by S. L. Duncan
“The first great civilization. These were good days in the dawn of man. Imagination and innovation ran rampant through its society, fueling art and creativity. Before the dark times. Before all that man had been given was taken away and corrupted. A true Garden of Eden.”
People were positioned all over the site like clay figurines, frozen in place. Many seemed to be going about their daily lives of chores and communal duties. They wore rustic but well-cut, almost modern garb, not much different than what Gabe had seen in malls and store displays.
Though the people couldn’t move, Gabe watched as one woman’s hair caught a breeze. Her tunic ruffled in the wind. She had dark features, black hair. Her eyes were golden brown, complementing her natural beauty. He thought she looked like a combination of any number of races.
Or all races, he thought.
“What’s happened to them? They’re like statues,” Micah said.
“This is not a reality but only a part of a former reality. What you’ll see here is only what is most important to your understanding of this history. A fragment. A moment frozen in time. Think of it as a living picture book. Just as you asked for, Micah.”
They followed Afarôt along the worn path that led through the village. At the end of town was a particularly large building. They entered the great hall by pushing the carved wooden doors aside.
The structure consisted of one large circular room. In the middle, a crowd huddled over something on the tile floor.
Afarôt motioned to Gabe and Micah to get closer. “This is where it begins.”
Gabe found an opening that allowed him to see the scene on the floor.
“Oh, my God,” Micah said.
On the floor a pregnant woman cried out in pain. Sweat glistened, frozen on her face. A man with flowing red hair kneeled next to her. He was some sort of foreigner. Gabe thought he looked huge in comparison to the citizens of the city.
“Who’s the giant?” Gabe asked.
“His name is Mastema.”
Gabe tensed as the image of the dragon-like form and gnashing teeth of Septis filled his mind. “The demon master?”
“The very one. He is not real. You have nothing to fear.”
Gathering a little courage, Gabe took a closer look at him, managing this time to see his broad, smiling face. Tears of joy flowed down Mastema’s cheeks. He looked at the woman as if she were his entire world and held her hand tenderly.
“And the woman?” Micah asked.
“That is Mastema’s wife. His beloved Lilith, the first of all earthbound women.”
“Are you sure this is the master of the demons? He doesn’t look very threatening,” Gabe said.
“I am quite certain. Mastema is a complicated being. He was a Watcher. Like us. In fact, I once called him friend. But he became enamored with the world of mankind. Particularly, the world of women and their beauty. One in particular. He left the Holy Watcher Legion and cast aside his allegiance with the archangels for her love.”
“That’s . . . quite lovely, actually,” Micah said.
“A most honorable decision indeed, Micah. Except that this was forbidden. The Watchers were entrusted with Light, the power of the universe and creation. To engage with the women of earth was to upset this balance. We were meant to simply serve as guardians of humanity. In essence, to interfere was against our law, a violation of the natural order.
“As an archangel, each of us is granted a share of power that, when combined, equals that of the Creator. Whether it is the power to unite armies or the power of strength, we each have a part to play. The one power we are denied by law, by oath, is the power to create. And here on Earth, creation is abundant, and its denial is what separates us from the ultimate divine.
“One day, Mastema saw Lilith in the fields, collecting wheat. His infatuation with her was met equally by hers with him. Their relationship was like any other. Slow at first, but passion eventually caught them both. Soon, Lilith was pregnant.
“Mastema’s error was not singular. He created a movement within our society to promote the idea of marrying with the women of Earth. The enticement to join was an idea foreign to us: love. The promise was for a better and richer life for both us and the humans. A new society. His teachings and encouragement spawned a revolution that took with it nearly two hundred of the Watchers. Where the light cannot penetrate, shadow is created. Darkness.”
Afarôt waved his hand, and the scene shifted. Once more, they were outside. A large, dark-skinned man stood next to a burning fire pit with one of the villager men. Gabe knew instantly this man was Afarôt. The villager held a hammer in midswing, ready to strike what looked like the beginning of a sword on a primitive anvil.
“The mixing of societies meant a mixing of cultures,” Afarôt said. “Ours was a culture of warriors with no battle to fight. Man’s was a culture of peace with no enemy. But how can you be a warrior or have peace if there is nothing to challenge it? Though we didn’t know it, we had a common need, mankind and us. One of the Watchers’ greatest sins was revealing the secrets of our culture. It was a mistake that would forever change the nature of man. From my teaching, they learned the art of war. Weapon crafting. Strategies of armies.”
Afarôt waved his hand, and everything changed again. This time, the city was engulfed in destruction. Buildings burned, and men and women were frozen in the streets, bloodied. Some looked dead on the ground.
“The other sin, perhaps even more tragic, was the mating of archangel and woman. Violating the Rule Against Creation, their offspring were removed from the grace of God and bore the worse qualities of both species. This is how the Demon species began. They were the offspring of the Fallen Watchers.”
They walked through the paved road of the city. Gabe could almost feel the phantom heat from the unending flames burning on the buildings. Afarôt led them again toward the large circular building at the end of the village.
“I was originally not part of Mastema’s Fallen. I had journeyed from the realm of Light to try and reason with him before anything irreversible had been done. Mastema, however, was always quite the politician. He convinced me to stay and study their society, believing I would find that forbidding such a peaceful existence was wrong. ‘How could Love be denied?’ he said. Eventually, I did become engaged in their ways. I took to loving a woman, though we never married, nor did she ever bear me a child. That is, perhaps, the final blessing I had been allowed.
“While many of these humans had become attracted to our ways, just as many saw through Mastema’s promises of a utopia filled with peace and love. Men had begun to do terrible things with their newly acquired knowledge. Tribes separated and formed, and disputes that once might have been settled with gifts were now settled with blades and shields.
“God sent the both of you, along with Uriel, to retrieve me from the Lost and bring with us a man who could lead a revolt within the humans to reject the Fallen Watchers. That man was Enoch. Through God, he was made more than a man and, in some respects, more than an archangel. From then on, he would be bound to the Earth realm, unable to leave. Enoch sacrificed the very thing he sought to save: his humanity.”
Afarôt entered the large hall with Gabe and Micah following closely. They hung on his every word.
Inside was a scene from a nightmare. The woman giving birth earlier in Afarôt’s story now sat slumped on the floor, seemingly dying by a blade. Her eyes were fixed open and nearly lifeless. Her arm was outstretched for aid. In her lap were the dying, childlike forms of something that looked almost human. Mastema was in midstep, screaming as he ran to her side. Tears streamed down his face. A man held an ancient blade in a ready position. He was younger than Gabe’s father and had the same dark features as the villagers’.
“This was the first of the offspring between human and archangel. Its very being caused a rupture between realms. All over the land, the same scene was carried out. Revolt. War. Madness. Enoch managed to convince his kind that the union between Watcher
and Mankind was evil. Many of the Fallen perished trying to protect their women.
“Mastema was shattered that day. The sight of his dying wife and children caused something to happen that no one expected. To save them, his hate and pain became manifest, tangible and real, amplified by those other Watchers who experienced the same loss. There, formed in the ether that separated the two realms, a splinter of something new ignited from that pain, fueled by the demonic children who had no place in the universe. It grew strength and fastened itself to Earth, becoming physical and real. A new reality took shape, and darkness found a new place to flourish between the dimensions. Hell began in that moment.”
Afarôt waved his hand one last time, and they were outside, watching the great hall from some distance. Men were fleeing from it. Forming around the structure was a dome of cloud and smoke and shadow that seemed to be expanding from the scene they had just experienced beneath its roof. Half of the building was inside it, and the other had yet to be taken.
Where the building fell inside the dome existed a rotting and crumbling ruin, creating a stark contrast with the portion outside, which looked as it did when they first arrived.
“This new, third realm fed on the pain and death and became a sanctuary for everything that was in opposition to the realms of Earth and Light. It became one of suffering, decay, and hatred. Mastema, his dying wife, and many of the surviving Fallen Watchers, along with their women, retreated to this realm, where pain and sorrow existed as a comfort.
“But the realm was young. Their power was unable to sustain the darkness, and soon it separated into its own dimension, where it would grow. And it did grow, eventually rivaling the realm of Light itself. Since the two dimensions cannot occupy Earth at the same time, open war was declared. Eventually, after much loss on both sides, a treaty was reached that allowed humans to break away from the influence of both the Light and the Darkness and claim free will over their future. Mastema and his followers believe that humans, in their negligent stewardship of the Earth, have chosen to accept Hell’s reign over the Earth realm. Hence, the breaking of the seal that had kept apart the three dimensions.”
Everything faded to darkness.
Gabe realized his eyes were shut and opened them. They were all back in Micah’s room, still holding hands.
“My punishment for my part in the Tragedy of Mastema was banishment from God’s realm. I am to stay here until I have earned my place back in the realm of Light. I am so tired. Tired of this realm. The hate and anger. You are my opportunity to reclaim Grace. Let us finish our task and leave.” He dropped their hands, and his eyes welled with tears. “Please. Please have mercy and understand why I did what must be done. Surely there is some part of you inside, some remembrance of our home realm?”
He deflated as Gabe shook his head.
“My place is here. This is my world,” Gabe said, but in the pit of his stomach, his body told him differently.
Afarôt shook his head. “It is not. I am so sorry, but it is not for any of us. Eventually, our departure will come.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Hagia Sophia. Holy Wisdom. Simon Magus wondered if there was any wisdom left in his cause. From the balcony, the St. Sophia museum looked to be in a state of ruin. Carpenters and construction engineers filled the cavernous structure below with the noise of change. There was at least some comfort in the reconstruction: there was precedent in Simon’s decisions. Istanbul had seen so much change in its history, and this building had often been the victim of it. Or the beneficiary.
Only time would tell where this decision fit in history.
Under the enormous and decorative dome, the workers labored among the mishmash of religious symbolism and art. Stained-glass windows and mosaics of Christ mixed with huge Islamic messages affixed to giant disks that hung on every support structure. Simon was thankful that none of the gigantic solid marble columns had been harmed during the conversion.
In the apse at the far end of the lower level, in front of the mihrab that sought to guide believers to Mecca, the final touches were being put on a throne. Lilith had insisted on its inclusion, despite his objections.
I am a military man. What need do I have for thrones? Simon thought.
Beyond the throne on the lower level, forum seats had been installed just beyond a grand negative space in the middle of the room that centered under the dome. For what reason, he did not know. There had not been enough time to appoint a cabinet, let alone elect a parliament. The only position established had been the one Lilith had assumed: vice president.
He took a breath as he observed the conversion work being performed. Lately, the air in his lungs didn’t feel like enough. This was the stress of the new position. The sacrifice for a free Turkey.
“Do you not like my taste?” Lilith asked, appearing suddenly behind him.
“It is not a matter of taste but of need. I do not need any of this. This government will be a democracy. Thrones are for kings and queens. Not presidents. What signal does this send to the world? What does it say to our people?”
“Your people are still with you, dear. As is the world. What it says is Turkey is as strong and as confident as its leader. It is a symbolic gesture of your power. One that would elicit pride from Constantine himself.”
“There are palaces everywhere in Istanbul, any number of which would have been suitable for conversion to a forum for the government. The Topkapi Palace is just that—a palace. Too opulent for the head of a democratic state.”
“Because, dear Simon, the palace is a symbol of where your nation has been. The Hagia Sophia is draped in multicultural symbology. It is a metaphor for where you intend to lead your people. Do you not see? You wish to distance yourself from the religious conservatism that has long held your country back.”
Simon had to admit he agreed with her on that point.
“This entire city is a testament to the various religious institutions that have held its people back for thousands of years,” she said. “The Greeks. Constantine’s Rome. The Byzantines. The Ottomans. All slaves to something they’ve no hope of understanding. I believed you would be a leader who wished for your people to rise from these binds, to place democracy itself on a throne. Was I wrong to do so?”
“No. But I cannot do this at the cost of my people’s faith.”
“Let them continue to believe, if that is their choice. Soon they will let go of the chains of futility that bind them. The faithful will be healed by your government. They will embrace the same new order of the Western Alliance of Nations.”
Lilith approached the large jar from Pergamon, carved from a single piece of marble, which had been relocated from the first floor. She caressed it as if it were a trophy. Simon recalled her fascination with the piece and her extensive knowledge of an identical jar, lost to time along with the Pergamon Altar.
The Deësis Mosaic adorned the wall behind the large jar. Lilith had insisted on this space for the display. Many of the small, delicate tiles of the artwork were missing. In the scene it depicted, Mother Mary and John the Baptist pleaded with Jesus Christ.
She stared at it while admiring the solid marble construction of the jar. “That one is my favorite of all the mosaics in the Hagia Sophia. Such a tale it tells.”
“What do you mean?”
“Are not the greatest stories the most imaginative? That is why this art pleases me so,” she said, stroking the Pergamon jar. “Mary and John are desperate for Jesus Christ to see them through the End of Days. What could be a greater fantasy than that?”
Simon felt the flush of fever, as he had so often in recent weeks. His legs went weak beneath him, and he staggered, catching himself on the balcony railing.
“Mr. President?” Lilith reached for his arm and held him up.
He heard a ringing in his ears, louder and louder. She had turned to the workers, and he felt the vibration of her voice as she shouted to them.
The room spun, and Simon watched soldiers run toward
him.
Through the fits of unconsciousness, Simon watched as he was put into a wheelchair and taken into the gardens, toward Topkapi Palace. He recalled the gate and the courtyard. The library. The tower overlooking the garden.
By the time they reached the interior of the palace, he was coming around and felt the strength return to his legs.
Simon walked up the stairs to the President’s Chambers at the Topkapi Palace, assisted by Lilith. Even as he fought the sickness in his body, he couldn’t help but be distracted by her beauty.
“Have you prepared for the Nicene Council? Our guests will be arriving shortly.”
“I intend to be fashionably late,” Lilith said. “But my concern is you at the moment. Never mind the details of politics. I will sort them out. You need rest. These bouts of exhaustion are to be expected from a man who has just saved his nation.”
“They’re getting worse. These spells. I feel a coldness in my bones,” he said and waved his hand as if dismissing the symptoms. “There are some agendas I wish you to incorporate into your welcoming speech. Would you be amenable to that, Ms. Vice President?”
“Of course, Mr. President. I would be happy to convey your sentiments to our guests.” She patted his hand as she might a child’s.
They walked past the guard post by the foyer of the President’s Chamber. Lilith dismissed the standing soldier as they passed. Inside the large room, two painters were finishing the decoration of the newly built walls.
“Would you kindly excuse us, please?” Lilith asked them as she held open the door to the room.
They promptly stopped and exited the chamber, leaving Lilith and Simon alone.
She walked to the door and shut it, sealing them inside.
Simon asked the question burning in his mind since she’d left. “Why did you go south, Lilith?” It made no strategic sense. Nothing of political importance could be gained in that part of the country. He breathed heavily, unable to find air in the room.
