HIEROGLYPHS: THE CELESTIAL CONSPIRACIES.
Copyright © 2019 by Talhí Briones. All rights reserved.
First published online, 2020
Translation: Talhí Briones
Proofreading: M.A. Hinkle
Cover image: Talhí Briones
Special thanks to: Lydia Berry, Meghan Bohn, Nikki Friedman, and Kiva Villegas. Also, Alain, thanks for being there.
For the Original French Version
Hiéroglyphes, les Conspirations Célestes
Copyrights © 2017 by Les Éditions Québec-Amérique, Montréal, Canada
First Printing, 2018
Project director and edition: Myriam Caron Belzile
ISBN 978-2-7644-3562-5
This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
talhibriones.com
To my mamita,
Who has never, ever, ever, ever,
ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever,
ever, stopped believing in me.
A Celestial cannot kill a human.
A Celestial cannot save a human’s life.
Prologue
The Angel in Chains
An intruder ran up the stairs that led to the door to Paradise, looking around nervously at the surrounding blue skies. His dark clothing, jackal head, and Egyptian jewelry set him apart from the pale souls that were climbing alongside him.
He reached the top, a floating circular platform where many columns supported a crystal dome. In the middle of the white marble flooring, there was an arch with closed double doors.
They opened at the approach of the first souls. A light, softer than the summer sun, came from the other side. The jackal-headed man stopped in his tracks. For a moment, he could smell the sea breeze and the scent of a garden, he could hear laughter and music, could feel a beloved hand on his cheek. His eyes filled with tears.
The souls walked through the arch one by one, disappearing into the light. The jackal stepped forward without even noticing it.
“Halt!” snapped a voice, hoarse with disuse.
The doors closed. The light disappeared, and the jackal snapped out of his trance.
An angel was stomping towards him. He was wearing the armor of warrior angels, armed with silver sword and shield, a helmet covering his face. His wings, large and powerful, shone brightly.
The jackal stepped back several feet, and then he noticed the chains. Made of a pale metal, they were shackled to the angel’s ankles, wrists, and even wings, tying him to the surrounding columns.
“Who are you, and what are you doing here?” demanded the angel.
The jackal felt empty air under his feet and stopped at the top of the stairs, hands held in peace.
“May Ra’s heat be merciful to you! I am Anubis, from the Netcheroo clan of Egypt. I’m only looking for a way to speak to--”
“Your presence is not welcome here, Netcheroo!”
“Listen, angel, I don’t want to approach your door, so you can lower that sword. I just want--”
“Leave this place immediately!”
Anubis grew impatient.
“You know, the Demons got a guardian to protect Hell’s door. A huge three-headed mastiff. They chained him, like you. Are you the angel’s guard dog? Do I have to tame you with raw meat?”
“What are you doing with those souls? The Hebrews don’t belong to your clan, they belong to us!”
“Calm your feathers. I was merely following them. I had to find a way to-- never mind, this is all above your grade. I need to speak to your masters.”
“What do you want with them?”
“You’re only a guard!” snapped Anubis. “It’s not your place to pick what they should and shouldn’t hear!”
The angel lifted his sword. Anubis showed his fangs.
“I don’t want to be here either,” he growled. “But what I have to say is greater than the disgust I have for your clan. Call. Your. Masters.”
The angel made another step forward. He was a full head taller than Anubis.
“I’m not a dog,” he snapped. “I don’t have masters.”
“I could care less if you’re a dog or a chicken, you useless feather ball. I don’t know how to find your clan’s nest. You’re the only one who, evidently, can’t fly away.”
The angel placed the tip of his sword on Anubis’s chest and forced him to climb down a step.
“Leave, or I’ll throw you overboard.”
“I swear on the lives of your humans. I swear on the blood that will be spilled if our clans declare an open war. I swear on the hundreds of souls that you’ll see walk through these doors every day if I don’t get to share what I know.”
The angel hesitated and lowered his weapon.
“The Archangel Michael sometimes passes by. I’ll request an audience for you.”
“When?”
“I don’t know the schedule of the Chief of all angelic Armies!”
Anubis grinded his teeth. The angel’s eyes were visible through a small opening in the helmet. They were blue, and angry.
“Your name,” said the jackal.
“What?”
“To make a pact. I need a name.”
“I…”
The angel hesitated for a long moment.
“I think that… my name is… Uriel.”
Anubis chose to ignore that awkwardness and extended a hand.
“Good. Uriel, guardian of the door, here is the pact I offer you. I will come back with every sunrise until I get an audience. Once your part of the deal is over, I will never climb these stairs again and, for my entire existence, will never tell anyone where to find them.”
Uriel looked at him, full of mistrust, but ended up shaking his hand.
“Perfect,” said the jackal. “Let’s hope this ordeal can be resolved quickly, I have no intention to endure an angel’s presence longer than I absolutely have to.”
He climbed down the stairs with a dismissive gesture over his shoulder.
The night came, followed by the morning. Once more, Anubis appeared with the souls of the dead.
“So?”
“Michael didn’t come by.”
“But it’s important! You don’t have to wait specifically for him, you can just tell another angel to relay the message!”
“No one comes here. There is only Michael and the souls.”
Anubis frowned. He glanced at the chains.
“Well. I can wait another day.”
He left, exasperated.
He came back the following day, the day after that, and then the day after that. A year went by like this, with the sun rising over the jackal’s dark silhouette.
“Good morning, my dear Uriel!” he grinned, that morning. “I do appreciate your punctuality for our daily meetings!”
Uriel glared at him through the visor of his helmet.
“Anubis,” he greeted. “The Archangel Michael--”
“Didn’t come by? What a surprise. Anyway, come sit on the stairs and let me tell you the last rumor from Olympus. You’re going to laugh. Apparently, their king found himself a new mistress, and this time, to hide her from his wife, changed the poor girl into a white heifer--”
“Stop barking for a single moment and let me finish!” snapped Uriel. “I wanted to tell you that--”
A blinding ray of light pierced the clouds. Uriel bowed down. Anubis squinted, barely able to see the shape of wings and the glint of metal armor.
“The Archangel Council accepts to hear you, Anubis of the Netcheroo clan. I am Michael, chief of the angelic Armies.”
“I give you my r
espects, Michael,” Anubis said hesitantly. “I came to warn you that my people were made aware of your plans. They know you intend to take the Hebrews out of Egypt. They also know you plan on using a human Prophet to make it happen.”
Michael did not move or make a sound, but Anubis could feel a deep anger coming from him. The jackal overcame his fear and kept going.
“A human oracle, a man who could see the future in his dreams, was announcing the coming of a Prophet for the Hebrew people… My clan captured him and tortured him to the point of insanity. We now know that the Prophet will be male, the son of a Hebrew father, and will be born in Egypt’s capital during the fiftieth return of the red star. My clan is very… reluctant, let’s say, at the idea of letting your humans go. They want to get rid of the Prophet before he can be of any use to you.”
“Celestials cannot kill a human. Or do Netcheroos consider themselves above the law?”
“My clan obeys the law,” said Anubis through his teeth, “but Demons don’t. My clan hired a son of Lucifer--”
“Do not mention that name here!” roared Michael.
Anubis took a moment to gather his bearings. He was shaking.
“I won’t do it again. What about Behemoth? Am I allowed to say Behemoth?”
Michael stayed silent, so he kept going.
“The demon Behemoth is working for my people in exchange for protection. He’s going to Egypt and plans on eliminating an entire generation of Hebrew children to get rid of a single one.”
“We shall send our armies to retrieve him.”
“He’s hiding from the King of Hell. Do you really think you’ll be able to find him? He’s going to be incarnated as a human and get lost in the masses. You know nothing of Egypt or her people. Do you even know where to start?”
“Where would you start, Netcheroo?”
Anubis was left speechless for a moment.
“The palace,” he finally said. “Only the king could order such a massive and precise massacre. Behemoth would need him on his side.”
“You speak wisely,” said Michael. “You gave us precious information. What do you demand in exchange?”
“Your silence. I don’t want my clan to be made aware of my actions.”
“What made you betray your people, Anubis the Netcheroo?”
“...They betrayed me in a worse way.”
“I shall keep your secret. Leave this place and do not come back.”
Anubis glanced at Uriel. The angel was still staring down.
“I accept,” said the jackal, slowly.
He turned around and climbed down the stairs for the last time. After he disappeared through a cloud, Michael left without a word.
Next to the door to Paradise, the chained angel found himself alone, once more.
These are the names of the sons of Israel who went to Egypt with Jacob, each with his family: Reuben, Simeon, Levi and Judah; Issachar, Zebulun and Benjamin; Dan and Naphtali; Gad and Asher. The descendants of Jacob numbered seventy in all; Joseph was already in Egypt.
Now Joseph and all his brothers and all that generation died, but the Israelites were exceedingly fruitful; they multiplied greatly, increased in numbers and became so numerous that the land was filled with them.
Then a new king, to whom Joseph meant nothing, came to power in Egypt. “Look,” he said to his people, “the Israelites have become far too numerous for us. Come, we must deal shrewdly with them or they will become even more numerous and, if war breaks out, will join our enemies, fight against us and leave the country.”
So they put slave masters over them to oppress them with forced labor, and they built Pithom and Rameses as store cities for Pharaoh. But the more they were oppressed, the more they multiplied and spread; so the Egyptians came to dread the Israelites and worked them ruthlessly.
They made their lives bitter with harsh labor in brick and mortar and with all kinds of work in the fields; in all their harsh labor the Egyptians worked them ruthlessly.
Exodus 1: 1-14
Chapter 1
The Pharaoh's Imminent Death
The sun’s heat crushed the Egyptian empire under its merciless hand. A dry wind coming from the desert blew sand and dirt over the capital. The city hugged both sides of the river, a maze of intricate streets and houses grown with neither planning nor order.
In the center of all that chaos shone the white enclosed walls of the royal palace.
A rumor ran through its corridors, faster than any sandstorm. Everyone, from the highest nobleman to the lowest servant, from soldiers to scribes, all seemed to forget social etiquette to share the news. They whispered that the king was in agony.
“The Pharaoh hasn’t left his quarters in days,” they said.
“He demanded to see his heirs.”
“This sickness is pretty sudden. Our king is still young.”
“Do you think…” They exchanged evocative glances.
The Pharaoh’s quarters were an oasis of silence in the middle of all the gossip. The parlour was full of muttering noblemen and members of the royal council.
The bedroom doors finally opened, and Prince Sethy stepped out. His expression was somber. To the people in the room, he looked more like his father than ever, with his straight posture, strong features, and closed expression. The illusion was almost perfect with the ceremonial clothes, official jewelry, and princely crown.
“Any news, your highness?” asked a member of the council with a respectful bow.
The prince ignored him and turned to a corner, where a woman was sitting. She had long, black hair and a delicate dress, and her face was perfectly made up. In her arms slept a baby.
“You are wearing the king’s ring,” she said in a neutral voice. “I see Father made his choice.”
“He made it a long time ago,” corrected the prince, “and everyone here knows it. Your son remains second in line to the throne.”
“I am satisfied,” she said. “May the members of the council erase those worried frowns. I have no intention of stealing the crown from my brother. Egypt will remain stable, as long as he proves himself worthy.”
After that declaration, she disappeared into the king’s bedroom with her son.
She left an awkward silence behind her. Prince Sethy chased everyone out with an impatient gesture. After the last of them was gone and the door closed, he allowed himself a sigh. He stepped onto the balcony, where he found a young blonde man, dressed in finery, his skin too pale for Egypt.
“We just avoided a civil war,” said the man with a grimace.
“Damon, swear that you will never try to overthrow me,” said the prince, resting his weight on the stone railing.
“Don’t worry. I’m only fifth in line for the throne. Soromeh comes before me. While we’re talking about her, did you ask the king…?”
“I tried to, but Father made it part of his will. You’ll have to marry Soromeh before she turns fifteen.”
“By the Gods... There’s no hope left. We can’t oppose a king’s will!”
“Damon, listen,” sighed the prince, “you know it’s for the best. I don’t understand why you persist in—”
“You know exactly why I persist, Sethy,” snapped Damon. “I kept hoping you’d manage to convince your father, but I see it was for naught.”
“Stop listening to your heart and listen to your brain instead. And lower your voice, if you don’t want Kamilah to learn all of your secrets,” said the prince, gesturing with his head towards the king’s bedroom.
“Let’s leave, then,” said Damon, pulling him out of the royal chambers. “She’s been looking for a reason to get rid of me, and I refuse to hand it to her.”
The Celestial Conspiracies Page 1