The Centaur

by Brendan Carroll

  “And you are not a good liar, Brother.” Lucio smiled at him, crinkling the scar on his face.

  Simon stopped working on the catches and stared at the Italian for a few moments before striking him on the shoulder.

  “Shrive me, Brother.” Simon’s light blue eyes were wide with fear.

  “You don’t need to confess, Simon.” Lucio got up and sat next to him. “Especially not to me.”

  “You don’t understand.” Simon felt he would faint under the pressure. “I didn’t expect that pit, Lucio!” The Healer crossed himself and closed his eyes, willing himself to be still and calm. “I didn’t expect it.”

  The wilderness tabernacle had been erected on an almost level patch of bare rock and soil near the ruined entrance to Jethro’s ancient temple. He, Levi and his father, Edgard, had labored well into the night on the previous day, erecting the purple, red and blue tent and draperies that would temporarily house the Ark of the Covenant on its final journey. They had personally carried up the relics needed to make the Temple complete: the golden candlesticks, the shewbread table, incense and even the stones for building the altar for the burnt sacrifice. Zebulon, Izzy and Philip, along with a small contingent of soldiers had returned with an unblemished red heifer, brought especially from Ireland by King Corrigan for this very purpose, the Atonement sacrifice they would make before the ultimate sacrifice wherein they would destroy the Ark. The two Knights could hear the lowing of the sad beast from where they sat. When everything had seemed ready, Simon had climbed back up the trail alone to inspect the sight once more. To his shock and horror a great, gaping hole had opened in the midst of the ruins behind the Temple. Smoke, ash and a horrible moaning noise emanated from the depths of the mountains as if the stone, itself, were weeping and wailing for what they were about to do. “You don’t understand.”

  “I think I do. Here,” Lucio pushed him off the cot to the floor on his knees. “Repeat after me. No, no. Look up there. Toward Heaven. In this way you will know you are well and whole and things are not nearly so bad as you might imagine. Not all has fallen, Brother. The fat lady has not sung.”

  Simon fixed his gaze on the roof of the tent.

  “Now I want you to relax as best you can, Brother, and repeat after me.” Lucio got on his knees beside the mystic healer and crossed himself before fixing his own sight near the top of the tent flap. He closed his eyes and began the negative confession in a soft sing-song voice. “Hail, Usek-nemmt, who comest forth from Anu, I have not committed sin.”

  Simon glanced at him briefly and hesitated.

  “Trust me, Brother, the dead listen better than the living.” Lucio opened one eye and looked at the healer.

  “Hail, Usek-nemmt, who comest forth from Anu, I have not committed sin.” Simon’s voice excelled even the Italian’s in his soothing recitation of the ancient words.

  “Hail, Fenti, who comest forth from Khemenu, I have done no violence.” Lucio took up as soon as Simon finished. Simon began the next line and Lucio’s voice overlapped his with the next line. Simon caught up the rhythm and soon the sounds of their combined voices drifted across the emptiness of the desert like a beautiful song from ages past. The confession would go on in this manner for a half hour or more.

  ((((((((((((()))))))))))))

  “This makes no sense.” Michael said as he pushed up the dust-encrusted goggles and squinted at the looming shapes of the three pyramids adorning the western horizon. “We should be able to see the Sphinx from here. I distinctly remember hearing a great deal of talk about returning to the Sphinx.” Michael scratched his chin under his beard.

  Galen stood in his stirrups and shaded his eyes against the glare of the sinking sun.

  “I don’t see it. Maybe it’s on the other side of the Great Pyramid. That would block it, wouldn’t it?”

  “I suppose, but I always thought that the Sphinx was east of the other monuments on Giza.” Michael shook his head and glanced behind them. They had only three of the horses left. The trip had taken nine of the horses that had belonged to the angelic warriors. Three had stampeded over a bluff, three had been killed and eaten by a horrid, toothy monstrosity and three more had run away into the desert and the two wanderers had been forced to flee for their lives when a pack of wild wolf-like creatures the size of ponies had ambushed them near a dry wash. But those animals had been the only creatures of demonic origins they had encountered on their hard ride west.

  The sun was sinking almost visibly now and a long, low wail behind them set their nerves on edge. The animal or whatever it was sounded vaguely human and was answered by another howl away to the north.

  “Are those on this side of the river or the other?” Galen asked nervously.

  “I can’t tell.” Michael pulled the goggles off his head and hung them on his saddle. “We’d best move on. I have a feeling we either beat them here or we made a serious miscalculation. I see no signs of anyone passing this way recently.”

  They wasted no more time before putting some distance between themselves and the unknown creatures behind them. Michael had come here long ago with Galen and Lucio on one of the only field trips they had ever managed in the troubled times in which they grew up. He vaguely remembered some buildings made of stone near the front paws of the Sphinx. He hoped to find a defensible place to spend the night where they could quarter the horses nearby. If they lost their mounts, they would be in very serious trouble, even moreso than they already were. The silence of the desert and the empty highways weighed heavily on them as the horses kicked up expanding plumes of dust which blew away to the south in the light breeze. They came suddenly upon the rectangular pit where the Sphinx had sat for thousands of years staring sightlessly across the desert vastness. The horses skidded to a stop near the edge of the pit, almost dumping the riders over their necks.

  “Whoa!! Hold on!!” Michael shouted and simultaneously slid from the saddle. He turned just in time to catch Galen as he was thrown backwards from his own horse. They tumbled into the dirt together and then scrambled up to run after the startled horses. When they got the horses under control, they returned to the edge of the pit. The remnants of a metal fence that had once surrounded the enclosure to keep out curious tourists after hours, lay twisted and mangled, scattered across the area. But it was not the entirely destroyed tourist trap consisting of buildings, parking lot, ramps and souvenir stands that caused their gaping stares. It was the empty pit where the great monument once sat. The temple that had occupied the space in front the lion’s paws was a pile of tumbled down blocks. Here there were the bones of great beasts, picked clean by the carrion birds and scavengers. The scene was one of total devastation.

  “Ahhh.” Galen nodded as understanding sank slowly into his sun-baked brain. “The Sphinx. Not back to the Sphinx! They said they had to get the Sphinx back. The lion with wings. The gryphon. My father has raised the Sphinx.”

  “Oh.” Michael said shortly as he made the same connection. In the excitement of the battle and the ensuing confrontations between the armies of the Templars, the European empires and the Fox, Lucifer had quickly and quietly called them away in pursuit of the fleeing ATV containing Abaddon, Lucifer’s old friend. They had been unable to make contact with any of the Templars though both of them desperately wished to see their fathers and other members of their extended family. Their disappointment at being dragged away had been quickly replaced by shock at being left behind. Now they stood looking at something even more shocking and bewildering. The outline of the stone beast was clearly visible in the pit as a very dark hole that seemed somehow sinister from their present perspective.

  “Is that a hole or what?” Galen frowned down at the disturbing sight.

  “I don’t know. It looks like paint or something.” Michael was confused, disgusted and afraid. He felt responsible for Galen. He had always felt responsible for Galen. Michael was the consummate ‘Brother’s Keeper’. “We’d best get down there and see if we can find a spot in the rui
ns to make camp.”

  The sun was already half buried in the horizon, a tremendous red ball, as they skidded and stumbled down the rubble filled ramp into the ruins of the temple. They found one corner with two partially remaining walls at right angles, hidden behind a pile of disjointed columns. It was the next best thing to a bed and breakfast and there was room for the horses as well. When the horses had been fed the last of the oats and watered with the last of the water and they had consumed the last of the soured milk and honey, they ventured out of the ruins long enough to take a closer look at the ominous black markings delineating the outline of the missing monument.

  Galen got down on his stomach in order to take a closer look into the hole with his precious flashlight. Michael leaned close as he turned it on and held it out over the edge of the pit. They were both startled to learn that the pit was not a pit at all, but a solid surface only a few inches below the white stone on which they perched. Smooth, black and completely non-reflective. It absorbed the light from the flashlight as if hungry for photons. Both men let out involuntary yelps when the truth became apparent. Galen scrambled back as Michael tried to pull him up simultaneously. They scurried back a few dozen paces and stood holding each other like two frightened schoolboys. When nothing attacked them immediately, they let go of each other and straightened their jackets before walking back to the pit for a closer look. Galen would not approach any closer than a yard before stopping again and watching as Michael knelt on one knee beside the anomalous object. He reached tentatively toward it and heard Galen draw a sharp breath before he placed his hand on the invisible surface.

  “Hmmm.” Michael commented and ran his hand over the smooth blackness.

  “What?” Galen breathed the word and then jumped as another of the unearthly howls echoed across the pit. The horses snorted and whinnied nervously in their selected campsite.

  “It feels like plastic,” Michael frowned and wiggled closer to the indention. He pushed his hand further out and then jerked it back suddenly, causing Galen to shriek.

  “Damn it, Michael!!” Galen was beside him in an instant. “What the hell are you doing?! You don’t know what that is. Come on. Let’s get back and build a fire. There are some wooden fragments back there. Broken casings or crates or something. It’s getting dark and…” The blonde man stopped talking as another sound grew around them. A low, rumbling, grating sound, as if something were pushing one of the stone blocks across the ground. They could feel the vibrations of the sound in their feet.

  “What’s that?” Michael clutched Galen’s arm. “Do you feel it?”

  “I feel it!” Galen hissed as he stumbled backwards, dragging Michael with him. “Let’s get away from this.”

  They turned and ran back to the sheltered portion of the ruins. The rumbling stopped and the lonely howl of a jackal echoed from somewhere out on the plains.

  Michael sighed in relief when he recognized the more familiar bark of the wild dog.

  “Jackal.” He said with some satisfaction as he helped Galen build the fire. They gathered all the wood they could find and then made themselves as comfortable as possible. They would take turns sleeping and keeping the fire burning, hoping that it would deter any wild creatures, not daring to think that it might have the opposite affect on not-so-wild creatures lurking in the darkness of the moonless night.

  At half past three in the morning, Galen shook Michael from a sound sleep. The grating, rumbling noise had returned, louder and seemingly emanating from everywhere at once. Both men looked about in growing panic, trying to find the source of the disturbance. Again, they could feel it in their legs. Tiny pebbles and individual grains of sand danced on the surface of the stone floor where they sat. The vibration caused a shift in the firewood and the resulting popping and snapping caused them both to yelp in fright.

  “Maybe we should take our chances out on the plain,” Galen whispered. The horses continued to prance about, snorting and whinnying softly, yanking against their tethers, trying to stamp their hobbled feet.

  “Perhaps you are right,” Michael agreed. They gathered their meager belongs and stamped out the fire. Just as they were about to ascend the scrabbly ramp leading up to the plain, they saw a strange blue light beyond the tumbled down pillars of the temple.

  “Lucifer.” Galen’s hopes soared. It was the very same light that the angelic warriors had exuded whenever the night caught them in their travels.

  “Not so fast.” Michael caught his cousin’s arm.

  The light grew in intensity. Whatever or whoever it was, they were coming toward them. Galen shivered when he heard the sing of steel on leather. Michael had drawn his sword. Galen quickly followed suit and the two frightened men stood waiting almost breathlessly to see what new terror approached.

  “Greetings, friends of Truth.” The words came to their ears before the figure emanating the glow stepped around the barricade. “I come in peace.”

  “Identify yourself, sir.” Michael demanded and brandished his sword so that it caught the blue light and reflected it back to the source.

  “Some call me Ashmodai. Others call me Asmodeus. Yet others may know me as Ashmodel. However, I am none of those in my own preference. I am Hamabiel of the Cherubim. I give the rains of spring unto the dry earth when and where deserved. Who comes to disturb my rest?”

  “Cherubim?” Michael lowered his sword slightly.

  “Child of Light.” The beautiful angel approached Michael unafraid of the sword. “Who are you?”

  “My name is Michael Ian Ramsay. This is my brother Galen Zachary Ramsay.”

  “No. Not your brother.” Ashmodel took a close look at Galen.

  “As far as I am concerned, he is my brother.”

  “As you say.” The angel stepped back and cupped his chin in his hand. “Ramsay. Ramsay. Do you know John Mark Ramsay of Lothian?”

  “He is our father’s brother.” Michael told him.

  “Ahhh. You speak in riddles.” The angel laughed and the sound was indescribable. Galen lowered his sword without realizing it. “We are our father’s brothers, our mother’s father, our brother’s father and our children’s children. Hmmmm. Sounds very typical of Uriel.”

  “You know our uncle?” Galen asked him. “Have you seen him? We came in search of him.”

  “He has not been here, my son.” The angel continued to walk around slowly them. “I am waiting for him myself.”

  “You are?” Michael perked up. “Then he is coming here?”

  “Sooner or later.” The angel stopped perusing the horses and looked up as the unearthly howling they had heard earlier commenced anew. “You should come with me. There are dangers too numerous to count in these wilds.”

  “Where are you going, might I ask?” Michael narrowed his eyes.

  “Back to Leviathan.” Ashmodel began to pick his way back through the ruins. “Let the animals go. Quickly now. They will fend for themselves.”

  “But wait!” Galen took two steps forward and the howling let go anew. He recognized the name from the few classes in Hebrew and Rabbinic studies in which he had managed to stay awake against Master Simon’s soothing voice. Leviathan was the Hebrew word for the Babylonian version of Chaos or Tiamat. Other Rabbinic legends had the word referring to a creature, one of twin monsters of the deep associated with the angel Rahab.

  “Do as he says.” Michael ran to the horses and began to unbridle the first. “Let them go.”

  They made quick work of the horses and then ran after the retreating glow of the angel.

  “Did he say ‘Leviathan’?” Galen panted as they climbed over the rubble.

  “He did.” Michael told him shortly. “Hurry now!” They could hear something scrambling loudly in the rubble behind them.

  Chapter Three of Seventeen

  I saw the Spirit descending from heaven like a dove

  “What does it mean ‘takes vengeance on the world of luminaries’?” Lucio leaned close to Simon’s ear as they sat watchin
g Edgard pace the desert sand in front of them. They had been summoned to the Grand Master’s tent by Barry of Sussex almost an hour earlier. Edgard had ushered his Knights out of the command tent and along the dry wash to this place. Now they sat or reclined on the smooth boulders while he paced in silence.

  “Raguel was once a very powerful archangel.” Simon whispered. “He was the one that brought the other angels into account when they did something wrong.”

  “Ahhh. Sort of an angelic internal affairs agent, no?” Lucio smiled and Simon just stared at him. Lucio’s smile faded. It was no laughing matter.

  If Raguel was, indeed, still in residence at the top of the mountain, there would be trouble. Edgard had muttered something about Uriel’s meddling with Lucifer’s son, Enoch and the further meddling of Raguel with Enoch. Enoch. Enoch. The son of Lucifer and Eve and the very same that had been taken by the angel Uriel and taught the ways of astronomy and so and so forth before the Biblical flood. Lucio was satisfactorily confused. His ignorance of angelic lore left him sorely lacking.

  “But he also became a part of all that is fallen, Brother.” Lucio reminded him. “You said so yourself. How can the pot call the kettle black?”

  Edgard was suddenly in front of him with lightning speed. “How can you think of cooking at a time like this?”

  “Cooking? Excuse`?” Lucio drew his chin back and looked at the Grand Master in surprise.

  “I heard you talking about pots, Golden Eagle. The least you can do is keep your mind on the subject at hand,” d’Brouchart snapped at him and resumed his pacing.

  Lucio made a wry face and looked at Konrad who shrugged slightly. When he caught Barry’s eye, the Soneschal looked embarrassed. They had suddenly regressed a hundred years and nothing ever really changed. The others busied themselves with their fingernails or the stars now appearing in the growing twilight above them. The fire that Lavon and Christopher had built in the midst of their impromptu circle cast ruddy glows on their faces and even the two Kings in their midst tried to seem unaware of the little exchange between the Knight of the Golden Eagle and the Grand Master much as they had done in the past when the Master had chastised the Italian in front of all of them like a small child. Even though he reacted in the very same manner as he always had, the entire situation now seemed extremely funny to him. Ludicrous, ridiculous, hilarious.