The Jealous God

by Brendan Carroll

  At this, most of the apprentices smiled or laughed softly.

  “He was quite a prolific writer and waxed poetical on more than one occasion.” He raised both eyebrows as he glanced once again at Mark Ramsay.

  Again, there were several chuckles from the apprentice gallery and a shifting of feet.

  “Not only was he a poet and a teacher, he was quite the scientist for his day, as well as, an Adept at the art of Alchemy. He traveled extensively in the underworld, then known as the Halls of Amenti. With your indulgence, I will read just the introduction to you so that you may know of what I am speaking.”

  He picked up the papers in front of him and scowled at the words.

  “I, Thoth, the Atlantean, master of mysteries, keeper of records, mighty king, magician, living from generation to generation, being about to pass into the halls of Amenti, set down for the guidance of those that are to come after, these records of the mighty wisdom of Great Atlantis. In the great city of Keor on the island of Undal, in a time far past, I began this incarnation. Not as the little men of the present age did the mighty ones of Atlantis live and die, but rather from aeon to aeon did they renew their life in the Halls of Amenti where the river of life flows eternally onward. A hundred times ten have I descended the dark way that led into light, and as many times have I ascended from the darkness into the light my strength and power renewed."

  Again, he was met with a few laughs and some coughs of skepticism. Mark Andrew swiveled his head around and glared at Luke Andrew. Luke Andrew sat up straight in the chair and shrugged. He had not laughed or coughed. He had been much too busy pondering what he should do about the skull hidden in the column at the chapel. He hardly knew what they were talking about.

  The Grand Master shuffled the papers and pulled out another page. This time he used a sort of sing-song rhythm to show the poetic flow of the words.

  “He who would follow the pathway of wisdom, open must be to the flower of life,

  Extending his consciousness out of the darkness, flowing through time and space in the All.

  Deep in the silence, first ye must linger, until at last ye are free from desire,

  Free from the longing to speak in the silence. Conquer by silence, the bondage of words.

  Abstaining from eating until we have conquered desire for food that is bondage of soul.

  Then lie ye down in the darkness. Close ye your eyes from the rays of the Light.

  Center thy soul-force in the place of thine consciousness, shaking it free from the bonds of the night.

  Place in thy mind-place the image thou desireth. Picture the place thou desireth to see.

  Vibrate back and forth with thy power. Loosen the soul from out of its night.

  Fiercely must thou shake with all of thy power until at last thy soul shall be free."

  Edgard looked about the room at them, smiling and nodding his head. The apprentices continued to titter and giggle until he finally slammed one fist down on the table, causing them all to jump in their seats. His grandsons sat staring at him in wide-eyed fear and Simon dropped his head and closed his eyes. His cheeks were very red.

  “What the devil are you laughing at?” He glared at them and they shifted in their seats, swallowing hard. “Do you realize what this poem so elegantly written is trying to impart upon you? This is the foundation of the entire Tantric religion of the eastern countries. Have you never heard of transcendental meditation? What is it you do when you practice the art of silence in your chambers?! Have you learned nothing of what we have tried so hard to teach you? If you think this is a joke, then you have come here for naught and will leave with naught! Lay down now in the dust and become what you are destined to be… bones and rotted flesh… nothing more!”

  Some shook their heads first no and then yes and then no again.

  “Have you never heard of reincarnation?” he asked them another question and got the same response. “Can you sit here and laugh at the very foundation of this Order?”

  When he received no answer he focused on his grandson, Zeb.

  “Then why are you laughing? Why, Zebulon?” his voice was filled with indignation.

  “Ahhh.” Zebulon stood up and cleared his throat. “Well, Your Grace. Reincarnation and Transcendental Meditation were not taught at Sir Barry’s Academy and they are not found in the Holy Scriptures. I thought… we thought… we were… your pardon, Your Grace.” Zebulon sat down again. His cheeks were scarlet.

  “Are you all so young and so naïve as to think that everything must be included in the Holy Scriptures or else it is false? Are dinosaurs mentioned in Genesis? Did Noah take them onto the Ark with him? And who may I ask did Noah’s grandchildren marry? Each other? Who did Cain and Seth, the sons of Adam and Eve marry? Is Cain’s wife a figment of his imagination? From whose loins did she issue?”

  He received no answer for his questions.

  “So the object of this meeting is to let you all in on a little secret that the Church would not wish you to know,” he said slowly. “They would not want you to know that Thoth, the Atlantean, was indeed, a real person. That Jehovah and Allah and God, Almighty, Creator of the Universe are not one and the same entity. They would not want you to know that Jehovah and our Lord were two separate individuals and that they were brothers. That one of them was a very severe and vengeful God who was not exactly man’s best friend! That they strove mightily with one another over mankind. That they had sons of their own! That it was the line of Cain, not Seth that produced Jesus Christ. That Seth and Abel were Adam’s sons, but Cain was not! They would not want you to know that the ancient Israelites who followed Moses into the desert took their laws from the ancient Egyptians and had to be converted to the religion of the Hebrews already living in the Promised Land? They would not want you to know that Moses did not get the Law from the Hand of God written on stone tablets, but that he got them from Moses’ father-in-law, Jethro, who was called Lord of the Mountain. He worked great alchemical magick for the Pharaohs of Egypt, producing for them the White Powder, the White Elixir, the White Stone of the Philosophers? No!" he said solemnly. "They wouldn’t want you to know this because it would not fit their agenda. They would not want you to know that Mary Magdalene was Jesus’ wife and that she fled to France after the crucifixion and proselytized the sons of Atlantis who lived there as pagans. The very pagan descendents of the Tribes of Dan and Benjamin? The great lost Tribes of Israel!”

  The apprentices now sat stone-faced in shocked silence.

  “No, my children, they would not want you to know this. But I tell you now that most of you who sit in this room are the direct descendents of the line of the Merovingian Kings, the line of Jesus Christ, the line of the Holy Blood, the Holy Grail. That, my children, is why we are persecuted and hunted and live our lives in secret.” He paused again and allowed this to soak in a bit. Lavon de Bleu signaled Remy and he refilled the empty cups.

  “Now, I would like to continue my discussion of the Emerald Tablets. As I was saying, Hermes, thrice-born, the third incarnation of Thoth in human form, first translated these words in part and passed them along to those who would listen and understand. It is quite obvious that people in general did not understand. Even the name Hermes Trismegistus is a misnomer. Hermes was not the third incarnation of Thoth, but one of many! He was also called Uriel, Ninib, Adar, Myrddin and Merlin in earlier times and of late he was known as John Larmenius and as you might recognize today, Mark Andrew Ramsay.”

  The silence in the room grew profound and the swallowing of the wine could actually be heard as many present turned up their glasses for a much needed drink.

  “Why are you telling them this?” Lucio stood up and blurted the question. “Why are you trying to destroy their belief in the Church?”

  “Sit down, Golden Eagle.” D’Brouchart waved one hand. “The time for secrets is over. We must stand together in the face of our enemies and our enemies are no longer Infidels wielding swords and riding warhorses across the desert.
Our enemies are much more subtle and powerful now. They are not men at all, but powers from beyond understanding. From beyond time. I want them all to know what they are facing. I am not trying to destroy anything at all, but to strengthen our resolve and our position by knowledge. Knowledge is the key, Brother.”

  “But we are not all of this line.” Lucio objected. “Surely Vallen Martin and Christopher Stewart are not descended of the… of these…”

  “Ahh. But you are wrong, Lucio.” D’Brouchart smiled at him almost wickedly. “Sir Stewart once belonged to a subsidiary, so to speak, of the Order of the Teutonic Knights when he was a youth in America. And Vallen?”

  Vallen looked up and his dark eyes grew wide.

  “Your Grace?” he whispered the words.

  “Would you mind showing us your back please?” The Grand Master raised his chin slightly.

  Vallen stood slowly and his dark face turned even darker. He unbuttoned his shirt and turned about. There were numerous old scars on his back, crisscrossing one another. Another, murmur and shudder passed through the room as the apprentice pulled his shirt back in place and sat down quickly.

  “Where did you receive those marks, my son?” the Master asked him.

  “My father.”

  “Why?”

  “Because…” Vallen licked his lips and looked as if he would flee from the room.

  “Go on. Tell them. I assure you that it is no worse than what many in this room have done,” Edgard’s voice softened considerably.

  “Because when we lived in Rome, I ran away from home and joined a cult.”

  “A cult?” Lucio, again, was on his feet. “I fail to see why we should humiliate this child!”

  “Sit down, Dambretti!!” D’Brouchart slammed his fist on the table again.

  Lucio reluctantly obeyed the Master and propped his forehead on his hands.

  “But joining a cult is not so terribly bad, is it, my son?” D’Brouchart continued. “Surely, if you returned to the flock, such a beating was a bit… severe?”

  “Not really.” Vallen shook his head. “My father came after me and found me in the act of consummating a sinful ceremony.”

  “And what was that?” The Grand Master smiled at him.

  “It was a vampire cult, Your Grace. I was drinking blood! Human blood!” Vallen blurted angrily and the Council Room erupted in chaos. Vallen leaped to his feet and began to shout about having had his sins absolved by the Church.

  Omar stood up calmly and took the younger man by the shoulders and held him in a hug, speaking very rapidly in a low voice in his ear. The apprentice struggled slightly and then collapsed against him. Some of the Knights went into the gallery to break the arguing apprentices apart. The thing was mindless and useless… they were fighting among themselves for no apparent reason other than fear.

  “This meeting is adjourned. We will reconvene in two hours!” D’Brouchart stood up and then walked quickly from the room with Peter Rushkin and Barry of Sussex on his heels.

  Omar picked up the rather hefty Vallen Martin and carried him from the room over his shoulder.

  Luke Andrew had bounded over the conference table in a virtual fit of released nervous energy.

  “Father!” He grabbed Mark Andrew’s arms when he stood up. “Why did you not tell me this?!”

  “I didna think it was important.” Mark Andrew frowned at him. “Besoides, ye knew most of it oll ready! Ye nevar listened verra gud, did ye?”

  “But if you are… if Thoth is… was… Merlin was… You really are one of the angels, aren’t you?”

  “Thot’s a mattar o’ perspective.” Mark Andrew tried to shake him off as the chaotic crowd began to thin. “Roight now, I’m just a simple Scotsman with a grand headache in need of a gud shot o’ Scotch!”

  Simon caught up with them in the hall and pulled a pack of unfiltered cigarettes from his shirt pocket. He offered one to Mark and the Knight of Death gladly accepted it.

  Luke Matthew brushed his nephew aside in the hall and caught up with them, frowning at the sight of the cigarette in his brother’s lips.

  “Wot? D’ ye think I’ll develop cancer?” he asked in exasperation. “Whoy were ye late fur th’ meetin’? Is thot woife o’ yurs givin’ ye tribble again? Wot did she ’ave ye doin’ this toime. Washin’ ’er drawers?”

  “I think ye’ll develop something, brother,” Luke told him in a low voice full of anger. “As a mattar o’ fact, I was waylaid by one o’ yur former loves.”

  “Whattar ye sayin’?!” Mark stopped and the cigarette fell from his lips.

  “I’m sayin’…” Luke grabbed his arm and pulled him aside into Barry’s office and slammed the door in Luke Andrew’s face, leaving him in the hall with Simon and the others.

  “I’m sayin’ thot th’ gud Queen Semiramis is at me ’ouse ’avin’ tea with Merry and Sister Meredith at this verra fockin' moment! And she ’as requested an audience with the gud King Ramsay!”

  “Saints in heaven!” Mark Andrew stumbled back against the desk.

  “Ye’d best coll on someone nearer at ’and, Brother!” Luke frowned at him. “And farthermoore, ye’re great-grandsons air with ’er. Nicholas and Gregory! And a wooman with ’orns on ’er ’ead!!”

  “Diana!” Mark squeaked and pushed himself off the desk and started for the door in a panic, but Luke grabbed his arm and swung him around easily.

  “I ’ave just one question fur ye, brother!” Luke leaned toward him.

  “Aye? Wot’s thot?” Mark frowned.

  “Just ’ow many women d’ ye ’ave ’idin’ in th’ woodwark? Shud I be layin’ out a plate fur Inanna as well or will she be brrringin’ a sack lunch?”

  “Thot’s thrrree questions and I’ll be answerin’ none o’ them!” Mark held up four fingers unable to even count in his panic and jerked away from him and then smacked Luke Andrew in the ear soundly with the door on his way out.

  Chapter Three of Fifteen

  Be not hasty in thy spirit to be angry: for anger resteth in the bosom of fools

  Joel Isaac Grenoble sat at the very top of the old round tower on St. Patrick’s Island, gazing up at the cross in the bell tower of the rooftop chapel. He had not seen the woman who lived up there, but he could feel her presence even at this distance. She was one of them, but almost all of them had gone over to the estate in Scotland, leaving Reuben d’Ornan in charge of the island. The bodies of the three victims of the attack on the Villa lay in state in the great hall of the keep and the activities on the island had been subdued as the Brothers who wore the black robes went about their business in silence, tending the gardens, the grounds and the horses. The children of the Healer’s eldest son were at the school building, attending the classes taught by their adopted mother, Joey Spelle d’Ornan. Isaac, who had immediately taken up his old name upon returning to the ‘family’, had feigned a fever and had been excused from classes this morning. It had not taken him long to discover this place from which he had a view of the entire island while staying hidden from sight.

  This place was very old and he could also feel the presence of the long-dead residents who had become trapped in the spaces between what was and what had been. The spirits of Viking marauders, Celtic invaders, Anglo-Saxon crusaders, exiled and miserable waifs of uncertain origin, political prisoners, criminals and even a few monks wandered through the ethereal realms of the sparkling green island set in the sea. He had been contemplating how he might use them to his advantage when he had discovered that one of them was not a spirit at all, but very much alive and very powerful. He peeked over the crenellation into the yard below and watched two of the brothers bending over the beans and squash in the kitchen garden. At the moment, these two fairly ancient monks were the only living humans in sight.

  The stairs leading up the outside of the keep beckoned to him and taunted him to make the forbidden journey to the roof. He was not supposed to go anywhere on the island without Reuben's permission and, in fact, was already out of bound
s by being where he was. Reuben was in the main gatehouse with the Captain of the Guard and several of his men, discussing how they might repair a breach in the fortifications near the base of the western wall. A portion of the steep hillside had been washed away by a particularly rough storm three nights before. It seemed that part of an underground chamber or hollow in the bedrock had collapsed and weakened part of the postern gate’s wall. He had been instructed to stay within the confines of the postern gate until Reuben returned, but Reuben would most likely spend the entire day with the Captain, inspecting the outer defense perimeters for further damage. He had watched one of the guards leave the main gate to fetch two horses from the pasture. His foster father and the Captain were apparently planning to ride horses down to the narrow strip of beach.

  He climbed down off the tiled roof of the tower quickly and made his way around the south side of the keep out of sight of the two old monks. He used the stairs on the eastern side of the building to access the roof and soon found himself standing in front of the double doors of the imposing building sitting atop another imposing, and seemingly separate, building. Bari thought that one might be able to simply lift this structure from the roof and set it down somewhere else, so different was the construction, design and materials used to build the chapel from the rest of the keep. It reminded him of the witch’s house that had been set down in the middle of Emerald City in the Wizard of Oz. It looked like it didn’t belong here at all. Instead of just entering the church, he banged on the heavy door with his fist and heard the knocks echoing hollowly inside. He waited a few moments as his heart echoed with its own poundings and then knocked again.

  Presently, the handles on the doors moved and one of the doors was pulled inward. The woman looked out at him from a narrow crack with one blue eye.

  “What do you want?” she asked. “Who are you?”

  “I’m Isaac,” he said and put on his best smile. “I am a prisoner here just like you.”

  “I’m not a prisoner,” she objected and tried to close the door, but he put his boot in the crack, stopping her.