Chapter Twenty of Twenty
For he shall not much remember the days of his life; because God answereth him in the joy of his heart
Jozsef Daniel sat upon the wide wall of his fortress over looking the silvery surface of the sea. He held the strange device in front of his eyes and squinted through the crystals at the horizon. The thing vaguely resembled a huge pair of spectacles and this shape is what had first prompted him to look through them in such a manner. The crystals themselves were of perfect clarity without the tiniest inclusion or bubble marring their interiors. They were oval, smoothly formed with no bevels or facets, flat on one side and convex on the other, giving the horizon a magnified appearance from one angle and making it recede when viewed from the opposite side. A silver frame held them in place, wrapping about first one and then the other in a seamless figure eight construction. Jozsef also recognized the shape as the symbol for Infinity, the endless cycle which, when viewed from a certain angle seemed to touch, but when examined more closely, did not touch. but continued on in an unbroken circle, twisted, but not joined. In the center where the frame seemed to overlap, was a long silver rod that had the appearance of a handle, making the tool resemble a pair of over-sized opera glasses with the handle in the middle rather than on one side. It almost looked like a toy for a child’s game, but the weight and value of the materials and the craftsmanship that had gone into making it promised much more than simple frivolous pleasure. The only problem was the dimensions of the thing made it a bit wide for his eyes and he had no idea which way to look through it as there were no markings whatsoever, either on the crystals or the frame, with the exception of the small hole through the end of the handle which was apparently used to attach it to a priest’s breastplate of soft white leather. He had touched the breastplate on which it lay and found it to be fine and soft, incredibly supple, in spite of its immeasurable age.
He had contemplated it with trepidation for quite some time before mustering the courage to even pick it up from its wrapper, preferring simply to meditate on its form as it lay exposed in front of him. But he felt nothing from it other than a vague impression it was of decidedly inhuman design and it gave off the same subtle vibrations, though in much less abundance, as those which emanated from the great Ark of the Covenant and the crystal skull. He had finally laid one hand, not the golden hand, upon it and waited to see what would transpire. Again, he had been relieved and somewhat surprised to suffer no immediate damage from the contact, but he still dared not touch it with the golden hand crafted by subtle magick. Such an act might contrast unfavorably with the magick invested within the artifact by the makers.
Now, he held it in front of his eyes and the silver light of the moon on the waves was magnified and transformed in a brilliant array of spectral light, wavering and undulating in time with the movements of the sea. The effect was most pleasing to the sight, but not necessarily awe-inspiring and definitely anti-climactic. That nothing dramatic followed, only added to his disappointment and frustration at not having found something a bit more useful for all the trouble he had gone to in following the Templars on their failed mission. Below him in the stronghold, he could hear the sounds of drums and the voices of his acolytes as they made their offerings and danced in frenzied oblivion with their petty gods, asking for good health, wealth and love and a thousand other mundane things that did not interest him in the least. But their presence assured him that no one would be able to approach his domain without his knowledge. At least, no ordinary man or beast would be able to approach him. He still had to concern himself with other powers that might be able to attack him by other, more subtle means.
He turned the object around and peered through it from the opposite side and everything moved away from him. He he saw the jungle growth below the castle as two separate orbs surrounded by conical tubes of green light. He wondered if this was meant to protect the priest from the power that lay in the Ark, or if it were meant to reveal them to the wearer. Perhaps both, perhaps neither. The breeze picked up a bit and brushed his hair back onto his shoulders. He had not cut it since acquiring this body, and it now reached the center of his back just above his waist. Long and silky and very pleasing to the touch. He liked to take off his shirt and feel it on his bare skin, but the sensation reminded him of something else that he could not quite put a name to.
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Anna leaned forward and put the glowing end of the stick into the powder in the brass brazier in front of her. The powder ignited immediately and burned with a brilliant blue flame with tiny white sparks rising in the wispy smoke. Her long hair was loose about her shoulders, dark and silky. She pulled a lacy shawl over her head and pulled the ends back, securing her hair under the cloth. She then sat straight up, pressing her palms together tightly and closing her large, dark eyes. The flame was intense; she could still see it through her eyelids as she began the ancient exorcism rite.
“Destructive storms and evil winds are they an evil blast, herald of the baneful storm. An evil blast, forerunner of the baneful storm. They are mighty children, Ancient Ones, Heralds of Pestilence! Throne bearers of Inninkigal. They are the flood which rusheth through the land!” She opened her eyes and picked up the small model of an elegant throne chair made of solid gold. She placed the throne in the fire and watched as the intense heat began to melt the intricately formed decorations.
“Seven gods of the broad Heavens,” she continued the chant after resuming the position. “Seven gods of the broad Earth, seven Ancient Ones are they. Seven gods of might, seven evil gods. Seven evil demons, seven demons of oppression. Seven in Heaven. Seven in Earth.”
The gentle breeze that had been caressing the tree tops and the palms surrounding her began to sway back and forth under the force of a more powerful wind. The hem of the shawl plucked up and drifted on either side of her face. The breeze grew in strength as she continued to pronounce the ancient words of power against the evil forces that she faced alone in this strange place. The wind also brought with it the distant sounds of drums and singing, but she ignored this as she concentrated her attention on the words.
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Jozsef frowned and stood up as the wind continued to increase in strength, whipping his hair about now, stinging his eyes and his skin as it snapped against him. He laid the relic back on the leather and rolled it up in the gold, white and purple cloth. An unexpected storm of considerable force was blowing in from the sea quite suddenly as was normal for the tropical location. Lightning flashed across the darkening expanse of the water as the moon was hidden by a bank of dark clouds. He scooped up the bundle and clutched it to his bare chest as the first drops of rain, blowing almost horizontally began to pelt him. He was amazed that he had not seen this coming. It would not do to allow the leather to be soaked. He had no idea what the effects of rain or electricity might be upon the materials of which it was constructed and he would take no chances with it. He turned and leaped lightly onto the inner walkway of the battlements and sprinted across the open ground as the lightning struck the earth in the forest below, sending up a deafening peal of thunder that echoed off the ancient stone walls with an almost physical force.
He had almost reached the door leading inside to the stairs when he slammed into an unseen wall that sent him sprawling on his back on the wet stone. The bundle flew from his grasp and landed a few feet away as the blowing rain and his own wet hair blinded him momentarily. Lightning struck the corner of the battlement, sending up a shower of red sparks and debris, shaking the foundations of the bastion and causing tremendous pain in his head. He clamped his hands over his ears and got to his feet unsteadily as he realized that this was not a natural storm. It was a perpetrated, deliberate aberration brought about by powerful magick. Much more powerful than anything that might be conjured by the little ones dancing below. A powerful fear gripped his heart and he knew someone had come for him.
He grabbed up the bundle and approached t
he door more cautiously, but again his way was impeded by an invisible barrier through which he could not penetrate. He turned around in panic, looking for another route for retreat. He would have to go down the exterior stairs and enter the bastion through the lower levels. He ran through the almost solid wall of rain and continuous strobe of lightning toward the wide steps leading down from his exposed position atop the walls. When he reached the top of the first landing, he was shocked to see a tall, slender figure slowly ascending the stairs toward him. A woman with a long, white cloth over head, her face obscured beneath the lace. Her hands pressed together in front of her face. The sound of her voice came to his ears intermittently between the rolling crash of the thunder.
“Who art thou, whose son? Who art thou, whose daughter?” He stared at her in open-mouthed wonder as her next words were lost to the storm. She climbed the steps very slowly. Her dark eyes sparkled in the light of the intermittent flashes and she seemed to be actually smiling at him. “May they bring to nought your vile sorceries! I chain you! I bind you!” He backed away up the stairs and then turned to run in the opposite direction, back toward the wall. “I deliver you to Girra!” Her words followed him, louder now. “Lord of the Flames! Who sears, burns, enchains.”
Jozsef climbed onto the wall and clutched the bundle of cloth, forgotten, to his chest. His alternatives were becoming rather bleak. She knew the ancient incantations to the Old Ones. She knew the words of power! He had been very foolish and very confident that none of them would dare come here to confront him. That none of them knew the secret words! That man had forgotten them, but this was not man, nor was this a simple woman. This was the daughter of Adar, the Mighty Hunter and Adalune, Son of the Moon. Furthermore, her grandmother was Oshun, one of the very goddesses, who danced even now in his stronghold. One great-grandmother was Queen Ereshkigal and the other Queen Semiramis. Certainly an impressive lineage and most powerful. Royal, supernatural blood flowed in her veins. He had underestimated her courage and determination. She possessed all the qualities of the gods and goddesses. A formidable foe, unafraid. He drew himself up and watched her head appear above the steps as she continued her ascent. The exorcism was progressing and he had very little time. “In all ways hast thou persecuted me! Mad god of Chaos!” She began to walk toward him. “You have chosen me for a corpse. You have delivered me to the skull. You have sent phantoms to haunt me!”
Jozsef Daniel teetered on the edge of the wall. If he jumped, his mortal shell would be battered beyond repair, but there would be no assurance that he could escape her banishment even so. He looked down at the rain-soaked bundle in his arms, and then quickly unrolled the cloth that covered it. He flung the cloth over his shoulder into the wind.
“Azag-Thoth! Sabaoth. Son of Yaldabaoth! I command thee! I subdue thee! I rebuke thee in the name of the Son of Light! In the name of the One God! In the name of the Creator! Tetragrammaton! In the name of the Holy Sophia! In the name of the Daughter of Light! I rebuke thee and cast thee into utter darkness!” She raised her voice above the rain and called his true name.
The effect on the Ancient Evil was electric and he almost dropped the breastplate as pain coursed through his head. He pressed his hands over his ears and screamed. The woman faltered.
He sank to his knees in the water that was now flowing in sheets across the top of the wall.
Anna’s heart leapt into her throat as the lightning illuminated the face of her husband, Jozsef, filled with pain. He raised the breastplate above his head as if offering it to God. Streamers of purple and green lightning flashed behind him.
“You have sent vampires to haunt me!” She quickly refocused and continued the exorcism. “To the wandering ghosts of the wastes, have you delivered me. To the phantoms of the fallen ruins, have you delivered me. To the deserts,” she closed the space between them as he struggled to unfold the wet leather in the driving wind that continued to whip his wet hair about his face and her resolve weakened ever so slightly at the sight of the beloved face of Jozsef Daniel Sinclair-Ramsay “the wastes, the forbidden lands, you have handed me over.”
She was very close now. She could see his eyes, water streaming down his face. His beautiful face, his bright blue eyes. “Open thy mouth in sorceries against me no more!” She shouted at him and he screamed in pain and focused on her face for the first time.
“Anna!” He screamed her name. “Anna! Help me!”
“I have handed thine image over!” She continued though her heart was breaking again. He spoke to her with Jozsef’s voice.
“Anna, please!” He continued to work on the breastplate.
“Into the flames of Gibil!” She faltered again.
“Anna! You’re killing me!” He shouted at her and pulled the breastplate over his head. “Stop it! Please, stop it! Don’t do this! I love you, Anna!”
“May the law of burning seize your throat!”
He grabbed his throat and then struggled to his feet unable to speak.
“I invoke the power of the Word!” She stepped closer and he held one hand out toward her. “In the name of the Creator, I speak the Word of power! The Word that transcends all evil power and vile magick!”
He grasped the rod in trembling hands and raised the interlocked crystals in front of his face. He had no idea why he did this. There was nothing he knew that could stop the exorcism. The pain of fire in his throat threatened to consume him utterly, moving down to his stomach and up to his head. He blinked back the rain running into his face and squinted through the crystals at the woman as she opened her mouth to say the final Word.
“Zin-uru!” She shouted. “The One Word! The Divine Word! Zin-uru!”
Lightning struck the wall and sent jagged streaks of green electricity through the flowing sheet of water about his bare feet. He screamed as the electricity climbed his legs and passed through his body, through his arms and through the golden hand in which he had unwittingly grasped the silver handle. Lightning spiraled about the handle and danced on the frame around the crystals. A blinding green flash illuminated the top of the keep as the energy of the storm focused on the crystals and shot down out in transparent green cones toward the figure of the advancing woman.
Anna screamed as the light engulfed her and she felt herself flying through the air, not away from the source of power, but toward it. She felt herself growing smaller and saw the intense brilliance of the double crystal growing larger and larger until she was drawn inside the light and her screams were abruptly cut off. Strong arms seized her and drew her close as two figures of dazzling light bent over her, embracing her in folds of soft white mist.
Jozsef Daniel fell to his knees again and rolled on the wet stone, slipping completely over the edge. He caught himself on the precipice by one hand and screamed as he realized that he would fall to the rocks below. His hand slipped and he screamed again as strong hands clasped his wrist and pulled him back onto the wall.
“Please!” He got to his hands and knees. “Please.” A new sound drifted on the wind. “The hounds! The hounds! They come for me!”
His rescuer fell back and looked about in the pouring rain. The sounds of baying animals came clearly to his ears.
“The hounds of the barrier!” Jozsef shrieked. “The hounds!”
He focused on the black boots in front of him as the rain diminished and the wind abruptly died to a stiff breeze.
“Master!” Ernst Schweikert knelt in front of him and threw a blanket over his shoulders. “What happened?!”
“The lightning! The dogs.” He gasped and then pressed one hand against his heart. A strange sensation enveloped him and a thousand thoughts flowed through his mind simultaneously. He felt almost ecstatic and free. Exhilarated beyond anything he had thought possible. He felt one with the storm! One with the sky and the earth and the wind! He felt complete and whole and the effect was beyond description. The baying of the dogs dissipated, fading with the wind.
“Come inside, sir.” Schweikert helped him to h
is feet. “Why are you wearing that thing, Your Grace! It could be dangerous!”
Jozsef made no answer. He was beyond words. Unity! He was one with the Universe!
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Simon sat in the wrought iron lawn chair with his arms hanging limply over the sides and his head lying back on the cushion. His mouth was partially open as he watched the flight of two hawks circling the meadow. The confession that Mark Andrew had made had left him utterly exhausted and drained. The Knight of Death had confessed a multitude of sins spanning a year or more and the contents of the confession had been utterly fantastic to the point of ringing with insanity. But Mark Andrew was not insane. Far from it. In fact, he seemed to have finally gotten his thoughts in coherent order for the first time in Simon’s recollection. His confessions usually consisted of vagaries and rondelos, filled with gaps and strange silences as the Scot struggled to put his sins into words. It was extremely difficult for Simon to grasp the concept that Mark Andrew Ramsay was not exactly the model of the penitent man. His sins were more profound and complex and the sheer ability of having been able to commit them put him beyond any reasonable human being. The Healer almost wished his Brother had chosen someone else to confess to, but who? Andy? Out of the question! Mark looked on Simon’s son and apprentice as a child and rightly so. The Grand Master? That relationship had self-destructed long ago. Mark would never have trusted the man with his most profound secrets. There had been no choice other than Simon.
Thoth, the Atlantean Page 42