Realms of Fire

by Sharon K Gilbert

  At last, he spoke again, but his demeanor had altered. “Where am I?” Seth whispered, every muscle in his face tensing. His eyes cast about beneath the closed lids, as though following someone’s movements. “What place is this? Who are you?”

  “Seth, it’s Henry. You’re safe.”

  “Who the devil are you? What have you done with Pitt and Worthy?”

  “Seth, is there someone there with you?” asked Henry.

  “No! Stop! Get away from me! Stop!”

  “Seth, you’re safe. Nothing can harm you. This is only a shadow of what happened. A memory; that’s all. Have you moved to a new location?”

  He began to shiver, and the tailor drew a third quilt over the young man’s body, gently tucking it beneath his hands; careful not to disturb the clock.

  “Are you cold?” asked Martin.

  “It’s freezing here. But at the same time, it’s hellishly hot. Who are you? Is this Martin?”

  “Yes, it is. Are you alone?”

  “No, there’s a strange man talking to me. He wears a feathered cloak with a high collar. His attire is old, as if from another era. His eyes are amber yellow, and he’s asking me about you.”

  Every man tensed.

  “About me?” asked Henry.

  “No, I don’t think so. He wants to know who keeps talking to me. He says it’s rude to interrupt. He keeps calling me a stupid human.”

  Charles jumped to his feet and crossed to the bedside. “Seth, ask him to tell you the name of this place.”

  A slight pause, and then came the reply. “He calls it Sebet Babi.”

  Sinclair felt dizzy suddenly, and nearly fell against the bed.

  “Charles!” cried the earl as he rushed to assist his cousin. “Sit down. You’re overwrought!”

  Obeying, the duke returned to his former chair. “What else is this creature saying? Ask for his name.”

  Another slight pause. “He says his name isn’t for me to hear, and he asks about someone named Sinclair. He has a message for him.”

  “What is the message?” asked the duke, struggling against rising fear.

  Hello, boy. I’m watching.

  “He says your time has run out. The Dragon is already here.”

  “Dragon?” asked the tailor. “What dragon?”

  “He won’t explain. He says I’m too stupid to understand. Now, he’s forcing me to enter some sort of maze. I think I remember being here now, but I got out. At least, I think I got out. How did I do that? Good Lord, am I sill here?!”

  “Don’t go into the maze,” Charles warned the sleeper.

  Seth’s voice grew soft; barely audible. His lips moved, and his fingers tightened on the clock.

  “I think he’s praying,” whispered Kepelheim. “Perhaps, we should pray as well. It may only be a memory, but this event is all too real to Dr. Holloway; and perhaps, God can connect spatially disparate petitions. Come, gentlemen, join me.”

  The men began to pray silently, and Paul took his cousin’s hand, gripping it to impart strength. As they prayed, Henry noticed a peculiar light without an obvious source floating about the room. It shone brightest near the duke’s position, but the overall illumination moved as though searching.

  As the others prayed, the viscount kept his eyes on the light. Slowly, its form grew more distinct: an orb approximately three inches across. The phenomenon emitted multi-coloured lights, as though it contained a prism, and Henry thought he heard voices—speaking in an unknown language. The orb seemed most interested in Charles, for it returned to him again and again. Sinclair’s head remained bowed, but Henry noticed his shoulders moved as though the duke could feel the light’s presence. He made a mental note to speak with Charles about it later.

  Then Holloway spoke words that shocked them all.

  “She’s here. It’s an answer to prayer! She’s here! Christ has brought me Elizabeth!”

  Charles started to ask a question, but Henry quickly preempted it—not wishing for the duke to interrupt the dreamer with angry words.

  “You see the duchess?” the alienist asked.

  “Yes, but... She’s a girl! A child, I mean. It’s how she looked when we first met, many years ago.”

  “A child? Ask her name,” Charles told him, all anger vanished.

  A momentary pause was followed by six impossible words: “She says her name is Georgianna.”

  All four men stared at one another in shock.

  “Georgianna who?” urged the tailor, seeking clarification of the miracle. “Did she give a surname?”

  “Yes. It’s Sinclair. Elizabeth Georgianna Sinclair.”

  Chapter Fifty-Eight

  Anatole Romanov always found the Christmas season one of glorious beauty and harmony. Though not the actual date when Christ was born, the elohim enjoyed it as one of the very few times in the human realm, when Christ’s name was spoken by nearly everyone on earth in a variety of languages. A rare unity of mankind. Because he’d lived as a Russian for so many centuries, Romanov often attended Orthodox church services—sometimes Russian, other times Greek.

  He’d come to St. Sophia Cathedral, a relatively new Greek Orthodox church first opened in 1879, to meet with the Very Reverend Georgio Georgiadis Lambelet. The priest had just finished offering evening communion to seventy-four parishioners, and his aged eyes looked ready to close. An unhealthy sixty-two, Lambelet already looked to life in heaven, but chose to keep his feet on earth so long as Christ commanded it. He knew Romanov well, for the prince had contributed fifteen thousand pounds to the church during its construction phase. Lambelet smiled wearily when the prince entered the vestry.

  “Ah, Your Highness, it is a pleasure as always,” he greeted the royal visitor in stumbling Russian.

  “I speak English quite well, as do you, my friend. Sit and enjoy some tea with me, won’t you? You’ve been standing far too long, and I sense an oppressing weakness in your knees.”

  The priest had removed all his vestments, wearing simple shirt and trousers now, and he gladly obeyed. “I never know how you read minds, Highness, but I and my knees are grateful for the rest.” He poured tea into a pair of brightly painted cups. He handed a cup to the prince.

  “To what do I owe this visit?” he asked.

  Romanov’s dark hair swept along his broad shoulders like a sable collar, and his pale blue eyes sparked with life. The priest admired his friend’s stature, for Lambelet stood only five-foot-six. The prince sipped the tea before replying.

  “This is excellent. My compliments to your secretary. Mr. Andropolis certainly has a way with tea. Now, to your question. I come to celebrate Christ’s birth, of course, but also to enquire regarding a matter you and I discussed some years ago, after the stone was opened at the British Museum.”

  The priest’s face filled with concern, and he leaned across the marble-top table to whisper. “Do you mean the stone? From Mt. Hermon? Please, tell me your news is good. That this foul creature has been captured! I have prayed for it daily, pleading God’s mercies and protection over our city. Do you bring good news, Highness?”

  “I fear my not, Georgio. Raziel Grigor not only remains free, but he’s trying to fulfill the prophecy. Last month, he released Saraqael.”

  “No! But, how? You chained Saraqael yourself in 1860!”

  “True, but the One allowed the release. It does not mean we sit by and watch. As ever, we must use all our weapons, but trust in the One to make all things right.”

  “Yes, so you always say, but it means there are now two of these creatures walking the earth.”

  “Not two, Georgio. Three. That is why I’m here.”

  Lambelet’s wrinkled face lengthened in shock. “Three? Theé Mou!”

  “Agapitós mou fílos,” the prince said softly in Greek. “My dearest friend, I apologise for the evil tidings on this br
ight day. A ritual took place a few days ago in France; on the solstice. A long-buried, very powerful entity has been released.”

  Shock painted the priest’s face in ash. “Another! May the Lord God Almighty, our Heavenly Sustainer protect us! Another? How do you know?”

  “I keep watch on all the realms,” he said frankly. “It is my job.”

  The priest nodded, his eyes drifting down to the cup as though fearful to look upon his guest’s face. “Of course. You are one of them,” he whispered. “I have known it in my heart for many years, but never did it become fact until this moment.” He looked up, perceiving a richness to Romanov’s appearance that made the prince seem more real than anything else in the room; as though colour took on new dimensions. “If you are a messenger, then what is your mission? And why me?”

  The elohim reached for Lambelet’s hand, touching the loose skin and imparting a warm strength to his cold bones. “One day, this mortal flesh will take on immortality, my friend, and you will know, just as you are known. For now, the truth is veiled behind a glass, but then, you will see with new eyes—face to face with Christ.”

  The human began to weep, and he clutched at the angel’s hands. “Bless me and help my weakness! I have carried this knowledge since ’71, and it grows heavier with each passing day. Yet, now you tell me another evil creature walks our earth? I am but dust! An old man! How can I help?”

  “Your body is old, but your spirit is young, my friend. And your service is vital. My task is to spy upon the fallen realms; those whom I once called friends and brothers. That burden is grievously heavy, yet, my steps are made lighter by trusting in the One who created all things, the Great King who orders our steps. Will you help me to foil the enemy’s plan? Even a child can throw sand in the eyes of a monster. And an old man’s foot cause an ogre to trip.”

  The priest’s hands shook, but he nodded affirmation. “Yes. Yes! Though it may take my life, I will help! What would you have me do?”

  “In a few minutes, I will bring two women to your door, seeking shelter. Cassandra Calabrese and Lorena MacKey. Calabrese uses other names, also. Violet Stuart and Susanna Morgan. Both women have only recently received salvation through the blood, but they are infants in the faith and need a guiding hand. I have told them to wait in my coach until your bell sounds. When they hear it, they will knock on your door. Once I know they are safe, I must leave.”

  “Then, I must ring the bell!” exclaimed the old priest.

  “Not you, Georgio. Send Andropolos to do it. He is younger. Station yourself by the door to receive them. When the taller of the two will say her name is Violet, you’re to offer correction. Tell her this: ‘You are Cassandra Calabrese, but God has given you a new name. You are now Violet Rose Stuart, and your future is bright.’ And when the other whispers of her unworthiness, you’re to say this: ‘God has a plan for you, Lorena Melissa MacKey. The man you love will become a dear friend, and all the pain of your childhood will melt with the winter snows.’”

  “My memory is poor, Highness. What if I do not remember these words?”

  The prince touched his friend’s forehead. “You will remember all. These women are in great danger, Georgio. Not only from man, but from evil elohim.”

  The priest’s hands trembled as he clasped them together. “Redwing?” he whispered.

  “Redwing and another. Blackstone has come to England.”

  The priest crossed himself. “Blackstone! May God save us! Those demonic men are after these women?”

  “They are, but these children of Eve have much to do in this battle. I must leave England for a few days, and it’s possible that absence will be extended, for I go to fight against the new evil in France. If all goes well, then I shall call here again in three days.” Romanov passed an envelope to the priest. “This is to pay for food and anything else they might require. No one must speak with them. Teach them of Christ, my friend.”

  “I will,” promised Lambelet. “But what of you? Must you fight alone? May I pray with you, Highness?”

  Anatole smiled as he touched Lambelet’s face. “You are a true man of God. Pray for your fellow man and for these women. Pray for Charles Sinclair, who must face his greatest challenge tomorrow.”

  “The boy whom you rescued long ago?”

  “The same. The Dragon will sift him like sand, and I will do all I may to help. Shelumiel will assist here, but I must take the fight to France. And you, my humble friend; you must run your race until the very last breath. You were born for such a time as this. Happy Christmas, Georgio Georgiadis, most beloved of God. May His light shine upon you this day and always. And may His grace ease your pains and fill your hands with purpose. Peace be unto you this day.”

  Without another word, the enigmatic elohim vanished from sight. It took Lambelet a moment to recover from the astonishing visit, but then he hastily called to his assistant, ordering him to ring the bells at once. Lambelet then donned his cassock and stationed himself by the front doors, ready to receive his guests.

  Chapter Fifty-Nine

  The music room of Branham Hall

  Elizabeth’s small hands flew upon the keys as she commenced the third and final movement of Beethoven’s sonata. This section’s mood was radically different from the previous two: frantic, powerful, and dynamically challenging. When learning the piece as a girl, she’d struggled to perform it, for the presto agitato pace, coupled with page after page of sixteenth notes, demanded agility, speed, and concentration.

  As she played, the power of the music rose throughout the foyer and upper gallery, filtering into the strange session taking place in the east-wing suite.

  “Georgianna?” asked Henry, thoroughly perplexed. “Georgianna Sinclair? Is that the name this girl gave you?”

  “Yes,” the dreamer insisted. “She looks just like Elizabeth did as a girl of ten or so. She says she was told to rescue me. By her father.”

  Charles lost all ability to remain silent. “Ask if he is there.”

  “What?” enquired the sleeper, his facial muscles tightening.

  “Ask about her father,” repeated the duke. “Is he nearby?”

  There was a long pause, and then Holloway’s expression lifted as if amazed. “She says she is about to go find you. That her brother is there as well, and that he is helping their mother. She says her father told her many times that she’d need to rescue the man with red hair. I suppose that’s me, but none of it makes sense. She sees me crying and has taken my hand. She calls me ‘Uncle Seth’ and says she’s known me all her life. How like Beth she is! It breaks my heart!”

  Charles was weeping, remembering how courageous his daughter had been when she’d helped him during that dark experience. “Tell her she must be brave.”

  “Yes, I will.”

  Holloway grew silent, his eyes moving rapidly beneath the closed lids.

  “Seth?” asked Sinclair anxiously.

  “She says I’m to deliver three messages. One to her father, one to her mother, and one to Uncle Henry.”

  “Uncle Henry?” repeated Salperton, grinning. “How nice. What does she say? What’s the message?”

  He grew silent once more, his facial muscles tense. “Yes, I can do that.”

  “Do what?” asked Salperton.

  “She’s asked me to repeat the messages. She knows you’re listening.”

  This sent a chill of wonder through every man. Charles wiped his eyes, an idea forming. “Tell her that her father’s listening, too.”

  A moment’s pause. “Georgie says she knows that already. You’ve apparently shared this with her. She’s laughing now. She says she’s not to reveal secrets, but I should tell you she will meet you in June of next year.”

  Sinclair wept openly, thinking of his beautiful daughter and longing to hold her. “Yes, on the tenth.”

  “She says that’s right. Here are t
he messages. To her mother, I’m to say ‘Leave the doll alone. Destroy it.’”

  Paul moved close now, speaking. “Seth, this is Aubrey. Ask her if she knows me—if she knows my wife.”

  A slight delay, and then Holloway answered, “Yes, she knows you. She laughed when I asked and said ‘Of course, I know Uncle Paul! He’s married to Aunt Delia. She’s my good friend. We all pray for her.’”

  “Why do they pray?” the earl asked.

  Seth answered, “She says it’s because of the baby, but she’s not permitted to tell more than that. ‘Father’s rules’, she says. The other messages are these: To her father, ‘Tell him he’s the greatest man in all England, and that his decision is the right one. And don’t be afraid of the hedge maze. You won’t go in alone.’”

  Charles wanted to ask more, but the sleeper continued. “Finally, to Henry, she says ‘Run after Adele. Inside the copse is the answer to a riddle. Remember, God is in control.’”

  Henry ran his hand through his hair; a nervous habit when confounded. “Run after Adele? That makes no sense!”

  “We’re walking now,” Holloway continued. “She’s holding my hand, as though I’m the child; not she. The ravens and spiders are howling like demons, but they keep far away. These creatures seem to fear her, as though she has power over them.”

  Another long pause followed, and then Seth began to laugh. “Never have I known such a remarkable child. She’s arguing with a tree! We’re passing through a dense wood. All is darkness and gloom here, but ahead I can see a glimmer of light. We’ve stopped before a tall stone tower. It rises upwards into the mist.”

  “Do you see a moon?” asked the duke.

  “A somewhat sickly one, yes. Always, there’s the chatter of these awful birds and whispers of other creatures. I hear roaring and thunder now and then. She’s telling me to enter the tower.”

  “Do whatever she tells you,” Charles urged the sleeper.