Thoth, the Atlantean

by Brendan Carroll

  “Here, Grandfather. What about Michey?” he asked in confusion. “I have to make it up to her. I insulted her cooking… again and then she wanted to buy a new appliance.”

  “What was the problem this time?” Lucio was on the floor looking under the bed for his boots. He found his sword and two empty wine bottles. “Oh, there they are!” He snatched the boots from his apprentice.

  “She wants a new refrigerator. A silver one!” Apolonio scratched his head. “It had nothing to do with the argument.”

  “So, buy her one.” Lucio pulled out his sword and frowned at it. He didn’t remember putting it there. “You have money.”

  “We already have a yellow one.” Apolonio shrugged his shoulders and rubbed his eyes.

  “Oh. Why does she want two refrigerators?” Lucio asked absently.

  “She says she needs more space.”

  “More space? Two refrigerators would fill up the kitchen, Santa Lucia!” Lucio headed for the bathroom. “For what?”

  “She says the yellow one is uncomfortable.”

  Apolonio followed him into the bathroom and Lucio shoved him back out and closed the door in his face.

  Apolonio stumbled backwards and rubbed his eyes again. He was not quite awake yet. The bathroom door opened again and Lucio stuck his head out.

  “Did you say ‘she says the yellow one is uncomfortable'?” he asked.

  “Yes. She has been sleeping in it. She wants to go to Switzerland! Skiing and she wants to understand cold weather,” Apolonio explained as if it were commonplace. “Do not worry, Master. She wears the proper clothing and leaves the door ajar.”

  “Santa Maria, Lucia and all the Saints in Heaven and Hell!” Lucio slammed the door again.

  Apolonio stood frowning at the door, listening to his grandfather use unfamiliar Italian and what he believed to be Latin, wondering if he should be answering him or not.

  ((((((((((((()))))))))))))

  “Are you quite sure of this?” Jozsef Daniel held up the small glass tube of dark red blood in his golden hand and looked closely at the contents. “Why are you bringing it to me?” he asked, turned around and sat down on the stone battlement of the old fortress overlooking the deep blue sea.

  “You are the Great Lord of the Beyond, my Master!” General Schweikert bowed low to the enigmatic creature in front of him.

  It had taken the General almost three months to find him again. He was tired of hiding out in the Punjab, waiting to be destroyed. It was becoming quite evident to the Lord of Scorpions that his comrade and protector, al Hafiz al Sajek was still cowering in fear and had no intention of doing anything to stop the inevitable destruction that was bound to come their way if they sat back and did nothing. Al Sajek spent hours upon hours on the roof of his palace, searching the ethereal planes… for what? Schweikert had no idea. If he did not make a move to save himself, certainly al Sajek would do nothing for him. If the Lord of the Sixth Gate was not on his roof, he was down in the courtyard with his daughter. The situation had become untenable. The great Lord of the Sixth Gate was losing his grip and had already lost all his power as far as Abaddon was concerned. He had decided to take his fate into his own hands and throw in with this unknown power from beyond the Abyss… if he would have him… before it was too late.

  “Your Master?” Jozsef laughed aloud and shook the small tube. It was completely full of the deep crimson fluid. “What happened to Namru? Is he still hiding in the jungle? Afraid of his own shadow now?”

  “Yes, Master.” Abaddon nodded. He really did not like doing this. He did owe a great deal to his former companion, lord and master. “I have come to offer my services to you. I, unlike Lord Namru, know when I am defeated. Defeated and destroyed are two very different concepts. I do not wish to experience the latter. I can see that you are… or will be the eventual victor when push comes to shove.”

  “And when do you expect this push to come to shove, Abaddon?” Jozsef handed the tube back to him.

  “Sooner or later. It makes very little difference to me. I live to serve,” Schweikert told him pointblank. “I do not have personal ambitions. I merely wish to survive.”

  “Why?” Jozsef smiled wickedly at him and the General shuddered inwardly. “If you have no ambitions, why bother?”

  Abaddon had no answer for this question. He had never given it a thought. Long ago, he had hoped to enjoy something… somewhere. There had always been some purpose, some goal, but now everything had changed. The confusion was evident on his face.

  Jozsef stood up. He turned about and waved his golden hand out toward the brilliant blue sea. White puffs of clouds were drifting across the horizon and hundreds of colorful sailboats were scudding over the waves.

  “Look at it, Abaddon!” he said and drew a deep breath. “See what the world has become. And these eyes, which are so similar to the color of the ocean have shown me the light. I would add to its beauty by taking away the scourge upon its face. The presence of men stinks in my nose. They do not know what they have here. Look at them. They take and take from the land and the sea and the sky and they give back nothing.”

  “You sound like an environmentalist, my Lord.” Abaddon was astounded by his new Master’s words.

  Jozsef laughed again. “I believe you are right. But the world has become this and I have become this.” He looked down at himself and caught a handful of his own silky hair. “What this place needs is a ruler. A true ruler. An absolute ruler. There is too much coming and going. Too much confusion and too many petty rulers. Too many people! And each one thinking that he is the center of the Universe. I like this form, Abaddon. I enjoy it!”

  “I am surprised,” Abaddon said quietly. Again, he had never considered taking on the form of a man permanently. The one called Schweikert had given him an immediate access to this world and he had been obsessed with one passion and that passion had been revenge. Abaddon could understand revenge… it just didn’t seem to be much of a raison d’etre, a reason to exist, which brought him back to Jozsef’s disturbing question.

  “You must have a purpose, Abaddon.” Jozsef turned back to him again. “Tell me… what do you know of these Templars? Why is it that Adar has attached himself so inextricably to them? What is it that propels him?”

  “He is waiting for the return of the Promised One.” Abaddon shrugged. “The Creator. They are all waiting for the return of the Messiah.”

  “The Messiah. The One who would come and make this all right for them?” Jozsef nodded slowly. “I know of this concept. It was here when I took this form.” He tapped his head.

  “May I ask a question, Your Eminence?” The Scorpion Lord cringed. He felt that he might be destroyed at any minute. He did not feel that this one had accepted him or his offer of service.

  “This form you took… Adar’s grandson. You realize that Adar will never give up until he either destroys you or takes his grandson back. Tell me… is he… still here? I mean is the grandson of Adar, the one called Jozsef Daniel… recoverable?”

  “Why do you ask?” Jozsef turned on him.

  “I beg your forgiveness, Your Grace.” Abaddon lowered his head. “As I said I came to offer my services. I did not know if you knew what it might mean... Not that I would question your knowledge! This is a very complex and complicated world. Adar has many branches in his family tree and he is very possessive of them. I am ignorant of your greatness; I only wish to serve, to share my feeble knowledge, such as it is with you so that you might spare me. I offer my life and all that I am to you.”

  “And what are you?” Jozsef headed back to the steep stairs leading down the inside of the wall.

  “I am… I was…” Abaddon frowned again as he followed quickly behind him. “I have a great a deal to offer, Your Grace.”

  “Such as?” Jozsef did not look back at him.

  “I know where Adar has been. He was easier to follow than you, Master. He has been very busy. His Grand Master, the one called d’Brouchart is looking for some
thing and I believe that Adar found it.”

  Jozsef stopped abruptly on the steps and turned back. Schweikert almost ran into him.

  “Found it? Found what?”

  “More of what is in this vial.” Abaddon held up the small glass tube containing some of the blood he had drained from Louis Champlain when he had held the Knight captive for a short time in Switzerland.

  “This so-called Holy Blood?” Jozsef narrowed his eyes. “I fail to see the relevance of it.”

  “But Adar did not tell his Master that he found it!” Abaddon's eyes lit up. “That should make it a bit more… intriguing?”

  ((((((((((((()))))))))))))

  “Brother!” Lucio shouted as he raced across the tiled portion of the courtyard in the Villa and ran down the covered walkway in front of the rooms occupied by the Knights of the Council.

  Mark Andrew had just entered the last door at the far end of the building. He had taken the old rooms of Louis Champlain, as far from the front of the complex and the comings and goings as possible. The Knight of Death stuck his head back out the open door as the Golden Eagle came skidding to a stop in front of him.

  “What is it?” Mark Andrew frowned at him. “Come and sit down before you fall down, man!”

  Lucio entered the outer room of the small suite and collapsed on the leather settee.

  “Santa Maria!” He looked about. “Do you have any water?”

  Mark Andrew retrieved a bottle of glacier water for the Italian and Lucio wiped the sweat from his brow.

  “It’s hot out there,” the Knight grumped. He had grown accustomed to the cooler climate of Scotland.

  Mark Andrew sat on the edge of the bare desk and crossed his arms over his chest while Lucio drank down the contents of the bottle. The sweat was too much. It was not that hot.

  “You have been drinking too much, Brother,” Mark Andrew said quietly.

  “Si`, of course.” Lucio waved one hand in aggravation. “What else is there to do?”

  “How are you feeling?”

  It was Dambretti’s turn to frown. Ever since they had returned from their botched mission to Romania, Mark Andrew had asked him the same question in the same quiet tone every time he saw him. The trip itself had been a nightmare and one he would rather forget, but this simple question always reminded him of what had happened there when Mark Andrew had caught him with Melodia. He had nearly beat him to death for that little indiscretion. And he’d never told him why! Ramsay would most likely have killed him if he had known everything that had occurred in her bedroom. Then he had abruptly aborted the mission and they had come home. Lucio did not understand it. They’d had the quarry in their grasp and Mark Andrew had allowed the man to completely disappear. And all because he had fallen into Melodia’s bed? It didn’t make sense. What difference did it make?

  “I’m fine!” Lucio rubbed his chin subconsciously. “But I didn’t come here to discuss my health. Your son called. He said…” The Italian glanced at the open door and then lowered his voice. “He said that my son… both of my sons… were in Scotland and he sounded desperate. He said that I had to go there… now!”

  “Your sons?” Mark pushed himself off the desk.

  “Yes. My sons. Galen is here. He’s still here, isn’t he?”

  Mark nodded. As far as Mark knew the boy was still at the Academy. He'd seen him near the pool only the day before.

  “He has to be talking about Il Dolce Mio and my son, Lucky. Giovanni. You know that Il Dolce Mio calls me his father Lucius. My sons. Si`?” Lucio jerked his head and made a face of apology.

  Another sore spot with Mark Andrew. Another strange attitude that he did not understand. Giovanni was not the first Halfling to be added to their family. Lucio had been sorely disappointed that the Grand Master had denied him permission to travel to Scotland in hopes of searching for his missing son. After all, the boy was not exactly missing. They knew where he was, but d’Brouchart had told them that absolutely no one was to go to the underworld without his permission and Mark Andrew had agreed that, if they were going to continue as an Order, they would have to begin acting like an Order and taking orders from the Grand Master again as they had in days gone by. They might not like the orders, but…

  “Why did he not call me?” Mark Andrew sounded angry now.

  “He said he didn’t want to call the Villa.” Again, Lucio did not know why and now it sounded lame.

  “Damn it!” Mark cursed and held out his hand. Lucio slapped his pocket. He'd left his cell phone in the car.

  Mark rolled his eyes and then rummaged through the trash can beside his desk for his own phone.

  Mark Andrew punched in the speed dial number to his home in Lothian. The automated voice on the cell phone aggravated him even more.

  “Call me!” he said shortly and handed the phone to the Italian. Lucio looked at it, frowned and laid it on the desk.

  Mark Andrew sat down on the edge of the desk again.

  Lucio stood up.

  “Where are you going?” Mark asked him.

  “I have to go and ask permission to go to Scotland. What do you think?” Lucio started for the door and Mark caught him quickly, spinning him about.

  “It could be a trap.”

  “What do you suggest?” Lucio blinked at him. “That we just sit here? Wait for them to obey your little command? ‘Call me?’ What is that? ‘Call me!’ Something is wrong there Brother and we are talking about my sons!”

  “And what about your son’s mother?” Mark Andrew was very close to his face now. “What about her? What if she is there? What will you do, Brother? We need more information.”

  Lucio frowned at him in confusion. Andrea! What if she was there as well and Luke Andrew wasn't telling the whole truth? What if she was waiting for him?! What if…?

  “Then use your magick, Brother!” he said urgently.

  “You know what we agreed about that. No magick! If we are to be poor Knights of Solomon’s Temple, then we have to stop this. Already, we have gone too far. It has to stop somewhere.”

  “Then you stop it,” Lucio sputtered in his face. “If it were your son! If it were…, but you don’t have a son, do you? Not a real one. Look at Luke Andrew. What is he now? Is he you? How did he become his own father?! And Nicole! Where is she? How could you have done that to me? Why did you send her to me? Are you like Lot, who would give his daughters up to rapists? Freaks! And a half elf creature who thinks he’s a King and… and… Lemarik! What is he? For that matter, where is he? Why has he not found Bari Caleb? Why has he not found Merry’s daughter? What has he been doing? He doesn't have a problem with using magick!”

  Mark Andrew stepped back and bit his bottom lip. Lucio expected to be struck, but Mark Andrew turned his back on him. The blood drained from the Italian’s face. He knew that the outburst had been simmering just under the surface ever since their fight in Romania.

  “Go on, then. Ask!” Mark Andrew told him quietly without turning around.

  His feelings were hurt. Lucio had never seen this before. He had made the Knight of Death angry to the point of murder, but he had never actually hurt his feelings. Not that he was aware of, at least.

  “Wait! Wait. Wait. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that. I need your help. I’m sorry.”

  “Your real son is here.” Mark Andrew still did not look back at him. “I would recommend that you attend to him and leave the rest of the freaks to me. I am used to dealing with freaks. I am, after all, the ultimate freak!”

  Lucio was astounded by this declaration. He had not heard such words of self-derision from the Scot in a long, long time.

  Mark turned back at the bedroom door to look at him.

  “De Lyons is gone,” he told him abruptly.

  “Gone?” Lucio had forgotten entirely about the Knight of the Sword’s collapse. He sagged against the door. “What do you mean ‘gone’?”

  “I mean that he is not there,” Mark Andrew told him. “His body lives. His mind is gone.”


  “How? Where? What happened? I don’t understand!”

  “I don’t either.”

  “What will you do?” Lucio came back to the love seat and sat down.

  “I don’t know that either. You will determine that, Brother. I thought that was why you were here. To have a look at him.”

  The phone on the desk chirped. They both grabbed for it.

  “Si`!” Lucio came up with it. “Si`!” He handed the phone to Mark.

  “Hello?”

  “Papa?” Luke’s voice.

  “Luke! What is going on there?”

  “Il Dolce Mio brought Dambretti’s son home. He says he cannot keep him anymore and I can understand why.”

  “Where is he now? Where is the King?” Mark turned his back on Lucio again.

  “The King went home and left him here. Uncle Luke has Giovanni… My God! He’s terrible!”

  “What’s wrong with him?” Mark tried to keep Lucio from hearing him by stepping into the bedroom and cupping the phone in his hand.

  “He’s insane! He wants to go home. He doesn’t want to be here. I can tell you that!” Luke’s voice rose in timbre.

  “What? What?” Lucio asked, trying to get around Mark, reaching for the phone.

  “Wait!” Mark turned around again.

  “Brother?” Luke Matthew’s voice materialized on the phone. “Air ye comin’ ’ome or nae! We canna do a thing with ’im. And bring th’ Golden Eagle with ye.”

  Lucio grabbed the phone.

  “Brother!” he shouted in the phone. “Where is he?”

  “Roight ’ere. I ’ave ’im by th’ nape o’ th’ neck.”

  “Put him on the phone, please!” Lucio said and turned his back to Mark.

  There were sounds of bumps and a few small yelps and then silence.

  “Yes?” A small voice, unsure… hesitant.

  “Giovanni?” Lucio’s face lit up and he waved his hand in front of Mark’s face.

  “No. Vanni. Not Joe. Just Vanni.”