Thoth, the Atlantean

by Brendan Carroll

  He looked up tiredly at the sound of footsteps on the bricks.

  “Brother?” Lucio sat down on the opposite side of the table. “Are you all right? You look tired.”

  “I’m fine.” Simon sat up straighter and gripped the arms of the chair tightly.

  “I know that you are not supposed to discuss the confessions of one man with another, but…” Lucio looked away across the meadow.

  “But what?” Simon’s eyebrows went up. No one had ever attempted to discuss a confession with him. It would be sacrilege! But much of Mark’s confession had been directly related to Lucio.

  “Did he say anything about me?” Lucio turned his eyes back to meet the Healer’s.

  “You know I can’t say.” Simon forced a smile at him.

  “But it is very important to me.” Lucio chewed his bottom lip. “Did he… can you tell me if he said anything about my soul?”

  “Brother.” Simon shook his head. “If you are concerned about your soul, then I suggest that you make your own confession.”

  “It’s not like that.” Lucio told him almost defiantly. “I don’t mean that I am worried about my soul in a spiritual sense, but rather in a physical sense.”

  “How so?” Simon asked and frowned at him. “How can anything to do with your soul be physical. A contradiction of terms.”

  “I mean I am worried about my soul’s… location.”

  “Location?” Simon smiled. “You have nothing to worry about. Your soul is exactly where it should be.”

  “And where is that?” Lucio leaned toward him.

  “That is an age old question, Brother. Men have debated for untold centuries about where the soul might be located. I think the question is absurd. The soul permeates the being. It is one with the man until it is released in death.”

  “But do you think it’s possible that one could be misplaced? I mean you know what happened to Jasmine when Lemarik took Yasmin out of her.”

  “Yes, but that was an exception to the rule.” Simon shrugged. “Lemarik and Yasmin cannot be classified as ‘men’. They are mystical creatures meddling with God’s creation. Not very wise.”

  “And do you believe Mark Andrew is a man?” Lucio asked him bluntly.

  “I believe he is in some ways. I believe there is more to him than meets the eye.” Simon really felt bad about this conversation.

  He did not like thinking about it at all. He could not reconcile himself to the idea that Mark Andrew and his own father and several more members of the Order might be something other than what they appeared to be. In all his wisdom and all his mystery, God had not seen fit to explain these things to him and if God had not imparted understanding to him, he did not feel qualified to question His will or His work. He was not Job that he dared to summon God into account. He shuddered involuntarily at the thought, and he was not Abraham who would dare argue with God. Nor was he Jacob who would dare wrestle with Angels.

  His philosophy was that Angels were to be left to their own works, and he to his and if their paths crossed, he would bow to the Angel before his own will. He had heard Mark Andrew called an Angel and he knew that if Mark Andrew asked him to walk on water or through fire, he would have at least attempted it. Perhaps the patriarchs of old had felt the same about the Angels with whom they discoursed daily. Certainly he felt secure enough around Mark Andrew to argue with him and question him and if, worse came to worse, to wrestle with him, perhaps not physically, but mentally. If Mark Andrew was indeed an Angel then the situation certainly epitomized the old adage that familiarity breeds contempt. And further he had put up some very weighty arguments with his father. Especially when he had learned that he was, indeed, his father, and then, again when he had married Sister Meredith. Just as Abraham had married his sister, Sarah, and then passed her off as his sister, he, Simon of Grenoble, had almost done the same thing. Something that, until this very moment, he had never realized.

  “Do you believe he is a mystical creature like his son, Lemarik? And, if so, do you believe that he is Angelic in nature or demonic? And do you believe that Angels could possess a man’s soul the same as demons?”

  “Do you think you are possessed, Brother?” Simon’s mouth fell open. “And further, do you think that Mark Andrew has stolen your soul?”

  “No! No! I don’t think I’m possessed. Santa Maria!” Lucio fell back in the chair and looked off toward the swimming pool hedge row. Simeon had returned from St. Patrick’s after delivering Bari Caleb to Reuben and brought his wife, Constance, his daughter, Greta and his son, Gabriel with him this time.

  Lucio heard the voices of Simeon’s children and his own son, Vanni, as they splashed and played in the pool. What surprised him was not the sound of Simeon and Constance, or even Merry Ramsay and Luke Matthew, but Mark Andrew was with them. They were all in the pool and seemed to be having a very good time! He, on the other hand, was still brooding over the exchange he’d had with Mark Andrew earlier and, at the same time, he was quite overjoyed to have broken the code of the Emerald Tablets. Now Lavon and Christopher were finishing the transcriptions at the Administration building along with Barry and Louis Champlain, who were ‘supervising’ the work by drinking wine copiously and discussing the plans for Barry’s wedding. There had been a brief meeting in the library with all the Knights present except Mark Andrew and Simon.

  Simon had been sitting in this chair ever since Mark had made his confession. Andy was upstairs preparing a sermon for the evening mass, more likely recuperating from the effects of Mark’s confession, and the rest of the crew was down at the stables seeing to the repairs wrought by the fire. Guillaume Pairaud was in the kitchen roasting a leg of lamb for supper and Stephano had driven Planxty into Edinburgh to pick up supplies for the diminished larder. The place could not have seemed more normal under the pressing circumstances. The promised meeting between Edgard d’Brouchart and John Paul had not yet materialized. Rachel, Lydia, Oriel and Michey were at the chapel surveying the sanctuary and planning the decorations that would be needed to spruce it up for the wedding. Apolonio, Konrad, Galen Zachary and Michael Ian had accompanied them. Luke Andrew was on the roof of the big house doing something that puzzled the Italian immensely. He sat cross-legged on the roof with a long purple robe thrown over his shoulders, covering the Ramsay red kilt he wore. His head was bent over his lap where he was working on something and his long hair fell about his face. This peculiarity was the only sign that all was not quite right at the Ramsay estate. Luke Andrew was becoming as eccentric as his half-brother, Lemarik.

  Lucio raised his eyes to this peculiar sight and sighed. Simon looked up, following his glance and frowned.

  “What is he doing up there?” Simon wanted very much to change the subject.

  “I have no idea!” Lucio told him truthfully. “If you are looking for possessed souls, Brother. Look there.”

  “That is not very nice, Lucio.” Simon chuckled.

  “I am apparently not very nice.” Lucio agreed. “Now tell me! Answer my question… please?”

  “All right.” Simon sighed and looked up at the brilliant blue sky. “I believe that Angels and Demons are very similar creatures. It is the position of the Church demons are simply fallen Angels, in that fallen, in this context, means fallen from grace. If that is true, then demons and Angels are one and the same. So, by extension, one would have to assume that if demons can steal a man’s soul, then so could Angels, but then they would risk their Holy Status as Angels in Grace, if they were to steal and so, perhaps they might be able to do it, but it is my considered opinion that they would not do it… Praise be to God!”

  “I didn’t say steal a soul.” Lucio told him and Simon’s heart sank.

  He had thought he’d answered the question quite well.

  “I said possess a soul as in possess it, hold it, keep it… like a treasure or a trinket. If they received the soul as a gift, for instance, could they possess it? Or if the soul were traded, bartered for something, for instance.”<
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  “Now you have gone beyond me.” Simon told him wearily and wished that he was in the pool with the others. “Why do you ask? Did you give your soul away, Lucio?”

  “Perhaps.” The Italian nodded and stood up.

  “Sacre bleu!” Simon closed his eyes and then snapped them open again. “Did you say you gave it away? You did not sell it?”

  “Oh, no I didn’t sell it, Brother.” Lucio shook his head and looked down at the ealer. “I traded it.”

  “Holy Mother of God!” Simon stood up. “Who did you trade it to and for what?”

  “Is this considered confession, Father?” Lucio’s expression changed.

  “If you like.” Simon said quietly.

  Lucio slid to his knees crossed himself reverently and said the opening lines of the familiar confession.

  Simon sighed audibly and then asked the inevitable question to which he did not want to hear the answer.

  “And what is the nature of your sin, my son?”

  “I traded my soul to Andrea Larmenius for her virginity.” He said.

  Simon’s mouth fell open yet again. When he made no reply, offered no penance, Lucio opened his eyes and frowned at him.

  “I had good intentions, Brother! I would have married her. I would still marry her,” Lucio told him. “I still love her.”

  “But you are married to Nicole Ramsay.”

  “Am I?” Lucio frowned. “Then where is my wife, Brother?”

  The Knight of the Golden Eagle got up and stood looking into the Healer’s eyes for several long seconds before turning on his heel. He stuffed his hands in his pockets and hurried back toward the garden path leading to the Admin building. He would go and check on the transcriptions.

  Simon watched him go and then sank back into the chair. Mark had forgotten to mention this little detail. He certainly thought himself worth a great deal! But he could say nothing to him of Lucio’s soul. If only Lucio had not confessed and asked forgiveness; what he had told him had been in confidence. If it had been a simple conversation, the Healer would have confronted Mark Andrew with it and demanded and explanation.

  ((((((((((((()))))))))))))

  Lemarik raised his sword above his helmeted head and pointed it toward the bastion. He gave a great warbling cry and signaled the charge up the hill toward the open doors of the Evil One’s palatial residence. His soldiers screamed, shouted and warbled in one tremendous voice behind him, drowning out even the pounding of the horses’ hooves on the cobbled pavement. A crowd of men and a few women poured out of the gate shooting at them with rifles, handguns and grenade launchers. The grenades exploded in the road and in the thick growth of trees and flowering plants, sending up rock and debris and unhorsing several of the wildly advancing men. A few more fell to the spray of lead flying past them.

  The defenders fled inside the keep and struggled with the heavy doors, trying to close out the attackers before they could reach them. The doors met with a resounding boom and then bounced open several inches as Lemarik reined his horse about and kicked at the door with one booted foot. He shouted something in the ancient language of the Djinn and the doors split asunder, crashing inwards and trapping some of the unfortunate people inside under their weight. Lemarik spurred his horse forward and rode over the ruined wood, crushing their bodies further. Screams filled the air inside the bastion as the soldiers rode through the breach and began to hack at the hysterical men within the walls. Weapons blasted haphazardly and were then cast aside as the men on foot tried to flee before the onslaught of the superior forces of the Djinn creatures and armored knights.

  Lemarik rode his black horse up the inside staircase and the Templar knights followed him. Their chain mail, shields and swords jangled and clanked as they mounted the stairs in search of the Ancient Evil. Below them, the screams increased, ebbed and flowed as the well-armed contingent slew everyone in sight, covering the floors and walls with pools, puddles and sprays of bright red blood. Chickens, pigs, goats and pigeons squawked, squealed, bleated and flapped about in panic, adding to the chaos. Only the women and children were spared, allowed to run off into the jungle.

  Lemarik emerged onto the top of the fortress and rode his horse about the rooftop balconies in search of his foe, but Jozsef Daniel and his companion were no where to be seen. The Djinni dismounted and ran to the rampart, leaping lightly onto the top of the wide wall. He walked along the length of the stone very close to the edge as the Templars continued to circle about the roof, looking for someone to kill. The Mighty Djinni stopped and went down on one knee. His armor sparkled in the light of the moon. A nylon rope was attached to the top of the wall, looped through a piton driven into the stone. He let go a loud bellow of rage and stood up, slashing the rope with his sword. The rope skittered over the side and he followed its progress, leaning out precariously to peer into the gloom below, but he could see nothing. No movement.

  “Anna!!” He cried into the darkness. “Anna! My beautiful granddaughter!! What have you done?!!”

  One of the Templar knights pulled up alongside the wall and stopped, waiting for orders.

  “Down!” Lemarik turned and shouted at him. “Into the forest!! They’ve escaped into the forest and taken her with them!!”

  The knight shouted something to his fellows and they began the descent back down the stairs in a headlong, very dangerous flight of hooves, sending up sparks on the stone amidst a horrendous clatter. In the courtyard, bodies lay strewn everywhere and everywhere could be seen dismembered arms, legs and heads lying in darkly spreading pools of blood. The Djinni’s soldiers were ransacking the keep, bringing away anything that was not attached to the stone. Lemarik rounded them up quickly and they were soon galloping back out the destroyed doors and down the road, carrying their loot and their dead with them. They left the road at the foot of the hill and plunged into the jungle, soon disappearing in the thick foliage, leaving behind a scene of carnage that had not been seen on the Island in several hundred years.

  ((((((((((((()))))))))))))

  Edgard d’Brouchart was sitting in his rocking chair near the window that faced the northern part of the Ramsay estate. The window was open and a warm summer breeze brushed back the sheer panels over the casement and brushed the whiskers on his face. He was gazing out across the picturesque meadow, contemplating the meaning of the words on the computer printout that he held in his hands. It was the first of the transcripts Lavon and Christopher had produced and only recently delivered to him by way of Little Barry, his apprentice. He sipped his glass of tea and looked down at the words. Apparently, the tablets were not in order or they had started in the middle. It was possible Mark Andrew had not turned the leaves back to their original order when he had been studying the work in his lab. Whatever the reason, it began abruptly and seemed somehow truncated.

  ‘Lit I then with flame my circle and called her in the space beyond. Daughter of Light return from Arulu. Seven times and seven times have I passed through the fire. Food have I not eaten. Water have I not drunk. I call thee from Arulu, from the realms of Ereshkigal. I summon thee, Lady of Light. Then before me rose the dark figures; aye, the figures of the Lords of Arulu. Parted they before me and forth came the Lady of Light.’

  Edgard shook his head. He could not believe Adar had written this down. He had actually recorded the abomination he had done. Not once but twice, he had done this same thing. Separating his brother watchers from themselves. Splitting them into their parts. First Ereshkigal and Nergal and then Semiramis and Marduk! It was no wonder that Marduk had been so intent upon finding her and destroying his brother! Oftentimes, he had pondered this and now he had the final answer. It was unbelievable. A deep scowled creased the Grand Master’s face as he read the next lines.

  ‘Free was she now from the lords of the night, free to live in the light of the earth sun, free to live as a child of the light. No longer bound to the silver of moondust. No longer a hag of the sunfire. Wondrous works now I completed. Secrets found I
unlocking the prison. Secrets found I to bring to the Light. Secret creation Word of Arulu. Lost long years, brought I back the Word of Creation.’

  And who was it that had so consumed him with desire that he had spent ages chasing about after himself? The voluptuous maiden with the long, red hair that curled about her face. The virginal beauty who bathed in the moonlight in the clear streams of the night. The same enchanting woman who lived by day as a frightful hag. None other than Carlilse Corrigan’s mother. The Morrigan! The words became like flaming brands in his mind as their meaning flew up at him from the paper.

  “Du Morte!” He shouted involuntarily and let the paper slip from his hands. He got up quickly and snatched the leaf from the floor, scanning down the length of it and then looking at the second page.

  ‘Call on me when you need me, three times in a row: Chequetet, Arelich, Volmalites.’

  Edgard dropped the paper to the floor again and felt his face blush with rage.

  “Chequetet, Arelich, Volmalites! Chequetet, Arelich, Volmalites! Chequetet, Arelich, Volmalites!” He shouted the Atlantean names of Thoth.

  When Mark Andrew appeared in front of him, dripping wet and half naked, he grabbed him by the throat and threw him to the floor.