“No!” Lucio was adamant this time.
“Brother,” Simon addressed Mark. “Let’s talk a bit more together. You and I. Perhaps we can find a more… neutral setting for our goal. Perhaps even something useful, if we are going to risk a trial run.”
Lucio looked at both of them suspiciously and then followed the two brothers from the room, kissing Lydia lightly on the cheek before leaving.
“Don’t let them do me wrong, Miss Lydia,” he said.
“I won’t,” she said. He started out the door and then stopped. He turned slowly and looked down at Simon’s wife who sat looking up at him, frowning slightly.
“Congratulations,” his smile grew wider and her frown deepened.
“Excuse me?” She laid her book on the arm of the chair.
“Brother?” Simon came around the desk. “What did you say?”
“I said…” Lucio turned and took the Healer by the shoulders, kissing him on both cheeks. “Congratulations, Brother. Why didn’t you tell us?”
“Tell you what?” Simon looked at the Italian and then at Lydia.
“You didn’t know? You’re going to be a Poppi… again.”
(((((((((((((
The mighty Djinni struck the hard, rock-strewn ground on his back with General Schweikert on top of him. The resultant blow knocked the breath from him completely. Ernst climbed to his feet and rubbed the back of his neck while looking around the fairly barren landscape. Wherever the Djinni had taken them was not anywhere he might have wanted to go, but it could have been worse. There were blue skies over head, a few high, wispy clouds and a fresh ocean breeze. The sound of waves crashing on shore made him turn and his mouth fell open as he beheld the vast expanse of water before him. The beach, itself, was a rather non-descript, flat white sand, bordering a blue cove. The cove was a U-shaped indention made of two elevated arms or narrow spits of dark, rough stone extending into the sea. To his right just beyond the sandy beach, were a small coconut palm grove and two decidedly man-made mounds. He had to assume they might be on an island or a spit of land projecting into the sea. The Djinni coughed and choked, reminding him that he was not alone.
“Up you go, my friend.” Ernst helped the Djinni to his feet and waited while he caught his breath.
As soon as he could, Lemarik frowned fiercely at the general as if the hard landing was his fault. “Ahhhhh,” he commented wisely he scanned the horizon with one hand shading his dark brown eyes against the glare of the sun. “South Pacific they call it.”
“How do you know?” Ernst squinted up at the sun.
“Trust me, I know the Seven Seas,” the Djinni assured him, turned around and then held out both arms in dismay. “May the ancient ones protect us!” He cried as he fell to his knees in the sand and bowed his forehead to the ground.
“I know this place,” Ernst muttered and narrowed his eyes at the cause of the Djinni’s consternation and apparent fear.
Before them stretched a line of stone figures approximately twenty-five to thirty feet tall, which appeared to be wearing tremendous stone tophats. Their hollow eye sockets gazed off over the inland horizon of the island. They had exceptionally low brows, long noses and heavy jaws. The ears were elongated in the extreme, and their expressions were rather stern, or perhaps, dispassionate was a better word. Moai. Six of them perched on a long bar made of precisely cut and fitted basaltic rock slabs.
“Easter Island,” the General grumbled as he stomped through the sand and approached the nearest statue.
Lemarik got up, brushing the sand that was not clinging to his skin from his arms and followed after Ernst, muttering to himself as he ran his slender hands over the rough, volcanic stone from which the statues were made.
“Why here?” Ernst asked him. “Why did we come here?”
“I do not know,” Lemarik responded quietly.
He walked around the stones, weaving path between them. “It would seem we are, indeed, at the mercy of foreign forces. This is not at all where I planned to arrive.”
“Are there any people on this rock?” Ernst squinted up at the sun and looked toward the interior of the island. He could see more of the statues rising out of the landscape. Some were upright, some leaned precariously, while others were tumbled down or broken by time.
“At one time, there were caretakers here,” the Djinni remarked and started off on foot. “We should be cautious,” he said over his shoulder. “They may still be here.”
Ernst swallowed hard. He did not like the insinuation and felt sure these ‘caretakers’ could very well be something not quite human.
“What did they care for?” Ernst asked when he caught up with the Djinni.
“The elder gods, of course.” Lemarik waved one hand about him.
“The elder gods needed care?”
“As you can see, some of them are much in need of care.” The Djinni stopped near a half-buried statue and leaned close to look into one of its deep, hollow eyes. “I would have to say that the caretakers have been remiss in their duties.”
“But these are rocks!” Ernst backed away from the stone. “Carved statues. Everyone knows about Easter Island. The natives built these things.”
“Did they?” The Djinni looked at him darkly and snorted in disgust. “How do you know?”
“I saw it on television, and I read about it in books,” Ernst blurted.
“Really?” Lemarik stood up straighter, and Ernst felt particularly small.
“The Moai used to be one of Konrad’s interests,” Ernst continued. “He planned, at one time, to come here and buy or steal one of them and take it back to Switzerland for study.”
“Oh? And did he accomplish this feat?” The Djinni laid one index finger beside his nose and raised both eyebrows.
“How would I know? It’s been years… ages since Konrad and I were friends.”
“Precisely. How would you know anything about this island or these stones as you call them? The ages cannot be counted since the gods dwelt here. What do you know of those ages, Ernst Schweikert, eh?” The Djinni asked before he started off again.
Ernst leaped on top of the half buried statue, unwilling to continue further inland.
“Are you going to tell me these… things are something more than stones?” He called to the Djinni.
Lemarik glanced back at him and then stopped in his tracks. He turned angrily and waved one hand at the General. Schweikert went flying off the statue as if struck by an invisible fist. He landed hard, but was up again in an instant, cursing and flailing his arms about in frustration.
“Do not disrespect the Elders, my friend,” Lemarik told him. “Ignorance may have once been excusable, but that time has passed. You will mind yourself and your place, or I will toss you into the drink.”
Ernst brushed off his trousers and then hurried after the Djinni, carefully avoiding even the broken parts of the downed statues. Lemarik stopped again, put two fingers in his mouth and whistled. To Schweikert’s amazement, two horses, deep red in color, galloped over the horizon and came straight for them. Lemarik caught a handful of the first stallion’s mane and threw himself lightly onto the animal’s back. The Djinni waited patiently while Ernst tried in vain to accomplish the same trick. When it became obvious the General’s equestrian skills did not equal those of the mighty Djinni, Lemarik scowled once more and then hefted the man onto his own horse. Ernst held tightly to the Djinni as they turned and rode hard toward the center of the island.
(((((((((((((
“Let me look,” Luke Matthew grunted out the words as he crawled on his stomach toward the meadow beyond the thick hedges at the edge of the forest. Mark scooted to one side and glanced back at Lily and Merry, who were waiting for them near the base of a tremendous old oak tree. Merry had torn off the outer skirting on the blue dress and used the ribbons on her petticoat to tie it up on either side, affording her more mobility. Lily had protested loudly that she should not display her legs in suc
h a manner to her brother-in-law even though she wore white stockings, black leather ankle boots and pantaloons reaching just past her knees. They were still arguing the necessity of proprieties under the circumstances while the two men took stock of their surroundings. They had emerged from the caverns into the dappled light of a dense hardwood forest full of fabulously old trees sporting long beards of gray and green mosses.
The Knight pushed aside the lower branches and squinted out into the bright sunlight. He could see tall grasses full of colorful blooms, swaying in the breeze. Butterflies, bees and birds worked the meadow, looking for insects and worms in complete tranquility. The sky was cloudless, perfect blue. The air was wonderfully fresh, and it was impossible to tell if this was more of his brother’s illusions or if they had actually come out of the Abyss.
They were not in the Astral Plane. None of the usual tests proved out. Nothing out of the ordinary occurred if they tried to jump or stretch their fingers or fly. Merry had led them through the passages below, deftly avoiding pitfalls and dead ends, even through some corridors of inky blackness, without the slightest hesitation. The knowledge of the underworld passes Anna Kadif had impressed on her mind was as clear as the day she had first received them. She didn’t even have to think about which way to go. Her feet seemed to have a mind of their own once she had made up her mind to lead them out of their dilemma. The most telling thing about the scene, which stretched out before them, was the unmistakable sight of the little cottage in the midst of the meadow. Luke could see the big mulberry tree in the yard and the white-washed fence. A lazy column of gray smoke drifted from the stone chimney.
“What do you think?” Luke turned to Mark and raised both eyebrows.
“It looks like someone is home,” the Dove shrugged. “Shall we knock on the door or go around?”
“Do you recognize this place?” The Knight asked him.
“No.” Mark shook his head. “I have a memory of such a place, but there are many such places in the world. It could be real, or it could be Memorex.”
“What?” Luke frowned at his brother.
“Something Sophia likes to say. She doesn’t know what it means, but thinks it is funny,” Mark explained. “I think it means it is hard to tell if this is a real place or simply a false memory.”
“You are truly innocent, brother.” Luke chuckled and pushed himself back from the hedge before standing up and brushing the leaves from his clothes. He could not get used to the extreme personality differences between this brother and the original Mark Andrew. They walked back to where Lily and Merry waited for them.
“There is a cottage up ahead in the meadow,” Luke told them. “Someone might be there. They might be able to help us, or they may not be so friendly.”
“I know the cottage,” Merry told him. “You recognize it, too, don’t you, Luke?”
“I know what it looks like, Merry.” He frowned and looked over his shoulder. “I know what we just saw in the Seventh Gate, and I know that things are not always as they seem in the ether.”
“Memorex,” Mark added gravely and Merry frowned at him.
“We could get stuck here for years.” Luke chewed his bottom lip. He had read the archives. He knew the story of Simon d’Ornan and Meredith Sinclair. He knew the stories of the children who had come here and been lost for sixty years. Even the Mighty Djinni could not help them and John Paul… but then, perhaps, they had not wanted to help them. Perhaps they knew…
“Well, we have to do something,” Lily spoke up. She was very glad to be free of the caves. She had been on the verge of losing her mind several times before they had come clear of the oppressive rock passages full of unseen skittering things and foul odors. Now, she was using the mundane argument of propriety with her daughter-in-law simply to keep her thoughts from straying. “I say we go and find out who might be home. Perhaps, they can direct us to the nearest village or town or at least point us toward the road.”
“She has a point,” Mark agreed. “We can’t hide out in the forest forever. We need to discover what is to be done. I need to find Sophia.”
“Sophia, again,” Lily spat the name. “Mark Andrew, what about Meredith, your wife?”
Mark turned his deep blue eyes on his brother.
“Luke,” he said as he dragged him away from the women. “If I am not mistaken, this lady… our mother, has been dead for several hundred years, no?”
Luke nodded. His brother had a slightly Italian accent, a strange by-product of learning to speak English from Sophia Cardinelli. He sounded more like Lucio than the Mark he knew.
“If we take her from the underworld, would she survive? Is she real? Or is she…”
“Memorex?” Luke supplied the word. “I don’t know.” He glanced at the woman who stood glaring at them now. “Your papa… Sir Ramsay, I mean… he brought several more people from Purgatory in times past. Some of them are still working for our half-brother, Lemarik. You may remember them. Templar Knights of old. Mounted warriors? They have traveled between the Abyss and the overworld without any apparent problems. They are not indestructible, but, according to Lemarik, they are very easy to keep up. They don’t really need to eat or drink, and they never bathe or change clothes, yet they stay clean. They don’t cut their hair or trim their beards, yet they stay perfectly groomed. It is not something I like to dwell on, but they are our only references. I would venture to say she is like them. If she goes with us, we will certainly learn.”
“Then you must bring her up to date,” Mark told him. “We cannot go on pretending Luke Andrew is John Paul, and I am married to Meredith and Meredith is Merry’s twin sister and Sophia is a prostitute from Edinborough. The only problem is I don’t know what to do about John.”
“John?” Luke frowned. “John Paul?”
“No John Larmenius,” Mark whispered and glanced at her again. She was growing angrier by the moment, and Merry looked impatient as well.
“Ahhh.” Luke nodded. “I think she should continue to think of Sir Ramsay as John for the time being. We’ll let our… papa, figure out what to do about that.”
“Agreed,” Mark said.
They stood looking at each other for several long seconds.
“What are you waiting for?” Mark asked him.
“What?” Luke’s frown deepened.
“Go on and do it.” Mark pushed him a bit. “You have the power. I don’t.”
“I thought you were going to do it,” Luke said in alarm.
“I am only a mortal man,” Mark objected. “You are the King. You are the Knight. I could baptize her, perhaps.”
“I don’t have any powers like that, Mark,” Luke shook his head. “My brother… our father is the only one who retains all the powers of the Council. Did you forget? The Lord Kinmalla only allowed us to escape judgment because we are nothing.”
Mark’s shoulders fell.
“Then we have a lot of explaining to do,” he said after a pause. “I suggest we go on down to the cottage and knock on the door. If they are friendly, we’ll ask for a bite to eat and directions as Mother suggests. If they are not friendly, well… we’ll… just take our leave.”
“Agreed.”
(((((((((((((
“Can you not do anything at all?” Il Dolce Mio asked as he tore off a chunk of brown bread and dipped it in his cup of milk. “You are the Great Lucifer. Angel of Light. I have heard and read many things about you.”
“I am but a simple messenger, little one,” Lucifer said. The angel poured another round of wine in his cup and surveyed the meadow before them idly twirling a long, reddish blonde lock of hair between his fingers.
Louis Champlain, Thaddeus, Oriel and Konrad were down the way a bit where Leviathan still slept soundly; its broad back rising and falling gently as it snored softly. Ashmodel was inside the great beast, trying to find a way to wake it. The Champlains were idly knocking golf balls into the blue. The savory smell of roasting meat drifted on the warm breeze. The
five ‘Berts’ lounged about under another of the pavilions, playing some sort of board game, laughing and talking quietly amongst themselves about what only the gods might know. Sophia and Menaka were sitting with Levi and Galen Zachary on a blanket under the spreading arms of an old oak near the pond. The scene was one of idyllic tranquility. Apolonio tended the cooker, where he was trying his hand at smoking some Italian sausages. The time wore on and on and none of them had any idea how long they had been there. The sun never set, but they never grew tired or sleepy. Even the baby stayed awake without the usual fussiness and crying attributed to tired babies. The Boggan captain and his troops rode through from time to time, but they were used to the sight of the bow-legged creatures now. Paddy’s clurichauns were busy arranging and re-arranging the bandstand, practicing their repertoire of folk music and dance tunes; endlessly drinking, joking and laughing and generally making the most of their captivity with a wary eye out for trouble.
The angel perked up as Christopher walked toward them with Armand in tow. None of them had seen the Queen for quite some time.
“We’ve been scouting out the woods,” Christopher said as he sat down and poured himself a glass of milk.
Armand stepped up on the bench and sat on the table beside the King.
“We walk and walk and end up back here,” the former Knight told them. “It is fruitless to try to walk out of here. There is great magick surrounding this place.”
“That much is obvious,” Lucifer agreed. “The King and I were just discussing our situation. I have noticed Lord Nergal and his companion, Lord Marduk, have not been seen recently. They and the Queen’s troops have the ability to come and go at will. If we are in the depths of the Abyss, then they have the ability to leave this place and bring back supplies. I saw Captain Plotius with one of the Tuathan princesses not long ago. The Tuatha de Danaan are not given to wandering about in the Abyss. He must have brought her here.”
The Wayward Godking Page 10
