The Centaur

by Brendan Carroll

  Edgard stood again and waited for the silence to return before speaking.

  “Brothers. Sir Ramsay has made some interesting points and has spoken both words of encouragement and words of dire warning. His attitude toward the god of this mountain may seem a bit flippant to some of you and you may wonder at his apparent disregard for the eminent destruction awaiting us at the summit of Sinai.” The Grand Master again looked around at the faces before him. There were varying expressions of confusion and doubt. “I must remind you Sir Ramsay is not exactly what he appears to be.”

  Mark frowned slightly, unsure of where d’Brouchart was headed with his commentary.

  “We have… or, at least, some of us have witnessed the transformation of Sir Ramsay from the enigmatic Scotsman, who carried a golden sword, dressed in black and kept himself isolated in a relatively obscure part of the world for centuries into the King of the Elves, into Myrddyn the Sorcerer, into Thoth, the Atlantean and last, but not least, into the archangel Uriel. What may be his final destination one can only wonder.”

  “I object, Your Grace!” Lucio Dambretti stood up abruptly.

  He had been holding his breath, waiting for the Grand Master to name a few other personalities through which the Knight of Death had operated.

  “Earlier I was reprimanded for talking about food, but now I will tell you I said ‘that would be the pot calling the kettle black’! I now say it again and more loudly in defense of Brother Ramsay.”

  The Italian’s temper was again asserting itself in spite of Lucio’s new outlook on life. He had resigned himself to destruction, made his confession and accepted his fate cheerfully enough in spite of his overwhelming disinterest in everything except the fact he would never see Catharine or Vanni again in this life.

  “You, yourself, should look in the mirror, sir, or should I say, Your Highness, King Solomon? How dare you point an accusing finger at him when you are… you are…” Lucio stumbled to a stop. He had no idea what d’Brouchart was… exactly. “Santa Maria!” He looked around the table. He had everyone’s attention. “Tell me, Your Grace, who is it that leads this party, this day? Is it Lord Nebo? Or is it King Naboplasser of Babylon? Why have you treated your son so badly? Why did you make him eat grass for seven years? To please your ego simply because he honored Lord Marduk above you? Tell us, Your Grace, what is the difference between yourself and Brother Ramsay? What is the point of your harassment now?”

  Edgard stared the Italian down until Lucio resumed his seat.

  “I will tell you, my son, the point and the point is this: Sir Ramsay or whatever you choose to call him is not afraid of the god of this mountain because he has come home. You may know the god by his name of old, Yaldabaoth, sometimes referred to as Samael by his mother, but do you know his son, Sabaoth whom we have so recently banished? Do you know his other sons? Sambathas? Yao? Oraios? Astaphaios?”

  “Stop!” Lucio was on his feet again. He had heard this before. From Mark Andrew himself.

  “Why stop? Why stop now, Lucio?” Edgard asked him quietly and Lucio was stunned. The Grand Master had never called him by his first name.

  “Because.” Lucio looked down at the table. “I don’t think it is necessary to go on. That’s all.” The Golden Eagle looked up again and then smiled at the Master. “It is no matter. What happens here today is the will of God. It is as King Ramsay put it so nicely,” he turned to Luke Matthew. “What was that you said? If the breath of God burns us, then perhaps the flood will come and put us out?”

  Luke smiled and nodded slightly and then steepled his fingers in front of his face.

  “Take the vote.” Louis Champlain slammed one gloved hand on the table. “By right of my Holy Blood and by right of the lineage of the House of David, I demand a vote. If I am truly Ruler of the Holy Roman Empire as I was anointed in Rome, then I say: Enough talk. Vote. King Ramsay and I will abstain. The Master will abstain to avoid a tie.”

  A chorus of ayes went up and then an eerie silence fell in the tent as they waited for the Master to speak.

  “Vote, then.”

  Edgard turned and waved to his new aide-de-camp, one of Corrigan’s pretty Tuathan soldiers, and the lovely creature, which could very well have been a female, produced the worn box with the canister full of black and white balls.

  “White, we open. Black, we leave it,” Sir Barry announced as the aide passed out the black and white balls, one of each color to the eleven Knights of the Council.

  ((((((((((((()))))))))))))

  Nicole raised the golden sword over her head and her face to the black clouds roiling above the circle. Her blonde hair hung in soaked, dripping tendrils about her bloodied face as she called out to the powers to assist her.

  “O ye Spirits, ye I conjure by the Power, Wisdom, and Virtue of the Spirit of God, by the uncreate Divine Knowledge, by the vast Mercy of God, by the Strength of God, by the Greatness of God, by the Unity of God; and by the Holy Name of God, which is the root, trunk, source, and origin of all the other Divine Names, whence they all draw their life and their virtue, which Adam having invoked, he acquired the knowledge of all created things.”

  The unfamiliar words poured from her mouth in desperation. Mark lay at her feet, curled into a tight ball, shivering and clutching his knees to his chest, unresponsive to her shouts. His eyes were open, but there was no comprehension in them, and he stared blankly through the rain. Nicole had no idea what he had done to himself. She recognized the circle and the censor. All these things were familiar to her on some level she had never understood. Now she followed what could only be called intuition as she fought to gain control of the circle. On her way into the protective shell, she had encountered unseen forces that slapped at her and clawed her and tore at her poncho until she had finally relinquished it in a final lunge to achieve the safety of the protective circle. The rain continued, soaking her to the core and making her voice quiver with cold, and she could barely keep her teeth from chattering.

  “I conjure ye by the Indivisible Name Iod, which marketh and expresseth the Simplicity and the Unity of the Nature Divine, which Abel having invoked, he deserved to escape from the hands of Cain his brother. I conjure ye by the Name Tetragrammaton Elohim, which expresseth and signifieth the Grandeur of so lofty a Majesty, that Noah having pronounced it, saved himself, and protected himself with his whole household from the Waters of the Deluge. I command thee, by the fourth name of the power of Lord Marduk, Barshak, whose word is Baeludru. I command thee to appear at this Holy Circle in the name of the Supreme Lord and Master of all Creation.”

  Nicole slammed the sword’s point into the ground and shrieked as a bolt of blue lightning struck the ground precisely north of the rock marking the northern Cardinal point. Electricity danced into the circle, wrapped around the sword and traveled up the length of the blade to the hilt and up her arms to her shoulders. Instead of burning and hurting, the energy brought a sudden rush of warmth and well-being such as she had never known. She looked at her palms in wonder and then shrieked again as a deep voice, echoing the rumble of the thunder addressed her from just outside the circle.

  “What is the nature of your distress, Mistress of Darkness?”

  She jerked her head up and stumbled over Mark before catching her balance.

  “Barshak, I presume?” She asked with more confidence than she felt.

  “That is what some call me.” The apparition swayed and shimmered, formless, nothing more than a gray shadow in the rain.

  “Come out so I may see you.” Nicole put her hands on her hips and tried to assume a commanding posture.

  “As you wish, my beautiful evil.”

  The form solidified and she was looking at a singularly odd creature. He was extremely tall and thin, dressed in a suit of peculiar plated armor, dull gray in color, resembling the hide of the strange animals she had seen dead on the roadside outside of Dallas. Armadillos. She almost smiled at the weird thought. His face was very long as was his nose. The eyes were
small and deep-set, glowing yellow and a long, wispy beard and thin mustache of white adorned his upper lip and chin.

  “Why do you call me evil? You are the servant of Lord Marduk. Do you only serve evil?” She asked it.

  “You accuse my master of evil? You do not know Lord Marduk’s benevolence, my pretty sorceress. It is obvious that you are evil or else you would not dare call upon the names of Marduk for selfish purpose.”

  “Who are you calling selfish?” Nicole was losing her composure quite quickly. This fellow’s arrogant condescension was grating on her last nerve. She didn’t have time for this.

  “You presume to tell me you called me here out of altruism? Love for your neighbor? A sense of duty to your kind? You make me laugh.”

  “I thought you were supposed to be the most benevolent and caring of Lord Marduk’s soldiers. Are you not a healer? Can you not forget your pride and help one in need?”

  “What do you need, my lady of the night?” He turned his head a bit and seemed to leer at her.

  “My father is in need.” Nicole knelt beside Mark Andrew and touched his shoulder tenderly. “Papa? Can you hear me? Daddy? It’s me, your baby girl. Remember? Nicole?”

  She looked up at the spirit. Mark remained immobile.

  “Can you help him?”

  “I cannot reach him. You have barred me from your presence as if it were I was the problem.” It held out both hands. The fingers were long and gray, covered with numerous rings.

  “Is it pay you want?” She eyed the rings suspiciously.

  “I take whatever you feel your request is worth.”

  “Then you may take all of my jewelry.” Nicole looked down at her own hands. She wore the ring that Lucio had given her at their wedding. She had never taken it off. He had never noticed. She shrugged, pulled off the diamond encrusted concoction and tossed it through the air. The spirit caught it easily and then examined it closely before slipping it on one finger.

  “An extravagant trinket. Most fine of workmanship. But you must dispel this circle, or else I can do no work.”

  Nicole frowned. Ground the circle. She had no obvious choice.

  “All right, but I warn you, sir, no tricks!”

  The creature in gray stepped or drifted back as she started the grounding procedure, working from the north to the west to the south to the east and back to the north. When the circle of power dissipated, the wind died and the rain ceased as if she had thrown a heavenly switch. She half expected the specter to disappear. To her surprise, it remained. To her even greater surprise, it no longer looked like a tall thin armadillo, but now looked like an almost normal human being. The clothes were still gray in color and still resembled plated armor much like the ancient Chinese armies had worn during the first dynasty, but the creature, himself, was now a healthy flesh color, his hands were smooth, but not elongated. His face was finely chiseled and his hair was blonde not white. He still wore the mustache and beard, but both contained elaborate braids hanging well onto his chest. He pushed back the hood and smiled at her with perfect teeth, displaying an oddly shaved head with numerous tattoos. She sighed in relief and knelt again beside Mark Andrew.

  Barshak knelt beside her and easily straightened him out on his back.

  “What happened to him?” He asked her and his voice was normal, no longer thunderous and deep.

  “I don’t know. He’s not very adept at sorcery. I’m afraid he may have overreached himself,” Nicole explained and then leaned closer to Mark. “Daddy? Can you hear me? Someone is here to help you.”

  “He cannot hear you, Daughter of Darkness.”

  “Quit calling me those things!” She snapped at him and he laughed.

  “He has called up six names of power without resting between,” the spirit told her as he ran his hands over Mark’s chest and stomach. “He has drained his own energy to a critical level. Tsk. Tsk. Tsk. Very dangerous.”

  “Can you help him?” Nicole asked him again. “You must help him. He is the only family I have.”

  “Family? Ahhh. Blood. I understand. Yes, I can help him.” The spirit held up his hand and admired the ring. It sparkled in the last flashes of the dying storm. “You have blood on your own face, Daughter.”

  Nicole wiped at her face. She could feel the sting of salt as her tears ran into the scratches on her cheek. “We must get him inside where it’s warm. He’ll freeze out here and so will I.”

  “Freeze? Noooo, I don’t think so.” His voice was smooth and gentle now, soothing. “Shall we carry him then?”

  Nicole helped him heft the slippery wet, half-naked sorcerer between them and then smiled broadly at the sight of Gregory and Nicholas armed with flashlights and umbrellas hurrying toward them down the waterlogged meadow.

  “Who is this?” Gregory asked as he took up half the weight of the unconscious man.

  Nicholas shined his flashlight in Barshak’s face.

  “Ahhh. Magick lamps.” The spirit shaded his eyes and relinquished his hold on Mark to Nicholas.

  “Nicholas, Gregory, this is… this is… Mr. Barshak. He’s a doctor. Mr. Barshak, these are my nephews, Nicholas and Gregory.”

  “Pleased to meet you, sir,” Gregory piped up immediately much to his elder brother’s chagrin. He’d only just been lecturing the younger brother to beware of speaking to strangers.

  “A doctor?” Nicholas eyed the stranger suspiciously. “What strange attire for a physician? What happened to Grandfather? How came you to be out in this storm?”

  As they walked along, they were assaulted by a barrage of questions.

  ((((((((((((()))))))))))))

  The vote was taken and the count done. They would not open the Ark without the Urim and Thummin. Edgard had protested the decision vehemently, almost coming to blows with Luke Matthew and Louis Champlain. The two monarchs were adamantly in favor of opening the box. The Grand Master finished his say by telling them that they were pig-headed and that destruction would surely follow them. Mark Andrew had voted to throw the box, unopened, into the crevice, but there had been only black balls in the box. The overwhelming majority of the Council wanted the box to remain closed, and the Knight of the Golden Key, Simon’s son, Benjamin, was more than willing and ready to use his mystery and the key to perform the deed, proclaiming that it was his right and his privilege, and if the Creator were on their side as they believed, then they would surely overcome. With all that said and, at the urging of the Knight of Death, they removed the Ark from the wooden crate and carried it to the Wilderness Temple that Simon and Levi had built at the summit. Konrad walked with Simon in front of the small procession as they made the ascent to the summit once more. Lavon waited for them in front of the tabernacle with his uniform covered over by the white robe of the sorcerer, embroidered with red thread, edged with purple, blue and red tassels. They would perform a prayer and invocation of the Wisdom of Solomon for added power and protection while they performed the deed. The Ark would remain closed.

  Lavon greeted each of them with a kiss on the lips and a silent hug and then showed them where to stand and they readied themselves for the ordeal to commence as the mountain trembled with rage under their feet and the soldiers and other commanders waited at the base camp ready to assist, retreat or die as the case should turn out to be. They had broken camp, packed up all the gear and made ready to leave on the off chance that there would be the opportunity to do such a thing, but Eduard de Goth had rallied his troops and his commanders and Corrigan, as well, had stayed behind with his Tuathans, preferring to ride out the ‘storm’ at the base of the mountain than to face the menace at the top. The two commanders sat side by side in front of their armies with the Mighty Djinni, Adalune Kadif, who, still wearing the outward trappings of the Zoroastrian prophet, Zarathustra, sat upon his camel. His ‘people’ as he called them, had left just before sunrise, heading into the mountains as he had instructed them. Only the ‘prophet’ had remained behind.

  “It should be glorious,” he said
after the last of the small procession disappeared from their line of sight.

  “I’d give anything for good glass of cognac.” De Goth shifted in his saddle and looked back at the long column of ATV’s, M-3 and M-4 tanks, troop carriers, armored assault vehicles and supply trucks, all facing away from him and ready to move out at a moment’s notice. His army was equipped with the finest remnants of all that the world had left of war machinery.

  King Corrigan’s army, on the other hand, was quite glorious in and of itself, all mounted on prancing ponies or riding in elaborately painted and decorated chariots, a beautiful sight to behold in the barren landscape, but poorly equipped to wage a modern war, bearing only bows and arrows, lances, swords, knives and slings. Their fanciful uniforms were decorated with brilliant silks, feathers and beads and their armor was buffed bronze, copper and silver. Hardly what de Goth would have considered a threat, but he knew very well that the Tuatha de Danann’s strength lay not in what was evident at first sight, but rather in the magick they possessed.

  The Baron’s thoughts were interrupted when Lemarik rode close by and handed a brown bottle down to him. He took the bottle and laughed as he read the label. Cognac!

  “Thank you, my friend.” He smiled up at the Djinni.

  “It my pleasure.” The Mighty Djinn nodded to him and then looked up at the furious black cloud hovering over the summit of the mountain. Rumbling thunder rolled continuously down the slopes now. “My father has made the spirit of this mountain very unhappy,” he mused in his sing-song voice. “I wonder if it knows that Death has come calling.”

  “You believe Yaldabaoth is afraid of Mark Ramsay?” Corrigan scoffed and turned his stallion about in a circle.