The Dove

by Brendan Carroll

  Sophia entered the tent, signaling the rest of them to remain outside when Il Dolce Mio made a move to follow her.

  Mark was still at the table, looking about the tent. The solitary lamp cast deep shadows on his face and she was at first, afraid that she had them confused. She stopped short of reaching for him and he took her hand instead and smiled at her.

  “We are going home.” He told her.

  “Home? Where is home, Mark?” She asked.

  “Scotland. The most beautiful land in all the world, and all the flowers will bloom when they see you, Sophia.”

  Chapter Fourteen of Sixteen

  And the nations were angry, and thy wrath is come,

  and the time of the dead

  Trouble came just as Mark Andrew had predicted and very early on. Omar had spent the better part of the night speaking with McGuffy and his remaining officers, checking the wounded and healing them one by one, ignoring the pain under his own ribs where the terrible wound inflicted by the spear of Longinus was slowly healing of its own accord. None of these men were old enough to remember the true Prophet of Allah and his presence among them, touching them and asking about their pain, and their families and their faith and their hopes and dreams appalled and frightened them. This was not the Prophet they had come to know on this disastrous campaign, but his persistence and his words and manner of speech soon changed their opinions and when the sun cleared the horizon, he had his men in formation and ready to begin the long trek back to New Babylon.

  They had salvaged the ruined battlefield and assembled what was left of the vehicles, camels and horses in an orderly formation at the northern end of the field. The representatives of the European courts and the Papal authorities had gathered further on toward the northwest.

  Il Dolce Mio’s elves were scattered about the ruins of Tel Megiddo, watching the armies form up with great interest. Eduord de Goth rode at the head of his column as they parted company with the rest of the Northern troops and made their way down to join the Templar forces. The Knights of Jerusalem were decked out with very fine weaponry and uniforms, riding some of Corrigan’s finest horses. Their arms consisted of a combination of ancient and modern weapons, including swords, daggers, crossbows, longbows, maces, pistols, rifles, grenades, mortars and missile launchers. Some even carried the most advanced weapons developed before the world wars set every thing back several decades.

  Many of his more complex weapons had laser guidance systems which required connections with the defunct satellites still aloft in decaying orbits, but he had modified them to work in a more conventional manner. They had come prepared for a battle, and Eduord reported that they had been sorely disappointed to arrive too late. Their clothing was white, tan and brown and well chosen for desert warfare. Eduord had done very well for himself and among the Europeans, who had come down through the straits of the Bosporus, he had the finest army, if not the largest. Everyone in the vicinity stopped to watch as the Knights of Jerusalem rode by and many cast a jealous eye on his warriors while others looked on with a twinge of fear in their hearts.

  Eduord, himself, cut a fine figure on his prancing black stallion. It seemed to the Templars looking on, that the more secular armies of the Dukes and Barons gathered here were overly suspicious of the two contingents wearing the Cross on their uniforms. The meeting held the night before had brought out genuine concerns from the Eastern kingdoms, the more northerly duchies of Norway and Sweden and the Italian forces that perhaps they should not have come at all, since this seemed to be some type of Holy War or Jihad, even calling it a blood feud, at one point, between the various members of the Ramsay clan.

  The meeting had adjourned under a very inauspicious rumble after Edgard d’Brouchart gave them all something to think about by telling them they were exactly right concerning the nature of the battle that had been joined on the field and when he had finally pointed out to them that the valley in which they stood was the biblical location indicated by the common name, Armageddon, even the most outspoken among them fell silent. Certainly, the Grand Master of the poor Knights of Solomon’s Temple had given them enough information to have nightmares for weeks. The added sight of the Sphinx, sitting atop a nearby ridge, grooming himself in silhouette against the full moon had done nothing to ease their discomfort, though it had done a great deal for the irate Italian’s temper to see them gawking in terror at the beast. He would have brought Inanna in for a few close passes if he had known how to call her.

  Lucio was infuriated by the manner in which Polunsky and the papal authorities had reacted to Il Dolce Mio’s presence in the meeting. There had been a very tense moment or two when the little King had offered to separate Polunsky’s rude head from his body for calling him a Ramsay ‘brat’ and demanding to know why a child had been allowed to sit in on the council. Only Louis Champlain’s intervention had prevented another battle from breaking out.

  In the end, it was decided that the more religiously inclined groups would accompany the Ark south while the rest of them would mosey back to the north, clearing out any pockets of resistance they might find along the way. Omar would be left to deal with his own problems in New Babylon and was told, when he had things under control, he might apply for admission into the newly formed coalition of Indo-European nations. Louis had been sincere in offering this opportunity to New Persia, but the gesture was lost on many of his own people.

  In their estimations, the whole thing had been a waste of time, money and effort, and they had no intention of allowing New Persia entry into their ranks. Armageddon had come and gone and they had missed it. Edgard had remarked ruefully to Eduord de Goth that the second coming of Christ might be less than what they had expected. He had no faith that these men would ever recognize the Truth and nothing short of a cataclysmic event would rid the world of such insolence. Both d’Brouchart and de Goth were so very disgusted with the stance taken by the French faction under Louis’ command, they had offered to change their names to MacBeth and MacDonald and take up wearing kilts and blue face paint.

  Now the troop command truck with the wooden crate safely tethered inside its cargo bed was parked a few hundred yards south of where Baron Polunsky, the two Cardinals and the other dukes of the various commands had made their command post. Sir Ramsay had stayed the night with the small band of Templar soldiers commissioned to guard it… at a distance, of course. Sophia, Nicole and his counterpart had taken up with the elves again and as the sun rose higher over the distant hills, they stood with Selwig and the elven King on the uppermost slopes of the Tel, watching the proceedings below. The King planned to send part of his army home, and his three human charges would be returned to Scotland to await the outcome of the campaign far from the dangerous wastelands of the Arabian Peninsula.

  Lucifer had departed the evening before in pursuit of the General, and the mighty Djinni had not returned. The presence of the angelic host, the awe-inspiring sight of the Templar Knights and camel troops of the Djinni, along with the presence of the elves had done nothing to convince the Indo-European leaders anything out of the ordinary had happened here. They insisted that it was nothing more than a regional argument over the possession of a religious artifact.

  The monstrous beasts, Hubur’s children, they had encountered in the wastelands, they attributed to mutations brought about by the effects of nuclear radiation in the aftermath of the wars. A bit of extermination and cleanup would do the trick, according to the Cardinals. The two papal representatives had come to pay their respects to the wooden box and then quickly left for safer climes after observing the burn marks on the crate, the ropes and peeling, charred paint on the bed of the truck.

  When de Goth’s troops had fallen in line with the Templar forces, a small contingent of Templars, including Simon of Grenoble, Levi d’Ornan and the Grand Master set out for the truck. They would take the Ark south and then southwest to the Mountains of Horeb and thence to Mount Sinai where they would open it for the last time, take out its conten
ts and melt it down. A dangerous venture, to say the least, but the ancient god, who had commissioned its construction had not been seen or heard from in many centuries.

  It would be a true test of faith to attempt to dismantle the Holy Coffer. If they were wrong in their beliefs, it might very well be disastrous. But the dangerous object had come very close to being possessed by the Ancient Evil, which most of them agreed was simply another name for the god that had created it to begin with. Yaldabaoth was sleeping in chaos. Not even Sabaoth had dared to wake him. Simon and Lavon surmised Jozsef Daniel’s intention to open the Ark and possess its secrets before calling upon his father. It may have even been his intention to overpower and destroy Yaldabaoth with the power possessed in the Ark. Yaldabaoth’s followers no longer believed or trusted his teachings and his word. He had unleashed his unholy minions upon the earth for too long, and it was time to put it to rest at last. A god who punished his worshippers with such alacrity could not be trusted and it was time to unravel the two stories intertwined in the Pentateuch once and for all, extracting the work of the One True God from the atrocities committed by the imperfect god, the Jealous God. When Jesus Christ had told His disciples that those among them with ears should listen and those with eyes should see, He had meant what He said. It was time to set things right. If ever there was to be a chance for mankind to find the way of Truth and Light, now was the time before it was too late, and if what Sir Ramsay had said about the unseen companion of the Centaur was true, they might be running out of time.

  Sir Ramsay stood with the soldiers watching as the small band of horsemen made its way toward them across the rocky terrain. He glanced toward the north and saw another, larger contingent of cavalry, riding hard in their direction. Behind them was an armored vehicle sporting a rather impressive array of guns.

  The Europeans arrived first and stopped between Edgard’s band and the troop carrier. Baron Polunsky dismounted and his escorts drew their weapons as the Templars approached them. Half of them faced Mark Andrew and the guards surrounding the truck.

  “Sir!” One of the guards came to stand beside him. “What is going on?”

  “A challenge.” Mark raised one eyebrow as he noticed that Edgard carried the twisted staff bearing the amber orb of the baculus in his right hand. Behind Edgard came Simon, Levi and Lavon de Bleu. Lavon cradled the staff of the Wisdom of Solomon in the crook of his left arm. The golden angel wings glittered in the morning sun.

  D’Brouchart rode directly to Polunsky and looked down at him contemptuously.

  “What is this, Baron?” He asked and turned his horse in a tight circle, holding the baculus out at right angles to the ground.

  “Cardinal Gambrelli and the others have decided that the Ark would be better placed at Rome. It is too dangerous an object to be left unprotected in the desert.” Polunsky told him. “We will take it back to Rome and you can join with your Prophet and take back New Babylon. Once New Persia had been brought into the fold, a better plan for the care of the artifact will be discussed. Besides, your Prophet will need all the help he can get and while you are indisposed, we will see to the safety of the relic. When you return to Rome, you will be allowed to inspect it.”

  “Inspect it?” Edgard looked about at the bristling array of automatic rifles pointed at him and laughed. “I do not need to inspect it, sir. I intend to destroy it.”

  “That is exactly why Cardinal Gambrelli has sent me to intercept you. The Pope has issued orders to return it unharmed to the Vatican to be placed in the vaults with the other Holy Relics of God.” The Baron was unmoved by Edgard’s cavalier attitude in the face of the weapons. “Since this campaign has been nothing more than a religious dispute, it would be most gratifying to at least return home with something of value rather than empty-handed.”

  “And did His Excellency, the Pope, also give leave for you to murder anyone who might disagree with his exalted opinions? Would you shoot us, sir? What of his agreement with King Louis? Is he breaking ties with the Franks and the Brits as well?”

  While this exchange was playing out, another horse galloped toward them. The white and purple robes of the Prophet fluttered behind the rider, identifying him.

  “I will carry out the orders of the Holy Roman See. The King of the Franks and the King of the Brits may take up the matter with the Pope when they return to Rome.”

  “You would fight us?” Edgard waved one hand back toward his armies.

  “I will do whatever is necessary. I would prefer to part from you in peace. There is no need for bloodshed after all. We are not stealing it; we are saving it. Such a priceless object should not be destroyed. It belongs to the people. All of the people of God. You, yourself, said that we are all God’s people. That means that we are all brothers, no? And this object was given unto the people of God as a gift from God, Himself.”

  “What god? What people?” Edgard laughed again. “You are truly blind, Polunsky. The Ark is obsolete. The god for whom it was built has abandoned men, and men have forgotten him. You would do well to go now before it is too late.”

  “I’m afraid that is not possible.” Polunsky turned his back on the Grand Master and addressed Mark Andrew. “You, sir! Step around this way and bring your men.”

  “Sir, we can’t let them take it.” The soldier whispered to Mark.

  “Be still, my son.” Mark held up one hand. “They will not take it. Do what he says.”

  Omar brought his horse to a stop, skidding in the loose debris between Polunsky and d’Brouchart.

  “Baron Polunsky, is it?” Omar dropped to the ground and approached the Baron. “Why are you holding up our progress? We should be on our way. Time is not on our side.”

  “I don’t know whose side you are on, sir, but I have come for the Ark. Now please… step back and join the others.” Polunsky mounted his horse, and then indicated several of the soldiers on his left. They dismounted and handed their reins to their fellows as the Templars passed through their ranks to join Simon and the others, several yards from the line of Romanians.

  “I am warning you, Polunsky.” Edgard called to him and held up the staff. “Do not send your men to their deaths.”

  “Your magickal mishmash does not impress me, sir.” The Baron reined his horse about and scanned the horizon for signs of the winged lion. “Take the truck.” He instructed his men. “We will escort you back to the ranks.”

  “Sir.” Omar approached him again. “You are making a terrible mistake. Let the Order of the Temple take the cursed thing. It is a great danger. It will see you all dead.”

  “It does not surprise me to hear you blaspheme, Prophet.” Polunsky smiled down at him. Mark Andrew passed very close to him and he watched the darkly clad Knight warily. The golden sword flashed at his hip when he passed, but he did not look up at him or even acknowledge his existence. He took the reins of one of the horses abandoned by Polunsky’s soldiers without asking and climbed onto it, before riding out slowly to join Simon and Levi. “A fair trade.”

  The Baron laughed and then waved his arm in the air. “Now stand back. Take her back easy, men!” He shouted after the two soldiers making their way warily toward the cab of the truck.

  The two soldiers climbed into the truck and started it up. They made a wide circle very slowly on the bumpy terrain and headed back toward the north.

  The Templars sat on their horses, watching in silence as the truck ground away from them at a snail’s pace. The crate rocked ominously as they drove over the rocks in the path.

  Omar frowned up at the Grand Master, and then ran after the mounted soldiers trailing the troop carrier.

  “Omar! Come back!” D’Brouchart shouted after the Prophet.

  Omar paid no heed to the Grand Master. He grabbed the leg of the last soldier and pulled him to the ground.

  “Stop!” He shouted and ran for the next one. “You don’t know what you’re doing! Stop or you will all die!”

  Polunsky turned in his saddle and watched in d
isbelief as Omar pulled a second soldier from his horse, dumping him onto the ground and started for the third.

  The Baron made a slashing motion across his neck and the third soldier almost casually shot the hysterical man as he grabbed for his leg.

  Omar was knocked backwards by the bullet, landing flat on his back in the sand. He pushed himself up slowly and got to his feet, clutching at his left arm. A bright spot of blood appeared on his white tunic. The Templars had erupted in a flurry of shouts, but he stumbled forward determinedly toward the same man. The soldier fired again and he went down on his back once more.

  Polunsky’s troops moved on and Omar staggered to his feet again to the horror of those watching him. Across the plain a series of shouts went up and a number of horsemen began riding toward them, kicking up dust and rocks as they came. Several random shots went up and chaos swept among the ranks of the armies as they gradually became aware of what was happening.

  Polunsky shouted orders to his troops and they kicked their horses, catching up to the truck.

  Mark Andrew reached Omar first, and Levi came to help him with the wounded Prophet. Edgard, Lavon and Simon rode past them and stopped a few yards beyond them. Edgard slid from his horse and climbed on top of a large boulder stained with blood from the day before. He held up the baculus and began to speak in the tongue of the ancient Hebrews. Simon and Lavon climbed up beside him. Polunsky’s contingent was in a panic now. The truck was bouncing wildly across the open range between Omar’s army and the European forces. Soldiers were running and riding out to meet them firing wildly at the disarrayed cavalry charge from the British, French and Persian ranks.

  Edgard struck the stone with the base of the staff and golden lightning leapt from the amber ball atop the rod. The bolt struck the ground in front of the rock and the earth opened up before them like a watermelon rind in front of a sharp blade. The crack widened and streaked after the retreating Romanians with such speed the resulting noise was delayed like a sonic boom. The earth shook as the noise rumbled away in all directions, sending the foot soldiers to the ground and causing the horses to rear and buck, throwing more soldiers into the dirt.