matter what the personality, patriarchal or matriarchal differences, Dunya still looked exactly like a young Cecile Valentino, and Meredith had no desire to remember her. Merry Ramsay, on the other hand, had an entirely different set of memories concerning Cecile. The situation was growing more and more untenable.
Merry knelt beside her and took her face between her hands.
“Are you all right?” She asked.
Dunya blinked at them and spit up more water, coughing and choking as they helped her to sit up. She had no lasting or significant memories of either of them other than the short time she had spent with Meredith and Mark Andrew as a small girl.
“Excuse me,” she said and pressed her hand over her mouth. “I am so sorry. Where is my brother? What happened to Omar?”
When Omar heard her voice, he was beside her in an instant, leaving Luke Andrew to his questions.
He wrapped her in his arms and held her very tight, whispering in her ear that everything would be all right.
“A word with you, please,” Luke Matthew took his nephew’s arm and escorted him outside the cavern. They could go outside the cave’s mouth, but only Marduk was allowed to wander further abroad. The Lord of the Sixth Gate was nowhere to be seen.
“What do you make of it?” The King asked him in a low voice. “Did you see where he came from?”
“No, I was sleeping,” Luke Andrew answered and shook his head. “It was so strange. I was dreaming about him and then he spoke to me and there he was. Just like that.”
“Just like that,” Luke Matthew repeated and nodded. “I believe you might have struck on something.”
“What?”
“Whoever is orchestrating this fiasco is controlling it through our subconscious minds,” the King said quietly. “I would be willing to bet someone dreamed Meredith here. Most likely I got here the same way.”
Luke nodded vigorously. “Ahhh! Yes! I remember my father speaking of you shortly before we were overcome by those idiots with the dunking seats. He said something about dreaming of you. And I happen to know he has always been plagued with dreams of mother.”
“But who? Who is controlling this and how?” Luke Matthew paced the ground in front of the cavern. He still wore two swords. His own silver broadsword and Mark’s twisted golden blade. Well armed, but unable to make the slightest move under the baleful eyes of the judge’s watchdogs. The shadowy entities followed along beside him, keeping well out of the light, but scrutinizing their every move.
“I have no idea,” Luke Andrew sighed. “But it won’t matter before long. Mother and I will be joining dear old Marduk for a long stay in the Abysmal pokey.”
“I don’t think it will come to that,” Luke Matthew told him, but there was no confidence in his voice.
“We’ll just have to wait longer now.” Luke picked up a rock and threw it into the night causing two of their guardians to glide away on a quick inspection of the projectile. “I’m sure his hiney, Lord Marshmalla, will have a list of charges for Omar as well.”
“Oh, I’m sure he will.”
Their conversation was interrupted by the banging of the gavel from within.
“Oh, here we go,” Luke Andrew said with mock cheer as he headed back inside the cave. Luke Matthew waited for Marduk, who had come running from the darkness at the last moment.
The Lord of the Sixth Gate stopped next to him and arranged his robes before stepping inside the cave. The Prophet and his sister were still sitting on the front row. The others had taken their seats and were squirming under the stern glare of the judge, who had noticed, quite predictably, his two new ‘victims’. Dunya was hiding her face against Omar’s chest and the Prophet was staring back at the judge in dismay.
Marduk sat down next to him.
“Lord Kinmalla,” Marduk addressed the judge. “Might I take a moment to inform our latest guest of the arrangements? He may be a bit confused… as are we all.”
“I will pronounce my judgment on the young Adarluke, and then you may take a recess of five glimmers,” the judge answered. “The accused will stand.”
Luke Andrew stood slowly and put his hands behind his back.
“Adarluke, son of Adar Ninnib, son of Anu, you have been found guilty of the crimes of which you stand accused. You are hereby sentenced to sixty-seven circuits in chains on the surface of your father’s planet, Saturn.”
“Whoa! Whoa! Whoooaaa!” Luke held up both hands. “I thought Saturn had no surface. Isn’t it a gas giant?” He looked about at the people gathered i
n the room. “And what is a circuit?”
“The prisoner will refrain from rude and uninvited outbursts!” The judge’s ‘bailiff’ ordered, and Luke fell silent.
“I will use two glimmers to explain.” The judge laid aside his gavel and clasped his hands together in front of him and leaned forward. “A circuit is the length of time required for the planet to circumnavigate the sun. This planet circumnavigates the sun twenty-nine and one half times for each circumnavigation of Saturn. The surface of Saturn is a transitional portion of the planet wherein the structure of the layers proceed from gaseous to liquid to solid states. You may compare it to a sphere in which the outer portion is water vapor or steam. As you travel into the sphere, you encounter fog or mist and then liquids of various ilks.” The judge used his large hands and long fingers to illustrate his descriptions. “Deeper still, you may find colder and thicker liquids until at last the liquid elements have become crystallized, that is to say, frozen and thereby solid. However, Saturn is far from frozen. In fact, the internal temperature of the planet of your father holds at 12,000 degrees Kelvin by modern human scientific calculations. And the liquid is not water or any other liquid found in abundance on this planet, but rather a metal made of what you would call hydrogen.”
“Thank you, Your Grace for your explanation,” Luke said sarcastically.
“You are quite welcome, son of Adar, son of Anu.” The Lord Kinmalla stood up and banged his gavel on the stone. “Court is adjourned for five glimmers.”
Omar was on his feet before the judge was completely out of sight.
“I must get to the Seventh Gate,” he announced. “Huber has taken up residence in my grandfather’s home. I must drive her out and destroy her before she returns to the overworld and begins her reign of terror anew. Luke, my uncle,” he looked directly at Luke Andrew. “I have always trusted you. I will leave my sister in your care until I return.”
“You are already in the Seventh Gate, Omar,” Meredith told him quietly. “We are trapped here.”
The Wayward Godking Page 5
