Chapter Thirteen of Sixteen
But in the days of the voice of the seventh angel, when he shall begin to sound, the mystery of God should be finished, as he hath declared to his servants the prophets.
Lord Marduk stood up and backed away from Jozsef Daniel prone figure. He no longer moved or spoke, but stared blankly into the smoke-filled sky above. John Paul stood slightly behind him, shielding the Tuathan healer behind him.
It was over.
Sabaoth had fled leaving Jozsef’s battered shell behind and he would not be able to take on another form in the physical word any time soon. The Lord of the Sixth Gate had banished him into the beyond from whence he had come.
Marduk turned and stumbled, exhausted, into John’s arms and the Lord of the First gate lowered him to the ground before inspecting the body of his son.
“Jozsef?” John Paul whispered the name tentatively, hopefully, but the eyes did not blink. There was no flicker of recognition or life other than the ragged rise and fall of the chest and the slow trickle of blood from the wound in his side. His face was extremely pale against the dark hair that lay in damp, twisted strands on the rock and grit of the desert floor.
John Paul motioned the Tuathan healer to his side.
“Do what you can for the wound, my friend.” He told the healer and stood up again, shading his eyes against the glare of the setting sun, scanning the battlefield for signs of Mark Andrew.
Selwig, exhausted and bedraggled by his ordeal, set about cutting the cloth from the jagged puncture wound under Jozsef’s ribcage.
“And the hand, Master?” He looked up at John Paul. More blood oozed from the disfigured hand where the skin was now missing.
“Do whatever you can. The danger is over.” John Paul whistled for the winged stallion. “We will send back help for you.”
John Paul mounted the winged horse, pulling Marduk, somewhat revived up behind him.
Another great army was approaching from the north.
“Who are these people on the horizon, brother?” Marduk leaned close to him and asked in a raspy whisper.
“They are the nations of the west. Too late have they come to our aid and with them comes wrath. Our work here is finished. The kings of the West will do what they will.”
The horse leapt into the air and was soon winging its way to the south in search of Lord Nebo’s army.
(((((((((((((
Mark Andrew opened his eyes and found the world very still and quiet. He was no longer falling. He pressed his hands against his sides in search of some remnant of Sophia, but her form was no longer distinct. They were one, whole now and united in substance and form.
“Sophia.” He whispered her name and it seemed he heard her voice answer him within his own mind.
“Grandfather!” A more distinct voice called to him from very nearby.
The place in which he had come to rest had the feel of a vacuum. There was light, but it had no source. There was the feel of solid earth beneath him, but he could not see it. He was sitting cross-legged and his sword lay across his lap, gleaming dully.
“Nicholas? Gregory?” He called and used his hands to turn himself about and found that he could move with great ease. Behind him was a wall of gleaming crystal that stretched into infinity above and below him. Inside the glass he saw three people. Jozsef Daniel, his grandson, Anna, his great-great-granddaughter and Omar, the Prophet, still in the semblance of the Templar Colonel. He was unsure which of the two men had spoken to him.
“Grandfather.” Omar shouted and pressed his hands against the crystal.
Mark pressed the smooth barrier over his grandson’s hands, but could not feel it.
“Help us!” Jozsef also put his hands on the barrier. Mark could see the golden sheen on the inside of his palm.
“Sabaoth?” He said the Ancient Evil’s name.
“He is gone. Banished.” Anna’s voice came clearly through the wall. “Release us, Grandfather.”
Mark Andrew stood up in the strange emptiness, looked up and then down. He could travel neither up the crystal wall, nor down. He could see his own reflection and recognized the form that he had worn in ages past. His hair was gleaming white and his eyes were clearest blue. His normally black clothing was also changed into a pearlescent white and he seemed to glow in the depths of the crystal. The light was coming from him!
He raised the sword in his hands and began to speak without thought.
“List ye, O man, to the deep hidden wisdom, lost to the world since the time of the Dwellers, lost and forgotten by men of this age. Know ye this Earth is but a portal, guarded by powers unknown to man. Yet, the Dark Lords hide the entrance that leads to the Heaven-born land. Know ye, the way to the sphere of Arulu is guarded by barriers opened only to the Light-born man.” The words from the Emerald Tablets of Thoth.
He lowered the sword and sat down again, laying the sword across his lap.
The three figures inside the crystal prison listened to his words with expressions of great wonder on their faces.
“Upon Earth, I am the holder of the keys to the gates of the Sacred Land. Command I, by the powers beyond me, to leave the keys to the world of man. Before I depart, I give ye the Secrets of how ye may rise from the bondage of darkness, cast off the fetters of flesh that have bound ye, rise from the darkness into the Light.”
The wall wavered and seemed to become as liquid beads, streaming up and down like water or sparkling clear oil on glass.
“Know ye, the soul must be cleansed of its darkness, ere ye may enter the portals of Light. Thus, I established among ye the Mysteries so that the Secrets may always be found. Aye, though man may fall into darkness, always the Light will shine as a guide.”
As he spoke these words a greater light appeared within the crystal behind the three figures. They turned slightly to gaze at this new wonder. Their forms now darkened and silhouetted against the glare.
“Hidden in darkness, veiled in symbols, always the way to the portal will be found. Man in the future will deny the Mysteries but always the way the seeker will find.”
His three grandchildren climbed to their feet and held onto to each other as the light grew brighter.
“Now I command ye to maintain my secrets, giving only to those ye have tested, so that the pure may not be corrupted, so that the power of Truth may prevail. List ye now to the unveiling of Mystery. List to the symbols of Mystery I give. Make of it a religion for only thus will its essence remain. Regions there are two between this life and the Great One, traveled by the Souls who depart from this Earth; Duat, the home of the powers of illusion; Sekhet Hetspet, the House of the Gods. Osiris, the symbol of the guard of the portal who turns back the souls of unworthy men. Beyond lies the sphere of the Heaven-born powers, Arulu, the land where the Great Ones have passed. There, when my work among men has been finished, will I join the Great Ones of my Ancient home.”
“Grandfather!” Jozsef turned back at once to look at him fearfully. “What shall we do?”
“Go into the light, Jozsef. Take Anna and Omar and go into the light.” Mark pressed his hands against the crystal barrier.
“But what about you?” Anna ran back to kneel before him. “Come with us, Grandfather!”
“When my work is finished, I will join you there, my child.” Mark told her. “Make your decision. You have the power to go where you will. Go now and leave me. I will see you again.”
Anna allowed Jozsef to pull her up. She joined hands with Omar and Jozsef and they walked away from him into the brilliant light welling up inside the crystal. As they walked away, becoming smaller and smaller shadows against the brilliance, the wall began to collapse. Mark got to his feet slowly and waited. The light faded and the wall shrank until it was no longer a wall, but a small shape in front of him. He sheathed his sword and picked up the grinning form of the crystal skull. He smiled to himself and spoke to the skull of the Ancient Evil. The skull that had once sat upon the pedestal in the Gol
den Fountain glittered in his hands. It’s original identity lost in the folds of time.
“Keys are they of life and of Death. Hear ye now the mystery of mysteries: learn of the circle beginningless and endless, the form of He who is One and in all. Listen and hear it, go forth and apply it, thus will ye travel the way that I go.”
Mark swirled about in the emptiness and felt the warmth of the sunset strike his face, smelled the bitter smoke of battle and heard the groans of the dying.
Selwig leapt to his feet and ran toward him.
“Master! Master! Come and see!” The Tuathan dragged him along toward the flapping canopy of the purple and white tent.
Jozsef Daniel lay propped on many plush, but dirty cushions, drinking from a canteen of water.
Mark Andrew knelt beside him and reached out one hand to touch his face.
“Grandfather!”
“Jozsef?”
“No, it’s Omar.” The Prophet smiled sadly at him. “Jozsef did not come with me. He and Anna are together.” He grimaced and looked down at the tattered uniform and bloodstains. “It seems that I’ve taken some damage.”
Mark Andrew nodded and stood up again. He looked about the destruction of the battle field momentarily and then pulled his dagger from his belt and knelt beside Omar again.
“Sit up, my son.” He helped the Prophet lean forward painfully.
Mark took the long hair in his hand and began to cut it off with the dagger, dropping the dark locks into the sand. Omar did not protest.
“Bring some water, a basin and see if you can find a razor.” He told the healer as he continued to cut away the extremely long hair on Omar’s head. He wanted nothing to remind them of what had been here. “Find him some clean clothes if they are to be had.”
Selwig set about to do his bidding, joyfully rejuvenated by the return of his Master.
Soon they had Omar looking like Omar again. He was in a great deal of pain, but his joy at being restored to life in the flesh, overshadowed his suffering. He stood up slowly and Selwig handed him his kaffiyeh. He placed it on his head with trembling hands.
“My army?” He looked about in horror at the dead Fox soldiers scattered about the vicinity of the command tent.
“I do not know what has happened here.” Mark Andrew put one arm around him and helped him along. “I, too, have only just arrived.”
“It was a great battle!” Selwig filled them in excitedly as he followed along beside them, clutching his yellow bag to his chest. “Many angels came and slew the soldiers and the great beast, the lion with wings of an eagle, slew many more. And the dragon! Ohhhhh. She was a mighty force. The armies of the Grand Master lie just over yonder hill,” he pointed “and the King of the Center is there and King Corrigan and King Louis of France and King Ramsay of Britain and the Golden Eagle and…”
“Hold, little one.” Mark Andrew looked down at the excited Tuathan. “You will make yourself sick.”
“Oh, nooo, Master.” Selwig shook his head adamantly. “I am beyond sickness. I have died many times on this day and I will die no more. I have drunk the Living Waters of Life and come forth unharmed. I have faced the Evil One and quaked in my bones at the terror. I will quake no more, for my faith is unwavering and my belief is strong. And from this day forward, no terror will grip me, no horror will faze me, no King will conquer me. and I will feel no shame. God will protect me now because I have drunk the Waters of Life.”
“Ahhh. You have changed, my friend.” Mark Andrew smiled. “That’s good. Now can you direct us to the Grand Master?”
“Of course!” Selwig stepped out in front of them. “This way, Master.” He bowed graciously, holding out one hand in the proper direction.
(((((((((((((
Only the kings, the various Barons and Dukes of the European nations and the Knights of the Council attended the Grand Council Meeting set up in the repaired command tent. Two Cardinals represented the Papal authority of Rome and they were not happy to see the Prophet sitting at the table in his purple and white robes. Neither did they seem to believe that Lucifer and his band of colorful warriors were what they purported to be.
Louis Champlain sat at the head of the table as Holy Roman Emperor. He wore the magnificent mantle that Barry had designed for him with the golden bees sewn into the cloth and his long, colorful robe, his official garment of state, was fringed with the tassels representative of the Merovian line of ascendancy. Edgard d’Brouchart sat next to the splendid King of the Franks, arrayed in his sparkling armor. The table, a long makeshift affair made of various scavenged items was covered in purple silk from Jozsef’s tent and their chairs consisted of over-turned buckets and ammo boxes with the cushions that had once made Jozsef Daniel’s bed.
Lucifer was having his say at the moment.
“It matters not to me what you may think of the tactics employed here.” He said and looked at them with an arrogant eye. He stood at the foot of the table with his hands resting on the hilt of his filigreed sword and one booted foot propped on upturned water can. “It is apparent that nothing really changes in the minds of men. As we speak, the dark one travels to the south unmolested. There is still the matter of the unholy presence in Babylon whom you all seem to have forgotten. I assure you that she has not forgotten you, and she will summon more of her children to fight against you and she will welcome Abaddon with open arms. I find it hard to believe what my brother tells me of that one.” He nodded to Omar and then looked at Mark Andrew, who sat at the opposite end of the table between Lemarik and Il Dolce Mio. “How is it that he does not know what has become of Urim and Thummin?”
Lucio Dambretti and several more of the Knights of the Council sat listening to the proceedings with sour looks on their faces. They did not care for this most recent Pope.
Omar stood up slowly and pressed his hand against the wound on his side.
“I am profoundly sorry that I am unable to supply you with adequate answers, my Lord.” He bowed his head slightly to the angel. “I have been unable to see or hear for a very long time. It was not from lack of trying that I am ignorant of these things.”
“This is all very mysterious to me, gentlemen.” One of the Cardinals spoke up. An Italian by the name of Paolo Gambrelli. “It is very difficult to believe that you came all this way simply to kill a few soldiers and then declare the Prophet of New Babylon… cured.” His tone was completely disgusting to the other members of the council table. He spoke Italian and directed most of his attention to Lucio Dambretti as if he were specifically bent upon enraging the Knight of the Golden Eagle. “If His Excellency, King Louis, would care to explain these things to us, we might be more receptive to joining forces with the Franks and Brits.” He tore his eyes away from Lucio long enough to cast a disdainful look at Luke Matthew who sat on Louis’ right-hand side.
“Monsignor Gambrelli has a point.” Baron Polunsky of Romania agreed with the Cardinal, but spoke heavily accented French out of respect for the most common language at the table. “These tales of angelic warriors on… on Pegasus horses is a bit fanciful, wouldn’t you say?” The baron paused and shrugged slightly as nods of agreement issued from his traveling companions.
“I find it hard to believe that you need a reason to join with something of which you are already a part, Baron.” Omar turned on the man. “If I am not mistaken, it was New Babylon, who put your family at the head of the Romanian provinces. Have you not noticed that the New Order of the Temple is no more, and that your fellow monarchies and duchies have joined with Rome in embracing the sovereignty of the Frankish Empire?”
“I only know that nothing good has come out of New Persia in a very long time, Your Grace.” The Baron bowed his head and several murmurs of approval circulated about the table. “When the right hand is cut off, one must rely on the left.”
“Then you would stand against Rome and the Franks, sir?” Louis asked him point-blank.
“I did not say that, Your Highness.” Polunsky shrugg
ed. “I simply want to know exactly what it is that I am fighting against. It is very hard to distinguish between the foe and the friend when they change personalities as one might change underwear. You are telling us that this man who stands before us is the original Omar Adam Kadif, Prophet of Allah and Emperor of New Babylon, founder of the New Order of the Temple and you further wish us to believe that he has been held captive within the body of his… his… how do you say?…second cousin?… for these last several years… or is it his third cousin? These lineages confuse my poor, dim head.”
This remark brought a few titters of laughter from Polunsky’s cronies.
“Your arrogance bespeaks your ignorance, my friend.” Edgard d’Brouchart spoke up. “You have slept in oblivion for a long, dark age. Your countrymen slumbered in darkness even when the Sons of Light dwelt among you, and you knew nothing of them! Now you would come to this table and presume to insult us with your self-righteousness? What God do you serve, sir? Are you a follower of the Half-Maker? Would you go to New Babylon and bow down to his minions? Do you wish us to back away and allow the Ancient Evil’s consort to finish her work? Would you have Chaos returned upon the face of the waters? Remember your scriptures, Baron.” The Grand Master had risen slowly while speaking and he held out one hand to Konrad, Knight of the Apocalypse Who Sees.
Luke Andrew sat up straighter when he recognized the mischievous twinkle in the dark Knight’s deep brown eyes. He had been lounging on a purple cushion with his back resting against a discarded saddle with his long legs stretched out in front of him. For all appearances, he had seemed half asleep since the beginning of the meeting. When Edgard turned the floor over to him, he rose up and leaned forward slightly, taking in all the members of the assembly with half-lidded, appraising eyes. He raised one gloved hand and brought it down on the table, causing the Cardinals to jump, eliciting several exclamations from other members unaccustomed to the Apocalyptic Knight.
The Dove Page 27
