The Dark Rift: The Supernatural Grail Quest Zombie Apocalypse (The Last Artifact Trilogy Book 1)

by Gilliam Ness

  Isaac returned his gaze to the island, his eyes filling with tears.

  “My life is yours, Father,” he whispered. “Help me and guide me so that I might put right the terrible wrongs I have done.”

  CHAPTER 41

  Gibraltar.

  Bahadur stood on the edge of a rusty dock in the shadows of the lower port. Around him loomed the clutter of Gibraltar’s industrial marina, the smell of stale diesel fuel and brine filling the morning air. A dusty sun had already risen behind the rocky peak, but the sky in the west was still holding on to a few scattered stars. The dawn had come up blood red. There would be hard weather today.

  “A good day to storm a castle,” said Amir, emerging from a dilapidated workshop and looking up at the sky.

  He struck a match and stoked his chillum until they were engulfed in its fragrant smoke. Amir took a deep haul and offered the pipe to Bahadur, but the giant shook his head absently and turned to look out to sea, his face bearing an expression of deep concern and fatigue.

  “They’ll be fine, Bahadur,” said Amir, seeing the worry on his cousin’s face. “Nasrallah knows you. He’d never hurt them. He’s a coward.”

  “Where is Gabriel?” said Bahadur deeply, glancing over at Amir.

  “They’re on their way. They’re planning to arrive at around two or three.”

  “Your friend knows how to drive.”

  Amir released a billowing cloud.

  “He’s been averaging two-forty all the way from Florence.”

  Bahadur nodded and then looked off to sea again, frowning.

  “I am concerned about the men,” he said in his deep basso.

  “They’ll all be here soon,” said Amir.

  The brown giant shook his heavy head darkly.

  “It is not our men I am concerned for, cousin. It is Nasrallah’s men that I am thinking of. They are good men. They have wives and children. They work hard. They do not deserve to die.”

  “They know Nasrallah,” said Amir, pushing aside a wayward dreadlock. “If they choose to work for a murderer they—”

  “They do not choose!” said Bahadur, turning to grasp Amir’s shoulder before proceeding more gently. “They have families to feed. It is that simple.”

  “Cousin,” said Amir with consternation. “Maybe there’s another way. Once Nasrallah’s been taken out, our new coalition will be in control. There’ll be work for everyone. If we could somehow let Nasrallah’s men know about our plan. They’d rather work for you.”

  “We cannot take that risk,” said Bahadur gloomily. “It could easily go the other way. Men take what is real. They do not risk their lives on promises. Nasrallah pays them at the end of every month. That is all they are concerned with, and I cannot blame them for that.”

  “Then men will die,” said Amir, spitting into the oily water. “Men will die.”

  CHAPTER 42

  Costa Brava, Spain.

  The rocky cliffs were racing past in a blur, and Gabriel was enjoying the drive tremendously. The purring Audi was finding no difficulty in maintaining a cruising speed of two-hundred and forty kilometers an hour. It felt like the car was on rails. Natasha looked up from the book.

  “There is an Arabic document here that your father has transcribed,” she said, bending closer to the book. “It is dated 661 A.D., and addressed to the Umayyad Caliph of Cordoba. It is from one of his clerics.”

  “What does it say?”

  Natasha scanned it for a moment before answering. She wanted to make sure she was translating it correctly.

  “It says that Arab forces took Alexandria and found the Urn of Theophilus.”

  “I’ve heard of that artifact before,” said Gabriel, scratching his head, “Theophilus found the Urn in the Great Library of Alexandria, just before he ordered it burnt to the ground.”

  “Theophilus was the Bishop of Alexandria,” said Natasha.

  Gabriel nodded.

  “At the end of the fourth century. Theophilus was leading a Catholic movement to destroy everything heretical. Sacred temples, priceless art, ancient writings.”

  He paused to remember.

  “Legend has it that there were some very old tablets in that urn. They were supposedly written by the first Mesopotamian kings.”

  “According to this letter,” said Natasha, “those tablets spoke of a Cube of Knowledge, Gabriel. It is there where the Arabs first learned of the artifact. Listen to this. I will do my best to translate it as I go.

  Know, Prince of the Faithful, that at the time of the Emperor Theodosius, the Bishop Theophilus issued forth an order for the demolition of the great heathen library of Alexandria. From therein he was brought a golden urn of such beauty and richness, that he could not bring himself to destroy it, but instead took it secretly as his own.

  Within this urn were ancient tablets belonging to Alulim, who was the First King of Sumer, and who reigned for 28,800 years in the kingdom of Eridu, in Mesopotamia. The tablets spoke of a Cube of Knowledge, and of the Nephilim, who took the Cube from its resting place at the entrance of a great labyrinth, and gave it to Alulim, to whom they taught many wondrous things.

  At the End Of The World this Cube is said to reside, oh Prince, in the land of the warrior-priests. It was recovered by the Kristos of Judea, and laid within the tomb of his brother, who guards it until the day of reckoning.

  “Kristos is Greek for Christ,” said Gabriel.

  Natasha was still studying the text.

  “It comes from Krishna in Sanskrit,” she said.

  Gabriel thought for a moment.

  “If the tomb belongs to the brother of Jesus, that would mean that this document is referring to the same tomb that Gutierrez found. Do you think there’s a connection between the labyrinth it mentions and the one in the Egyptian myth that Marcus told us about?”

  “Yes I do,” said Natasha, tucking her hair behind an ear.

  “That would mean that the entrance to this labyrinth is on the same island where Gutierrez found the tomb,” said Gabriel, turning to look at her.

  Natasha looked back at him and nodded excitedly.

  “You said that the markings on the Cube were Basque?”

  “Yes,” said Gabriel, squinting into the distance as he drove. “Proto-Basque.”

  “Are not the Basques and the Celts of Ireland related?”

  “That’s what the DNA implies.”

  “Gabriel,” said Natasha. “There is evidence that suggests that Christian evangelists landed in Ireland four years after the crucifixion of Jesus; that they were led by James the Just, and that they succeeded in converting the Druids to Christianity.”

  Gabriel frowned.

  “The Vatican deemed the Celtic Church heretical,” he said. “They called it Insular Christianity. How could it be heretical if it was created by Jesus’ own brother? I see what you’re getting at though. The Druids must have known about the Labyrinth. That’s why the runes on the Cube are Proto-Basque, and that’s why Jesus delivered the Cube back to them. The Druids must have been its original keepers.”

  “It is just speculation,” said Natasha, looking down at the journal, “but your father seemed to think the same. He was convinced that the end of the world was not so much a time, but a place; a Celtic place…”

  “Finisterre, right?” asked Gabriel.

  “Yes,” said Natasha, looking up from the book in surprise. “How did you know?”

  “Because it’s not far from Santiago de Compostela. It’s a small village on the west coast of Galicia, but it’s also been called The End Of The World since the time of the Druids.”

  Gabriel sped past a grouping of trucks.

  “So the Labyrinth is in Finisterre…”

  “Not exactly,” said Natasha, “but your father believed that it was somewhere close. According to him, that whole area was considered to be the end of the world.”

  Natasha turned to a different part of the journal.

  “Here is a section entirely dedicated to th
e Labyrinth. Your father refers to it as The Great Labyrinth of Sarras.”

  Gabriel pushed back his shaggy hair.

  “Sarras was the heavenly city in The Quest For The Holy Grail.”

  She looked up from the book and nodded.

  “The place where Galahad saw the Grail and healed the Fisher King.”

  “Thus satisfying the legend, and restoring life to the kingdom…”

  Natasha nodded again.

  “Some historians believe that the original Grail romances were written by members of Rex Angelus, and that they carried secret messages that contradicted the Church’s doctrine.”

  “Rex Angelus?”

  Natasha bit her lip.

  “A society that claimed to be the direct descendants of Jesus Christ, and the keepers of his original teachings.”

  “A bloodline of Christ?” asked Gabriel, rolling his eyes.

  “It is a well known hypothesis,” said Natasha with a shrug. “Gutierrez de la Cruz claimed to be Rex Angelus himself. Your father believed that he only became a priest to infiltrate the Church.”

  Gabriel had to break hard and wait for a car to get out of the passing lane.

  Natasha read one of the Professor’s annotations aloud.

  “To all Rex Angelus, the Holy Grail is a symbol of the Original Gnosis. It is the receptacle of the wisdom that Jesus himself taught, before it was distorted by the Vatican in order to control the masses. In the story, when the Christ-like Galahad is pure enough to behold the Grail, he restores the Fisher King to full health, and in this way the wasted kingdom is restored. If we follow the allegory, this is another way of saying that when humanity is ready, the true teachings of Jesus Christ will triumph over the greed and hypocrisy of the Vatican, and result in a kind of heaven on earth.”

  Gabriel shook his head in astonishment.

  “So it’s exactly as Marcus was saying back in the catacombs. The Cube and the Holy Grail are the same thing.”

  “It seems so, Gabriel,” said Natasha, her big eyes alight with excitement. “Your father makes the point that throughout history, the Grail has not only been described as a cup, or a chalice, but also as A Stone Within A Cup.”

  She read from the journal again.

  “A stone which fell from heaven, and symbolizes the wisdom that is imbibed when one drinks from the metaphorical cup of the Kristos.”

  Natasha looked up from the book.

  “According to Rex Angelus, there is only one primordial source of wisdom. It is a doctrine that became fragmented over the ages, with different parts being adopted by each of the six world religions. It would appear that the ancient Druids were the guardians of that original knowledge. They were the warrior-priests that the letter spoke of; the Keepers of the Cube. Your father believed that if the fragmented parts could be unified again, then there would be harmony between all the religions, and humanity would at last have access to the entire truth, instead of just small fragments of it.”

  “What exactly have we stumbled onto here?”

  “Your father’s life work,” said Natasha in awe.

  Gabriel rubbed his eyes in an attempt to stave off the sleepiness. There was so much to consider, but his faculties were losing their edge. He needed to shut his eyes for a while. Natasha continued to carefully turn the pages.

  “What are you reading now?” he asked at length.

  “You are not going to believe me.”

  Gabriel looked over to see her flipping back to earlier sections of the journal, her head shaking from side to side.

  “This is impossible,” she muttered, “but you can see it everywhere in the diary.”

  “Try me.”

  She looked over at Gabriel through a curly lock of chestnut hair.

  “Your father claims that Gutierrez speaks of you and I in his writings; that he refers to us as The Two, but that there is an ambiguity in the translation.”

  “What kind of ambiguity?”

  “In certain Coptic dialects, The Two, also means The Primal King and Queen. Your father was not sure why this particular word would have been used, when a more specific numerical terminology existed.”

  “But how could Gutierrez know of us?”

  “Uncle Marcus said that we were a part of this, Gabriel.”

  “It’s a product of my father’s overactive imagination. He was just making assumptions.”

  “Gutierrez refers to you as Gabriel, Hero of God, and to me as Natalia, The day of the Saviour’s Birth. Your father writes that you I are spoken of in the ancient prophecies as well, the same ones that speak of our heroic mission.”

  “Our mission?” asked Gabriel, turning to face her. “What mission?”

  Natasha held up the journal to show Gabriel an illustration when a loose page fell from the book.

  “What is this?”

  She was silent while she read it.

  “Well?” asked Gabriel. “What is it?”

  “It is a note from your father, Gabriel. It is addressed to both of us.”

  “What does it say?”

  Natasha read it aloud.

  Gabriel and Natasha.

  Once you have retrieved the Cube, you must proceed immediately to the “Bodega del Pi” in Toledo. You must go there as quickly as you can. DO NOT DELAY. Ask for Yuri. He will explain everything. You can trust him with your lives. MAKE HASTE!

  Natasha felt herself suddenly pushed forward against her seatbelt. Gabriel was braking hard.

  “What are you doing?” she asked, surprised by the sudden change in speed.

  “We’re taking this exit to Toledo,” said Gabriel. “If we cut through the middle of Spain this Bodega del Pi won’t even be out of our way. Besides, it’s your turn to drive. I can hardly keep my eyes open anymore.”

  CHAPTER 43

  Somewhere over the Mediterranean Sea.

  “This is Galaxy Network News, the most trusted news network in the world. Spain is reeling this morning after a string of seventeen car bombs ravage Bilbao, Barcelona, Madrid and Zaragoza. Hundreds are dead, and many more injured. As well, violent riots spreading throughout the Muslim communities of the United States and Europe. Is the war spreading into our homes? Stayed tuned for a special GNN report: The Fist of Islam. Christendom is Burning.”

  Dr. Bennington looked at the monitor mounted on the cabin wall. He was in a private jet en route to Israel, being taken there against his will. He was an older man; lean, clean-shaven, and almost entirely bald. He wore rimless spectacles and a light beige suit with a golden cravat. His demeanor was exceedingly gentle, and consistently calm, even in his current situation.

  Three hours earlier he had arrived at Christian’s hotel only to be stuffed into a limousine and driven to a private airfield. Under the care of three armed security guards, Bennington had then been escorted onto Christian’s private jet, and made to wait there for an hour. No sooner had Christian arrived than the jet had taken off. As it was, Christian had disappeared into the plane’s cockpit, leaving Dr. Bennington alone in the luxurious cabin. He could not believe what he was seeing on television.

  “Well, Steve,” said the expert being interviewed, “this kind of fighting is nothing new. Taking shelter in populated urban sectors allows the terrorists to use civilians as shields. For the most part, these Muslim communities are made up of wonderful, peace loving people, but like any other community of any other faith, they’ve got some bad apples in the bunch, and it’s these guys who have banded together to fight this war.”

  “This war you are referring to, Mr. Peterson. Who exactly are the fundamentalists waging it against?”

  “Against whoever opposes them, Steve.”

  “Now isn’t that the most lovely circus you’ve ever seen, Doctor?” said Christian, returning from the cockpit.

  He muted the monitor and threw himself onto a leather sofa across from where Bennington sat, reaching lazily for his glass of wine. Much to Christian’s relief, his father’s whispers had subsided after the last appearance
of the Zurvanites, and he was enjoying the reprieve tremendously.

  “There is nothing lovely about war and chaos, Christian,” said Dr. Bennington.

  “They are a means to an end,” said Christian offhand. “The lovely thing I was referring to is the instability.”

  “I do not understand.”

  “Can’t you see that we’re all in great danger?” asked Christian sarcastically. “The terrorists are very terrifying, and the population needs the government to protect them. The Enforcer of Laws has become the new hero. He will protect us, but we have to do exactly what he tells us to do. This is war after all.”

  “And what will we be told to do, Christian?”

  “We will be told to comply, Doctor. The masses will soon surrender the majority of their civil rights.”

  Christian lit a cigarette and returned his attention to the television. They were showing footage of a Muslim uprising taking place in Washington D.C..

  “It’s all just propaganda,” said Christian, yawning. “It’s nowhere near as big as it looks. “The Muslims are as docile as lambs.”

  “And how can you be so sure this is just propaganda, Christian?”

  Christian gave a dry chuckle.

  “Because my organization is producing these stories. We own the mainstream media, Doctor. We decide how people perceive things.”

  “How can you possibly expect me to believe that?”

  Christian rolled his eyes.

  “I hope you’re not one of those people who refuses to believe in conspiracy theories.”

  Bennington held his gaze but remained silent.

  “Well, it’s time you revisited your opinions and considered the validity of at least one of them.”

  “And which one might that be?” asked the doctor.