“Tell me about my soul, Lucio,” she pleaded. “Is it really beautiful?”
He closed his eyes and began to speak the words of Kahlil Gibran concerning the soul. “The hidden well-spring of your soul must needs rise and run murmuring to the sea. And the treasure of your infinite depths would be revealed to your eyes. Say not ‘I have found the path of the soul.’ Say rather, ‘I have met the soul walking upon my path.’ For the soul walks upon all paths. The soul walks not upon a line, neither does it grow like a reed. The soul unfolds itself, like a lotus of countless petals.” He opened his eyes on the last word and smiled a genuine smile at her.
“That was… grand,” she said softly and stared at him for a long moment. “I didn’t know you were a poet.”
“Those were not my words,” he admitted. “They came from a great man of the twentieth century named Kahlil Gibran. I once had more time to study words. I was especially interested in anything to do with the soul. It was sort of my peculiar interest, you might say.”
Nicole nodded and then laughed slightly. “This Catharine woman seems to have done wonders for your temper. You are truly a good man, Lucio, but I still hate you even so.”
“Good. Now tell me, what happened here?” He reverted back to the original problem quickly, but not before feeling they had put a great deal of bad blood behind them.
(((((((((((((
The incongruous ‘boat’ bobbed too high in the water, making it a very tedious vessel to keep afloat. Mark had to lean this way and that in order to keep the thing from capsizing and dumping its contents into the swirling drink. Maneuvering was out of the question. The rectangular box floated amidst an enormous raft of debris sweeping slowly through the streets of New Babylon. The Knight had hoped the flood would play itself out a few blocks from the palace walls and set them down in one relatively undamaged piece, but already they had floated at least six blocks from the palace and were on a collision course with the Tigris River. If they made it to the river, he knew their chances of making it to a safe port would be near zero. Selwig was wedged into the freezer section of the doorless refrigerator, while Mark took up the better part of the larger cooler section. He recognized the thing as one of two refrigerators that had been in the laboratory under the palace. His suspicions had been confirmed by the presence of several plastic pouches sharing his compartment with what looked like blood in them.
“Look out, Master!” Selwig shouted and pointed behind him. The thing had switched ends again and he had his back to the ‘bow’. He bent over his own knees as they were swept under the limbs of an almond tree. The refrigerator snagged on the tree and listed dangerously to port.
Mark threw his weight to starboard and Selwig scrambled to unhook the limb holding them in place and then they were racing along again, bobbing and banging into all sorts of floating hazards. A round propane bottle smacked into the ‘prow’ and they could hear gas hissing from the broken coupling as it veered away from them. Mark grabbed at a lamp post and managed to turn the box so he could see what was in front of them. They shot across an intersection and slammed into a brick wall, skidding down the side with a terrible screeching noise that drowned out Selwig’s cries, they crashed into the upper part of a first floor window. The Tuathan panicked at the sound of breaking glass and he used his feet and hands to push them off the building even though Mark was shouting to him not to. If they could have crashed into the building, they might have been able to get out of the makeshift boat and up to the roof of one of the taller buildings in downtown New Babylon, but they were soon back in the flow. They rounded another bend with less trouble and caught up with the spewing gas tank. Mark tried again and again to push the thing away, but it clung maddeningly to the side of the refrigerator as if stuck by magnetic force or evil curse. Selwig was shouting at him again as the box rocked, tilted and shipped water. He turned his attention to the Tuathan and saw too late the next challenge. A power line was down. Dangling wires from the side of a building skipped and danced across the surface of the flood ahead of them. Each time the wire touched the water, it emitted a flash and an audible pop before bouncing back in the air.
Mark’s brain had only enough time to grasp the gravity of the situation before they were under the wires.
“Hold on!” Mark shouted at the Tuathan and they stared at each other for what seemed an eternity before the next pop and spark, which ignited the gas spewing from the tank. The force of the blast lifted the refrigerator from the water and slammed it down on top of an ornate lamp post made of iron. The milky white globes exploded and the decorative point pierced the back of the refrigerator between Mark’s boots. Mark Andrew slapped at his hair and his head, expecting to be ablaze, but miraculously, he had survived the blast fairly intact. His ears were ringing and his right shoulder was numb. He tested their position for stability and found that he could move, if he was slow and careful. At least they had stopped moving… for the time being.
“Selwig!” He called and shifted onto his knees and leaned toward the freezer compartment. The battered box creaked and tilted dangerously, threatening to slip off its perch. His heart sank when the indomitable little healer did not pop his blonde head up to answer him. “Selwig?” He asked and inched his way forward, almost afraid to look.
The Tuathan was sitting cross-legged in the small compartment, slumped over with his head touching the bottom of the box in front of him, his ever-present yellow bag clutched to his stomach.
Mark reached over the partition and felt for a pulse in his neck. Finding none, he pulled the little fellow back and his head rolled limply on his neck in an unnatural fashion.
“Selwig!” Mark shouted at him as dread raised its head in his heart. “Wake up, little friend!” He shook the healer as much as he dared and then tried to pull him over the partition. The refrigerator tilted and would have gone back in the flood with a sizable hole in the bottom if he pushed his luck.
Selwig was dead. That much was certain. He looked over the side at the rushing water below. He couldn’t imagine what his next move might be. Despair set in at once as he realized how hopeless the situation was. He couldn’t even begin to position the healer on his back in order to perform simple CPR.
It was not right! It was not fair! The Tuathan would not have been in this condition if he’d not asked him to come. But Selwig was supposed to be immortal in the overworld. Luke Matthew had assured him that the healer had eaten the golden apples just as Merry and Rachel d’Ornan. He shouldn’t be dead, unless the blow had broken his neck.
Mark edged his way forward and checked the healer’s neck. His head wobbled around loosely. Broken, no doubt.
“I’m sorry, little friend,” Mark apologized to his faithful servant and then sat back in his end of the box. A bright red spray erupted as one of the blood pouches burst under his weight.
“Great Scot!” He shouted and grabbed the bag from under him. He tossed it over the side and looked at his hands in disgust. Covered with blood. The symbolism of the sight was not lost on him. He cursed in Gaelic and grabbed up another of the bags, intending to fling it over the side, but he glimpsed something written on the peel-and-stick label that made him almost dump the entire box into the drink again as he scrambled to recover the slippery bag at the last moment. He held the bag in his hands and stared at the heavy black marks, unbelieving.
‘Sang du Dragon multiplié par 100, Simon Peter d’Ornan, Berne, Switzerland.’ Dragon’s Blood!
How it had come to be in Jozsef’s lab was as mysterious to Mark Andrew as where they might have gotten Simon’s blood in order to multiply it. But those concerns took a back seat to the situation at hand. He grappled in his pocket for his pocket knife and punched a tiny hole in the bag of precious liquid. He squeezed a bit on his forefinger and then laid the blood carefully in the bottom of the tub so as not to spill it inadvertently. When he was in position, he made a cross on Selwig’s forehead and placed a bit of the blood on the healer’s lips before beginn
ing the chant from the Wisdom of Solomon which would restore the healer if this was truly Simon’s blood.
Within minutes, Selwig sat blinking at him in confusion as he alternately patted himself on the head and squeezed his arms and legs here and there while the Knight of Death spoke incoherently in Gaelic. He could not imagine why Mark would be so happy when they were in such a plight.
“Master,” Selwig finally interrupted him. “The water is rising.”
Mark frowned and looked down. Water was burbling up through the hole in the bottom of the refrigerator.
“What are we going to do now?” Selwig asked him.
Mark checked the other bag of darker blood and found it labeled with Louis Champlain’s name. These samples had both come from Berne, Switzerland. Apparently, Abaddon had made quite a collection at his clinic in the Alps. He wondered briefly whose blood he had thrown over the side, but the urgency of their dilemma was much too great to ponder the question for long.
“We need a new boat, mate,” Mark smiled at him and began to scan the waters for something that might make a suitable replacement for the refrigerator.
Selwig’s brows knit together in a deep frown. He hated water.
Chapter Fourteen of Seventeen
He that dasheth in pieces is come up before thy face
Abaddon opened his eyes, blinked rapidly in the darkness and then opened his second set of eyelids, gathering more of the faint starlight activating his night vision ability. He was still in the desert; his nose told him so. He was lying on his back, looking up at the stars. The pain in his neck was gone, and when he passed his hand over the area where the arrow had been, he found, with some surprise, the arrow was gone as well. Not only was the arrow gone, there was no wound. This was even more puzzling. He remembered trying desperately to dislodge the angelic arrow, but he did not remember being successful, nor could he remember or imagine how he might have removed the arrow without leaving a festering wound caused by the powerful poisons decorating the arrowheads. The dark angel groaned and sat up. His wings were crumpled about him and he worked quickly to straighten them out and fold them on his back in a more comfortable position. It would take some time before they were flight worthy again. As far as where he might be, again his memory failed him. The arrow had been terrible, horrible, the worst pain he had ever suffered and he was sure some of the bad universal karma he had amassed might have been paid off.
Another surprise awaited him when he tried to move his feet and legs. His feet were buried under a fairly large boulder, but his brain registered no pain. In fact, he could not feel his feet at all. Panic washed over him and he threw back his head, howling at the stars in cold panic. He had traded one form of slow death for another, but how? For several minutes, he struggled mightily against the boulder, alternately pulling fruitlessly against the rock, screaming his rising desperation into the desert night. If he could not extricate himself, his cries might bring some predator to put an end to his suffering more quickly. The thought of starving and thirsting in the desert sun for several days or weeks was unbearable. If he could not free himself one way, he would free himself another.
Strangely enough the only pain he felt was the strain that he was inflicting on his arms, shoulders and back muscles. When he finally stopped struggling and listened for signs of predators closing in from the wilds, he heard a soft voice singing. At first, he thought it was a dream. He swiveled his head about as far as he could in all directions, but saw nothing other than blank desert pavement. There was nothing to break the monotony. Oddly enough, the only boulder within his sight, which was of any considerable size, was the one resting on his feet. Whoever or whatever was singing nearby was no doubt the cause of his present dilemma. There could be no other explanation and the voice indicated that, whether or not he could see anything, he was not alone.
He tried to still his pounding heart in order to hear the song more plainly. It was a beautiful, haunting melody, which struck at the very depths of his mind, pulling at some lost memory, causing him to forget, at least momentarily, his piteous plight. And then his eyes flew wide and his resolve to allow whatever came for him to finish him quickly vanished.
Dragon song!
He recognized the form and fashion of the lyrical rhymes he’d not heard in thousands of years. A desert dragon had come to devour him, and his instinct for survival would not allow him to simply sit still and allow it to happen. He looked about again in the starlight, but saw nothing. Abaddon was well aware of the fact that a dragon might be within arm’s length and not be seen. He gathered handfuls of the silt piled in ripples all around him and threw it out around him in all directions, hoping to detect an anomaly in the landscape, but nothing was forthcoming, nor could he see the beast. It was out of reach.
The Scorpion Lord concentrated his thoughts on his minions and immediately, a scourge of black scorpions poured from a crack in the earth, covering him completely in a deadly shroud. No predator would find him appetizing now. His pets could not move the rock pinning his feet, but they could provide a bit of protection until he could think things through completely. The scorpions settled into place, forming a living coat of armor, interlocking their legs and pinchers, raising their poisonous tails, ready to strike anything approaching their master.
The song continued, soothing like a lullaby, beautiful as a love ballad and stirring like the sound of a thousand angelic voices praising the glory of God. He shook his head again and determined not to be lulled into a false sense of security. These were the wiles of the dragon. This was the preferred method for luring victims to their grisly deaths. He knew this first hand as he had personally witnessed the crime many times in his life. He had to concentrate on getting his feet out of the magickal trap.
Time wore on and he ran out of ideas. Only one remained; another thing he had witnessed first hand on several occasions. Desperation was a powerful force capable of overcoming many fears, the engine behind incredible feats of courage and sacrifice, an energy powered by the will to live. The Dark Angel leaned forward as far as possible and felt of his legs. He would have to cut through the extremely tough sinews and tendons near his ankles. The bones would be the most difficult part, but even this pain would not come close to the pain inflicted by the arrow. He knew now who had removed the shaft from his neck. The dragon could not handle angelic poison. It had removed the arrow, used its magickal powers to heal the wound and was now waiting patiently for him to recover in order to avoid being poisoned by the meal.
He tested his wings and found them in good working order once more. He would have to fly faster than the dragon, once the deed was done. When he had assured himself the better part of him was in good working order, he leaned forward again and commanded the scorpions on his legs to sting him just where the rock met his skin. The scorpion poison would numb the pain of the amputation somewhat, but the pain of the multiple stings still made him howl in agony. Before his last screams had died, he used his powerful to quickly accomplish the unthinkable. After a brief bout of nausea and dizziness, he took to the air, streaming a trail of black scorpions and dark blood behind him. The singing stopped at once, and he heard the roar of the dragon and below him. It was coming up faster than he expected.
Abaddon beat his wings against the night air faster than ever he had done before and the flat terrain skimmed by only a few dozen feet below him at an astonishing rate. Surely the dragon could not fly nearly so swiftly. He dared not look back for fear of the drag caused by the movement which would impede his flight. If he could make it back to safety, he would beg Adar to find him another body wherein he could be whole again. The terrain below him changed from smoothly rippled sand to a prickly bone yard of debris, crushed beyond recognition by the force of the water which had washed across the peninsula.
When the ground below him changed again and began to rise in elevation, he slowed just a bit. He was growing fatigued very rapidly. The terrible wounds he had inflicted upon himself had taken a toll on his streng
th, and he could now feel it ebbing away as his dark blood streamed out behind him. He would have to stop soon and rest, but he was sure the dragon had tired by now and gone in search of easier prey.
He was wrong.
The moment he slowed and just as he prepared to chance one short glance behind, he was struck from above and knocked to the ground like a mosquito. He hit the rocky hillside on his face and had not even begun to turn over and face his enemy before a tremendous weight descended on his back, and he knew his end had come. He had suffered for nothing.
His last thought before darkness overcame him was of Inanna and how lonely he had been without her.
(((((((((((((
“Behold anew the Symbol and the Name of a Sovereign and Conquering God, through which all the Universe fears, trembles, and shudders, and through the most mysterious words of the Secret Mysteries and by their Virtue, Strength, and Power.”
Meredith turned on the surprised angelic chieftain and held up the pentacle so that he could read the powerful names of God inscribed upon it. She smiled slightly at him and he looked down in growing panic. He had stepped directly into the center of another pentagram drawn on the floor of her tent with white powder. Lucifer tried to speak, but nothing would come from his throat other than a dry croak. He reached for his neck and stared at her in disbelief.
“I conjure ye anew,” she continued. “I constrain and command ye with the utmost vehemence and power, by that most potent and powerful Name of God, EL, strong and wonderful, by Him Who spake and it was done; and by the Name Iah, which Moses heard, and spoke with God; and by the Name Agla, which Joseph invoked, and was delivered out of the hands of his brethren; and by the Name Vau, which Abraham heard, and knew God the Almighty One; and by the Name of Four Letters, Tetragrammaton, which Joshua named and invoked, and he was rendered worthy and found deserving to lead the Army of Israel into the Promised Land; and by the Name Anabona, by which God formed Man and the whole Universe; and by the Name Arpheton, and in the Name Arpheton by which the Angels who are destined to that end will summon the Universe, in visible body and form. Lucifer, Light-bringer, summon forth the Universe in visible body and form! I command ye! I constrain thee! I abjure thee! I detest thee! I despise thee! Thou who art the pinnacle of arrogance.” She stepped closer to him, but by now he was completely paralyzed.
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