Book of Secrets

by Chris Roberson

  It also seemed like my emotions were back in working order again. All through the show, I'd been a pretty passive observer, like my reactions were being tamped down, but now I was starting to feel like myself again.

  "Alright," I said out loud, "let me see if I have this straight. There's something out there that might be the Judeo-Christian God, or might just be some extradimensional all-powerful whatchamacallit, and either way it's got a city full of angelic messengers created to do its bidding. And a couple of these angel-types turned anarchist and took off on their own, made a magic silver disk, and gave it to man. And now it's on the front of the book."

  I was skeptic enough not to accept at face value that one of the world's set of mythologies had an inside line on being true. For all I knew the villain of the piece had it right, and what had passed itself off as "God" to a bunch of Semitic nomads thousands of years ago was just an interloper from hyperspace and not the "creator" at all. It was academic at this point, though, because clearly something had been around and messed with humanity.

  Whatever it was, the booming voice wasn't talking. Or maybe it was just waiting for me to ask it something.

  "So who are you, mystery voice? Are you the angel? The disk? What?"

  "YES," boomed the voice from everywhere and nowhere.

  "Great," I answered under my breath. "So how did this little magic dingus that knows all end up on the cover of a moth-eaten old book? And who wrote in the book in the first place?"

  "A QUESTION," the voice boomed, "BEHOLD, AND–"

  This was starting to sound familiar.

  "Wait, wait," I shouted, waving my arms. "Don't do the whole super-Imax total immersion show again! I think one ride on that coaster is enough for one lifetime." I rubbed my hands together. "Is there anyway you could, I don't know, just answer my questions?"

  There was silence for a moment, and I fancied the voice was off somewhere thinking things over.

  "I think I can answer your questions," said a more human sounding voice from behind me. "If you prefer a more mundane approach."

  I wheeled, startled, and standing there before me was the messenger from the story, the one who split heaven and tried to change the rules.

  "Are you…" I started, nervously. "That is, you aren't a… you know…"

  "A messenger?" said the figure before me, smiling openly. "No," he added with a shake of his head. "I am the emblem itself, the disk of which you speak. Or an aspect of it, at any rate."

  I looked him from head to toe. He was a bit taller than me, as perfect an image of human beauty as the messengers had seemed in the Crystal City, dressed simply in a blinding white suit.

  "Wait," I said, "you mean you're the guy with the booming voice." I waved my arm overhead. "The sound of thunder with the limited syntax?"

  The figure in front of me smiled again.

  "In part, yes," he answered, "and in part, no. There are many aspects to the Sefer Raziel, all parts of the whole."

  "The Sefer Raziel?" I asked.

  "The book of secrets," he answered. "The Book of Raziel. That was what the sons of the first man came to call Raziel's gift. The name was remembered ever after, though in time most had forgotten its true meaning."

  I started to pace back and forth, the figure before me finally providing a point of reference. It was nice to be able to move again, in my own body at last.

  "Okay, so answer my questions already, if you can," I said. "What happened to the disk after the 'first man' got it? How did it end up on the book?"

  The image of Raziel seemed to think for a moment, and then answered.

  "This book of secrets," he began, "this Sefer Raziel, made free creatures of the first man and his family. Their sons grew tall and strong, schooled by their father in the mysteries of the Sefer Raziel, free from the influences of the divine or demonic. When one of the first man's sons chose to slay the other, he did it of his own free will. He made his choice, and was driven from the presence of his family in consequence. He would live as an outcast, the Lord's mark upon him, but not as a pawn in the games of kings."

  This was going to be story time, I could tell already. I decided to keep quiet and hear what the thing had to say.

  "Anael, first born of the Two, had grown fond of the outcast son, watching the long years from the Otherworld. When he was driven out to live alone in the wilds, she found herself sleepless with worry over him and ached to see his loneliness and pain. In the end, Anael left her parents and family on the Otherworld and traveled to the World to take as her husband the outcast son of the first man. Anael would be the first child of the Two to travel to the world of men, but she would not be the last.

  "The sons and daughters of the Two, calling themselves the Children of Dawn, grew more numerous as the generations passed. Though long-lived and strong, they were with each passing generation less divine beings than their parents were. They peopled the Otherworld of their parents, learning the ways of the World, and making of their home a paradise. But they grew bored with the tedium of perfection and longed for the challenges of the flawed.

  "Meanwhile, the sons of Adam kept close hold on the Sefer Raziel, and as the generations passed hid its wisdom and secrets from their brother men. Some of the Children of Dawn counseled their father Raziel to take back his gift, or else make plain a show of his power, to remind the men of the World of their place. But Raziel would not. Having broken with the divine plan and intervened in the destiny of men, he was now content to wait, and watch, seeing the World unfold before him. He would act when the time was right. Raziel was a lenient parent, though, placing no prohibitions on his children, or on their interaction with humanity. In time, more of the Children of Dawn left their homes on the Otherworld, traveling to the World to seek excitement and adventure in imperfection. The short-sighted sons of man, encountering the wandering Children of Dawn over the generations, came at last to view them as gods themselves, gods of sky and water, fire and war. Many of the Children of Dawn accepted the praise and prayers of the sons of man, setting themselves up as absolute rulers of the earth.

  "The keepers of the Sefer Raziel, though, knew the truth. The silver disk, mirror-bright, showed them the truth of the world and taught them the story of Raziel, the messenger who sacrificed himself for the sake of man, who turned his back on the Crystal City and the undying love of the Name that men might live free. The light of freedom, bought at so high a price, was guarded jealously by the sons of Adam through whose hands the Sefer passed. Enoch, Noah, Solomon.

  "In time, the keepers of the Sefer revealed portions of their secret knowledge to their brother men, shadows of truth to set them on the path to liberty. They encoded the secrets in the form of parables and stories, the unvarnished fact becoming veiled fiction, the thing itself becoming symbol. The Sefer Raziel became the torch of light, stolen from the heavens, the messenger Raziel the Lightbringer fallen from the skies.

  "Through cultures and centuries the keepers of the Sefer moved, passing the disk from the desertbounded sons of Israel to the water-bordered sons of Greece. Among the Greeks, the Cult of the Lightbringer was founded, the parables and symbols codified for the good of all men. To those beyond the inner circle, the Lightbringer was Prometheus, fallen Titan bound to a mountainside for his overmuch love of man; to those inducted into the secret rites of the Lightbringer, he was known as Lucetius.

  "In time, along with science, mythology, and politics, the Greeks gave to the Roman conquerors the Cult of Lucetius. The Sefer Raziel itself, the cherished centerpiece of all wisdom, was kept in secret in Rome, kept close by the secret history of the work of the Cult through the centuries. The Cult of Lucetius, though, had extended its arms east into India, and further into China, and north into the lands of the Norsemen. The brothers of the cult identified each other by use of a secret symbol, a four-armed spiral set in a circle, the symbolic representation of the Sefer Raziel itself.

  "Strengthening and renewing the purpose of the brothers of Lucetius, at the cul
mination of their secret rites and meetings the followers of the Cult would reenact symbolically the story of the Lightbringer, and of his gift to humanity. Lighting torches and repeating their sacred laws, the followers of Lucetius would go out into the world to work towards the improvement of their brother men's lot. In time, legends would arise over the boundless good will and sacrifices of this secret order of men, who fought for justice and freedom with hands stained black.

  "With the rise of the Cult of Lucetius, its followers working everywhere for the liberation of their fellow men from the oppression of outside forces, the Children of Dawn found their worshippers dwindling in number, their influence on the wane. No longer able to play the great god on the hill, many were forced down into the cities and towns of men, forced to pass as brother men. They gathered power to themselves by force or coercion, having developed the taste for control. So involved became the long-lived Children of Dawn in their mundane pleasures that when they first discovered the roads to the Otherworld had been closed, they hardly seemed to care. But in time the sons and daughters of the Children of Dawn would grow weary of the World and long to return to the Otherworld. It was whispered among them that the Sefer Raziel of their first father might contain the keys to regaining the Otherworld, but over generations and continents the Children of Dawn could not locate the Sefer, so well was it hidden.

  "Over the centuries, the Cult of Lucetius, now called by some the Order of the Black Hand, seemed to forget its original purpose. The Sefer, bound to the ongoing history of the Order, was cloistered away from view, seen by few, touched by almost none. The symbols and parables of the shadow teachings, devised to hide knowledge of the Sefer Raziel while sharing its wisdom, in the end eclipsed the true teachings of the Order. As the years passed, the followers of the Lightbringer were less and less in the world working their fellow man's good, and more and more hoarding power and prestige to themselves. Stories of the black-handed men who had in golden ages appeared out of shadows to fight oppression receded into legend, and then were nearly forgotten all together. The Order, splintered and secretive, grew in different lands and cultures into varied forms, with different aims, but always identified by the sign of the four-armed spiral, the torch, or the stained hand. When the book was lost at sea between the old world and a newly discovered land rich with opportunity, the Order lost its secret beating heart, and the gifts of the Lightbringer, the hope for true freedom for all living creatures, were seemingly lost forever. The Order would survive, but would resemble its first birth no more than the Grave resembled the Crystal City, becoming a dark mirror image of itself."

  I stood looking at the image of the messenger for a long while before I realized he had stopped talking. It seemed that, my question answered, he had nothing more to say.

  "What?" I finally asked. "Is that it? There's nothing more?"

  The image of the messenger smiled slightly and nodded his head.

  "Those are the answers you sought," the image replied, "when first you touched the disk. Control of the Sefer Raziel is a difficult matter, but you have done well. I hope you do as well in times to come." He paused, and then added, "For your sake."

  Then the image wavered in the air like a mirage, and I braced myself. This was where I came in. The man before me was replaced by a man-sized swirl of light and color, a spiral which grew and grew until it engulfed me entirely.

  And…

  The first thing I noticed was the cramp in my leg, then the pain in my back, then the man in the gray suit pointing the gun in my face. I was back on the bench in the Alamo Plaza in the same position I'd been in when I reached in the bag to touch the disk. The Sears bag was still in my lap. I hadn't gone anywhere, it seemed; everything I'd seen and done taking place only someplace behind my eyes and between my ears, but I had no idea how long it had been.

  "You were late meeting us, Mr. Finch," the guy with the gun said, and I recognized his voice from the phone the day before. The one who had left the note by Tan's bedside and threatened my friends.

  I knew who he was, now, looking at him face to face. I'd seen him once before, with the other two gray suits at the auction in Arizona. He hadn't been pleased when I walked out with the book, but he seemed happier now.

  "I hope you are well," he finally added, when it looked I had fallen mute.

  "Peachy," I managed, my eyes on the barrel of his gun.

  "Delightful," he answered. "Allow me to introduce myself. I am Rahab, and my companions," he gestured to the man and woman behind him, the same pair from the auction, "are Mr. Sunday and Ms. Veil."

  "Charmed," I muttered.

  I did my best to stay composed, but I was started to get really worried. God only knew how long I'd been lost in the Electric Kool Aid Acid Test, but Amador should have shown up long before. There should be FBI agents and cops all over the place, ready to pounce on whomever showed up to meet me. Instead, there was just this charming guy with his charming gun and companions, ready to introduce me to a bullet.

  "I trust you have the item with you?" Rahab said, but I wasn't really listening. I was thinking back over what I'd seen in the disk and the things I'd been reading the past few days.

  "Wait," I said, pointing at Rahab, "I know who you are. I should have remembered the name. You guys," I indicated him and his companions, "you're the Children of Dawn, right? Jesus, that's nuts. You guys really exist."

  Rahab sneered.

  "Flatterer," he deadpanned. "Guilty, as charged. Now please tell us where the item is, Mr. Finch. My companions and I have some traveling to do, and we'd like to get started as soon as possible."

  No longer leveled out by the calming effects of the disk, this was getting to be too much to take.

  "Wow," I said, sounding like a high school cheerleader. "You guys are trying to get back to that other planet, or dimension, or whatever, right? The one the two angels made. Am I right?"

  Rahab took a step forward, leveling the gun.

  "Our quest to reclaim our ancestral homeland is none of your concern, mayfly." He snarled, and jabbed the pistol barrel at my face. "Give me the book now, or I will simply peel it from your cold, dead hands."

  "Wait a minute," I scolded. "Play the good Bond villain and answer my questions before you kill me. You tried to steal it from J. Nathan Pierce, but me you just kill outright? What, do I not rate?"

  "No," came a voice to one side, "I'm afraid that was us, Mr. Finch."

  Both Rahab and I turned, and I'm not sure which of us was the more surprised. My first thought was one of relief, but that didn't last long.

  "Thank God," I said, seeing Amador standing just a few yards away, but my gratitude slipped pretty fast when I saw who was standing with him. The Supreme Court justices, the member of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, and the other bigwigs from the auction. All armed with matching pistols, all smiling like the cat that just ate the canary and had the goldfish for dessert.

  I knew at once what had happened. Amador was in their pocket. They'd bought him off at some point, either after the auction, or before, or even years ago for all I knew. Whoever they were, he was their man, and I was screwed.

  "I'm sorry," Amador said sheepishly, looking from me to the collection of bigwigs and back again. "But I told you I wouldn't be able to help you. Why didn't you listen?"

  That helped place his betrayal before the auction and my call for help, at least. Small consolation.

  "Don't apologize," said one of the Supreme Court justices. "Everyone has their price. Even Finch has to agree with that."

  "Sure," I said wearily. "Whatever."

  I was just trying to figure out who was going to get to kill me, whiling the time watching the trio of demigods in gray point their guns at the high rollers and big wheels pointing their guns right back at them.

  "So let me get this straight," I said, doing my best Columbo, trying to enjoy my last moments. "You guys," I pointed to the Supreme Court justice and friends, "hired Marconi to cop the book from Pierce, right? So why didn't
you just buy it off of Pierce, if you were willing to pay?"

  "We did," snarled one of the captains of industry.

  "We beat them to it," answered Rahab in a lyrical voice. "After seeing the book of secrets revealed after so many long centuries on that infantile television program, my associates and I contacted him immediately to make an offer. We negotiated what all involved felt was a fair price and arranged a meeting. By the time we arrived to retrieve the item it had already been stolen, its whereabouts unknown."

  "Which was you guys," I said, pointing to the bigwigs. One of them, absurdly, nodded proudly like it was all a grade school show and tell.

  "So who are you guys, anyway?" I asked. "Since I'm probably about to get killed and all."

  The bigwigs remained silent, Amador averting his eyes in shame.