The Dove

by Brendan Carroll

  “He’s working on the pipes.” She said without looking up. “Mark, I think you may need to replace the P-trap. That’s where the pipe is rusted if I am reading this right.” A muffled something answered her and she looked up at Bari. “Did you finish weeding the border by the stables?”

  “Of course.” He frowned at her.

  “And the beds by the patio?”

  “Not quite.” He smiled ruefully at his taskmaster.

  “We really need to get those beds cleaned out. I want the Amaranths to be in bloom when Simon comes.” She raised one eyebrow.

  “It’ll soon be freezing!” Bari shuddered at the thought of the long, Scottish winter.

  “It doesn’t matter.” She studied the pictures again. “They’ll bloom. Now go on upstairs and get cleaned up before supper. You’re a mess.”

  Bari looked down at his filthy hands and arms and the stains on his clothes, clothes that had once belonged to Luke Andrew Ramsay. He turned slowly, holding his arms out in front of him and headed for the front hall, shaking his head and silently mocking Sophia’s words.

  He had fallen so quickly from Emperor of New Persia to handyman-in-training at the dreary old estate in dreary old Scotland, but under the circumstances it was better than being boiled in oil or dropped into the pits of hell for all eternity, which most likely would have been the next best choices. He had assumed, at first, he would be accompanying his father back to New Babylon to assist in the siege of the city. Revenge on the creature that had taken on the outer appearance of his beloved mother had been his only thought after the battle of Armageddon….

  Bari stopped at the foot of the stairs and frowned. The battle of Armageddon. It was incredible to think that the damned thing had actually occurred, and he had been there and all he had done during the entire battle was scrabble about in the mud looking for a piece of crystal. He smacked his forehead with his dirty palm and trudged up the stairs toward his room on the second floor. The skull! Another sore spot. He had told his grandfather about the skull, and the Djinni had simply narrowed his dark eyes and stared at him for several long minutes as if he would have liked to make a short meal of him. Lemarik’s reaction to the news of the lost skull had assured him that he would tell no one else about it… at least, not unnecessarily and he’d not told his grandfather the whole truth about it. Certainly he’d not tell anyone where the thing had really come from.

  Hopefully, it was lost in the desert, washed down into to some deep, dark crack or crevice in the caverns under the mound. His grandfather had said not a word about what he might do about it, but had, instead, mediated a decision concerning his future with Mark Andrew, the other, Luke Andrew, his uncle and Omar, his father. They had agreed to send him to Scotland with this Mark Andrew, who was much more likable than the other, to learn how to be a productive member of the family as well as a socially acceptable personage capable of taking care of himself in a responsible manner. In other words, he would learn how to behave or the Mighty Djinni would be paying him one last visit.

  He passed Nicole coming down the stairs.

  “What’s for supper?” She asked as she descended the steps. She wore a long, blue gown made of shimmering satin, open down the front over a pair of denim coveralls and a white sweater. Her blonde curls were pulled up on top of her head in a sort of bouncy pom-pom. The sight of her smiling, pink face infuriated the former Emperor. She never had to bend to menial tasks. Her fingernails were long, pink and perfectly manicured.

  “Nothing. Your daddy’s plugged up the works or something.” He muttered and continued up the stairs.

  Nicole stopped long enough to give him a scowl, but he never looked back. She stepped lightly down the stairs with her journal tucked under her arm and made her way to the kitchen where the smell of something spicy emanated from a large pot on the stove. The table was laid for four.

  “Hey, Sophia.” She bent over and searched for her ‘daddy’ in the gloom under the sink. “What’s wrong?”

  “The plumbing is stopped up.” Sophia explained and shook her head sadly.

  “No problem,” Nicole said cheerfully. “Come on out here, Daddy, you’re no plumber. I can fix this.” Nicole sat down cross-legged on the floor. She grabbed Mark’s foot and pulled off his boot. When she tickled his foot, she received a series of epithets as he bonked his head several times before scooting out of the cabinet. He took back his boot and pulled it on. His face was smeared with rust and his hair was a mess.

  “Sophia,” Nicole helped Mark up and picked up the book. “Would you please lay out another place at the table? The Captain is coming for dinner. Now look, Daddy, show me where the problem is, and I’ll fix it.”

  Mark squinted at the diagram and then pointed to the pipe joint that was rusted through.

  “Rusted out.” He told her sadly. “And the joint is fused solid. I can’t get hold of it.”

  “What’s it made of?” She peered into the cabinet, shining the flashlight at the morass of ancient pipes.

  “This stuff.” He held up a ragged piece of chrome-plated pipe.

  “Ohhhh. Hmmm.” Nicole studied the piece for a moment, feeling it, smelling it and even tasting the surface of it and making a face.

  “What is it?” Mark asked her in a low whisper, almost as if it were some great, mystical secret.

  “Metal.” She nodded solemnly and Sophia groaned audibly. She could not believe the relationship that had sprung up between Mark Andrew and his daughter. They were always picking and playing with each other like two children.

  “Go wash up and I’ll take care of this.” She said after a moment and his face lit up with unabashed relief.

  Mark got up and left the kitchen before Sophia could protest. Nicole assured her again that it was no problem as she disappeared down the basement stairs.

  Five minutes later, she was back with a small wooden crate full of dusty bottles and boxes. Mark returned as well and hovered over her as she mixed a foul-smelling concoction in a crockery bowl. Sophia removed the heavy stoneware dishes from the table and laid out something a bit more suitable for company. The captain. The Fox Captain who had very recently been the Fox Lieutenant, Socrates Galipoli, in charge of the beleaguered garrison in Jerusalem, who had somehow managed to get assigned to the Lothian estate.

  “I hope you’re not going to blow things up again, Nicole.” Sophia commented as she transferred the stew into a heavy pottery bowl covered with suns and moons.

  “You have no faith.” Nicole retorted, and then took the bowl of smelly gunk under the sink. Mark got down on the floor and held the flashlight for her as she smeared the stuff over the rusted pipes, patching the hole with a thick layer and filling in the cracks and pits in the remaining pipes. When she was satisfied that everything was covered, she got up again and closed the cabinet doors. “Now look, daddy, this is the fun part.” She picked up a tall, slender bottle of yellow liquid. “We have to heat it up for it to set.”

  Mark nodded solemnly and stepped back. The yellow. He knew the stuff. It was what Nicole had blown up the plumbing in the bathroom under the stairs with only a few days earlier.

  “Isn’t that what you said before?” Sophia stopped to watch her. “We really need the sink, Nicole. If you destroy the kitchen, where will we cook?”

  “Trust me. I know where I went wrong the other day,” Nicole assured her and then very carefully took one drop of the yellow liquid in the end of glass tube. She held the dropper over the open drain and then let it fall straight down the tube. All three held their breaths. There was a tiny explosion inside the pipe, but nothing more. Nicole leaned over the sink and peered into the pipe. “Success!” She turned on the water and then opened the cabinet.

  “It worked!” Mark beamed at her and then hugged her tightly. “It worked! It’s a miracle. We must celebrate.” Sophia and Nicole watched as he rushed from the kitchen down the hall to the library.

  Within a few moments he returned with two bottles of their dwindling stock of a
lcoholic beverages. He set them on the table and took out four glasses from the cupboard.

  “What would you like, Sophia?” He asked.

  “Hmmm. Wine, I guess.” She went back to working on the stew.

  “And you, Nicole?” He asked as he filled two glasses with Port.

  “What is that? Scotch? I’ll take a little Scotch.” Nicole washed her hands in the sink and watched with satisfaction as the water ran out through the pipes with no problems issuing from under the sink into the floor.

  Mark poured a bit of Scotch into two of the glasses and then brought each of them their respective drinks. He went back to the table and picked up the remaining two glasses and turned to face them.

  “’ere’s t’ ’ealthy poipes!” He smiled and held up both glasses. “May we olways ’ave them.”

  Nicole and Sophia frowned in unison as he drank down the port and then the Scotch.

  Chapter Sixteen of Sixteen

  And there was seen in his temple the ark of his testament

  Two weeks had passed and still Mark Andrew had not returned to join his Templar Brothers as they made their way across the desert toward the mountains of Horeb. The days were spent in dull drudgery and the nights were long, cold and empty. Even the strange creatures of Hubur no longer followed them. They made camp at the foot of Mount Sinai.

  According to Mark’s prediction they had only one week left before the terror would come from the sky. There were many preparations to make before the Ark could be taken up the mountain. The forces were laid out strategically in order to protect their flanks while the inner circle of Knights, apprentices and other key individuals began to make the necessary arrangements for the greatest adventure or misadventure in the history of the Order.

  Lucio had very little to do. His part in the grand scheme of things was minimal. He didn’t even have his full Templar uniform with him. Spending most of his time with his only remaining family, Konrad von Hetz and Apolonio, he moped about the camps during the daylight hours, and then rode out to check on his great beast at night. The creature was awesome and yet it obeyed his every command. Inanna was still with them as well and she watched him with great interest whenever he ventured out alone.

  The dragon knew who this lone figure was, and she also knew that Adar took a special interest in him and so, she watched over him… and his ghastly beast. Inanna did not approve of the gryphon. To her, it was an abomination, not quite a dragon, nor yet a lion or any other acceptable creature. She had voiced her displeasure to Luke Matthew and suggested they send it away as soon as possible.

  Luke Matthew secretly attributed her concerns to jealousy, and had broached the subject with Lucio, telling him that there seemed to be some controversy between their two guardians. Lucio had paid a visit to Inanna, praising her superiority, her voice and her overwhelming intelligence. This overt flattery of which the Italian was quite adept had appeased the dragon, but she still kept a wary eye on the gryphon, snoozing with one eye open. They were lying on opposite banks of yet another dry wash in the open desert while the armies of the men they escorted, camped a few thousand meters to the southwest at the foot of one of the regions small, rugged mountains.

  Lucio was sitting on his favorite flat boulder, drinking wine from a goatskin and watching the lightning flashes erupting from the top of Mt. Sinai when Simon suddenly sat down beside him.

  “Ho, Brother!” Simon greeted him in the outdated fashion of the Temple. “Would you care to confess?”

  “Confess?” Lucio frowned at him. “Do I look sin-ridden?”

  “No. I was just making conversation.” Simon laughed. “I haven’t been around to see you lately. I hear that you spend too much time alone.”

  “And you make it sound like we are safe at home in a nice little villa on the Appian Way. I am a miserable man, Brother.” Lucio returned his gaze to the top of the mountain.

  “And what is the direct cause of this misery?” Simon prodded him.

  “I want to go home. I’d like to spend the last of my days here on earth with my wife. Is that too much to ask?” Lucio said without looking at him.

  “Is that all that is bothering you? We would all like to go home, Brother.” Simon told him, but he did not really seem interested in the subject he had chosen. The Healer’s eyes strayed to the sight of the green, yellow and gold streaks of light illuminating the undersides of the billowing clouds at the summit of the mountain. Something in his tone snapped Lucio to attention and the Italian looked at the shorter, blonde man. Simon’s face was streaked with dust and grime. The tan bush jacket he wore was torn and ripped in several places and completely covered with dirt, soot and other assorted stains. His expression matched the jacket: ragged and worn.

  “You did not come here to take my confession, Simon.” Lucio said softly and Simon turned his large eyes on him.

  “And you are right. I didn’t even know you were here. I was simply looking for solitude, and I don’t think it is solitude that I crave. I miss my wife just as you do. I miss St. Patrick’s and Lothian. I have no home and yet I want to go home.”

  “Aha!” Lucio perked up. “Many times I have told myself this very same thing, Simon. Once I thought of home as Naples, Napoli and even dared to call myself Lucius di Napoli.” The Italian raised one hand and looked about as if addressing a large, adoring crowd. “I then became Lucius Apolonius.” He repeated the gesture and stood to take a demure bow for his imaginary fans. He slumped back onto the rock and smiled ruefully. “A man could live with only one name in the beginning, but the nobility had many names and many titles and so I took a second name. I became Lucio Apolonio when the Latin became obsolete. Eventually I needed a third name and I became Lucio Apolonio Dambretti, Chevalier de l’Aigle d’Or, Knight of the Golden Eagle, poor Knight of Solomon’s Temple, a simple warrior monk, soldier of Christ, defender of the faithful, protector of Pilgrims, children, women and other helpless creatures. I took the name Dambretti from a can of extra virgin olive oil in a bombed-out kitchen in Germany during the First World War. Later on, I learned that Napoli was not even my home. Then I became Lucius di Venetia to some when times were more innocent, and we were still simply men and the elves respected us, you and I.

  “I was arrogant, a fool. All the time I fought against those who loved me, who cared for me through thick and thin, life and death, war and peace. A few years ago I made a remarkable discovery and everything that I had ever questioned was suddenly and profoundly answered. I learned the truth and I made peace with my worst enemy, myself. Since then, Simon, I have been incredibly happy, almost insanely happy. Every day was a new day, a new life and every blade of grass, every drop of water, every breath of air was special to me. I understood everything. Nothing troubled my mind.

  “I had Catharine at my side, my devoted wife whom I love with all my heart and I had my son and my grandson near at hand. Only Galen’s absence caused me to worry from time to time, but even then I knew that he was where he wanted to be, and he could come home any time he chose. That was my life up until I flew away to Egypt a few weeks ago. I had a flock, a following, men who respected me and wanted to listen to me. Think of it, Simon. Did you ever in your life think to see me as a teacher of men? Even Brother Barry was shocked when I asked him for a position at the new Academy.

  “Now everything is turned up-side-down and though I still know that I can never truly be separated from Catharine, even by death, I am miserable. I thought that misery would never find me again after my descent into the Halls of Amenti. I was wrong. I miss St. Patrick’s, Lothian and Naples and yet none of them are my home. I feel that we may never leave this desert in this life time. We may never see Lothian again.”

  “That is very similar to what I feel.” Simon agreed. “So you descended into the Halls of Amenti? I would like to hear about it, if you don’t mind.”

  “Oh, well, then… hmmm.” Lucio frowned. “I will try to find the words to describe it.”

  “I’m sure you can manage.” S
imon smiled and returned his attention to the ominous, thundering clouds. Lucio had pretty much summed up his own feelings. A slightly different set of circumstances, but the same end result. A feeling of desolation and dissolution pervaded the entire company camped at the foot of the ‘Holy Mountain of God’. Simon’s main concern was which god this mountain belonged to. If they were wrong, if the teachings they had propounded and taught for years were in error, they might be in even greater trouble than they imagined. Simon recognized the fear that gnawed at his stomach day and night as what many priests had faced at some point in their lives, the moment of doubt. Only time would tell if they were right to do what they were planning to do.

  If anyone would have told him a year earlier that they would be about to ascend the summit of Mount Sinai, open the Ark of the Covenant and toss it into the depths of Jethro’s furnace, he would have laughed or perhaps fainted, but never would he have believed it. Destroy the most holy relic ever created on the face of the earth? Impossible! And yet, here they were about to attempt just that. There was no doubt in his mind that this was the Mt. Sinai where Moses had witnessed the flaming bush that did not burn and heard the voice of God from the midst of the flames.

  This was the Biblical home of Jethro, the high Priest. Simon narrowed his eyes as Dambretti continued in his soothing Italian-tainted French, explaining and describing his descent into the Halls of Amenti.

  Jethro, the Midianite. The High Priest of the Midianites, also known as Reuel, also known as Raguel. Raguel. One of the seven archangels in some estimations. Raguel! One of Uriel’s brothers! Lucifer’s brother! Moses’ wife had been the daughter of Raguel, a Nephalim. Moses had been married to a Nephalim! Moses had been Mark Andrew’s nephew-in-law.

  Simon began subconsciously quoting lines he had learned in his study of angels from the Book of I Enoch. Enoch, the youngest son of Cain. Cain, the son of Lucifer and Eve! Raguel had transported Enoch to Heaven while still in the flesh. Cain’s Uncle Raguel. The implications were mind boggling.