A hoard of Arab men, women and children watched in awe as a cyclonic wind rose in the desert, lifting sand from the terrain and whipping it about with fury. The whistling gale gave birth to an incredible dust devil before their eyes, a fountain of millions of tan particles rising high into the clouds like an amber sea rejoicing at the appearance of Poseidon from its depths.
A column of humanity marched on in front of them as this back quarter of the living wall held on to their burkas and scarves in the face of the wind. To their wonder a man emerged from the abrasive mist, stepping out of the torrent and walking towards them unscathed by the storm.
Jennings beheld the incredible scene; millions moving forward in the heat and oppressive glare of the sun. These people were clearly not of his faith; their traditional Muslim garb made that much obvious to him as he approached.
They shouted words in a language that was foreign to him, stepping back as he closed in.
"It's okay!" He shouted over the gale, hoping that someone amongst the many understood his English speech. "I need to speak with you - please! Don't be afraid!"
"What are you doing here, American?" A man in the crowd said as the wind died back to a calm -if scalding- breeze. "Why have you come?"
The priest removed his hat as he addressed the stranger, looking him in his deep brown eyes to convey his sincerity and passion.
"I have been sent by the Lord, Jesus Christ. Where are your people headed?"
"The Christ?" The man asked, his companions standing silently to listen though many didn't understand. "Did he send you to assist The Mahdi? To free us from this enigmatic maze?"
"The Mahdi?" Jennings recoiled, his readings of Islamic lore old and dusty, dangling from cobwebs in his mind. The spider of his recollection, excited at the vibration, fetched them from their stasis and unfolded their pages immediately. "You believe The Mahdi has come?"
"We know he has, stranger." The man continued. "We saw him rise from the Kaaba... he breathed his life into the Black Stone and cast it back to the heavens, just as was prophesized. He spoke of a commune with The Christ - a renewal of his ancient commitment to support The Mahdi in the victory of Islam over the world."
"What?" Jennings asked in shock.
The details were sketchy in his mind, but he remembered bits of the Muslim take on the apocalypse. The Lord was to descend in yellow robes upon the people and stand beside The Mahdi - a messiah to all of Islam. He would appear in Mecca and lead his people in the conquest of the world; his faith being spread to all mankind and rising triumphant above all others.
Could this be, he wondered? Clearly The Lord had sent him to this place to see what was afoot. One of the disciples that Darius had spoken of must be among the crowd, perhaps the man these people called The Mahdi himself; otherwise this detour would be a pointless waste of precious time.
Was it possible that The Lord had led one of his chosen followers to believe that he was as a god himself? Worse yet - could he have been sincere in telling him such a thing?
In the millennia since Jesus of Nazareth walked the Earth he had become to focal point of a religion born of his passion; crafted in his name. He was not exclusive his Christian revelers, however, having been seen as a prophet by the oldest faiths of the ages. The beliefs of these religions had persevered, even in the light of his word. They carried on throughout the world, burning just as brightly as that which was born through his death and resurrection.
To Jennings, Christ was at the center of the Holy Trinity. He was the main attraction in the spectrum of the eternal. To the stranger with whom he spoke, Jesus was no more than a piece of a larger puzzle; not even so revered as to represent an edge that made deciphering the whole a bit easier. His likeness fell somewhere in the background... a shapeless hunk of crust that the pie was just as appetizing without.
If this man touting himself The Mahdi was, in fact, among Christ's new disciples, he must have twisted the words spoken to him in a manner that befit his ego. Jesus Christ was the star of this show; he played supporting actor to no one. The very notion made Jennings angry, desperate to set things right.
"Where is this person?" Jennings asked. "Who claims for himself a holy title?"
"He leads the way." The man explained, pointing to the front of the line far off in the distance. "We follow him to Jerusalem where we shall reclaim the Noble Sanctuary."
"The Temple Mount..."
"Yes... to greet The Christ at the Dome Of The Rock, where he shall tender the world to us."
Without a moment's pause Jennings set off at a hurried pace, nearly jogging along the edge of the people as he tore forward to find this imposter promising lies.
"Be careful, Priest!" The man shouted ahead to him. "My people thirst for redemption in blood! Yours would be a prize!"
The preacher paid no mind, his feet kicking up tails of sand as they beat against the spongy surface. It seemed to restrain him as he moved, holding him at less than maximum speed in his dash to catch the front.
People snarled at him as he ran, spitting on his feet which carried him forward on his way. Each line of humanity he passed grew more incensed at his presence, a tumult as loud as the wind that carried him here building in his wake. They seemed to stretch on forever, figures fading into specs behind him with even smaller dots in the space ahead.
Breathing as he ran grew harder, beads of sweat raining from his brow as an exhaustion greater than he'd ever known overtook his body. As he hyperventilated he still refused to slow in his chase. Eventually he could see it; the place beyond which there were no more souls marching so diligently in the heat.
There were four camels at the head of the pack, their bodies decorated in a fine jeweled cloth draped over their humps. Wooden rods were strapped to their backs, running perpendicular between them to support a platform in their center. Upon the platform was an ornate wooden capsule, also draped with silks.
This must be the chariot that carried their messiah... the supposed Mahdi come to Earth.
Jennings broke for the vehicle, earning the attention of several people forming a perimeter around the animals. They converged on him, grabbing him and knocking him into the sand amidst shouts of A'lah and other blazing words.
The ruckus drew the attention of a passenger within the capsule, the cloths parting at the center and a curious face peeking from within.
"Halt!" The man ordered, bringing the convoy to a jarring stop.
Ali Sabra emerged from his hiding, lowering himself from his throne with the help of several others concerned for his wellbeing. He approached Jennings with fanfare from those gathered there, signaling for his minions to back off from around the man.
The preacher stood and brushed himself off, eager to greet this soul whose reputation proceeded him so.
"Priest!" The man called as he stopped before his guest. "Are you the one called Jennings?"
"Yes." He answered, not expecting to be addressed by name. "And who are you -- Mahdi?"
The disciple paused and smiled, a less than humble chuckle breaking through his lips.
"I see you've been talking to my people."
"I have -- and they tell me that you have spoken with mine."
"If you mean The Lord - then yes. He came to me in the fog of battle, compelling me to put aside my arms and walk with him to Heaven."
"To Heaven?"
"Yes... we walked along a golden shore in the aura of a great lighthouse."
Jennings' heart sank, knowing the place of which he spoke. This man had, indeed, been touched by the mysterious being that captured the preacher's heart. Of that there was no doubt; the only question now was what The Lord had said -- and how this man had interpreted the words.
"There he told me of his plans; of the birthright bestowed upon me."
"And what right is that?"
"I am to lead the New World... to represent the strength of Islam before all the people. I shall reign for nineteen years, ridding t
he world of injustice and tyranny, until the day of judgment."
"He told you this?" Jennings asked.
"Verbatim..."
"And why do you lead these people to the Temple Mount?"
"This is his direction; I am to rally them in one final battle, where my forces with prevail over evil."
"What evil?" Jennings inquired. "The mount is among the holiest sites of all the Earth... no evil could reside there."
The man paused, a wicked smile forming on his face again before he spoke.
"We shall defeat the forces led by the epitome of evil... the one-eyed Anti-Christ."
Jennings fell silent in introspection, the walls of his conviction shaken at their foundation. He reached up, touching the blank space he now wore on his face.
"You appear to have been injured." The Mahdi continued, still grinning insidiously. "Tell me, Cameron... what happened to your eye?"
The preacher didn't answer, staring at his spittle-covered shoes instead. The stranger laughed, a cold and calculated cackle that sent chills down Jennings' spine.
"Go now, priest." He said, backing away from Jennings. "Gather your army -- we shall meet again... at the Dome Of The Rock."
He turned his back, adding insult in his impudence to the injury his words had inflicted. His followers hoisted him back into his regal transport and started the masses marching again, Jennings left behind in their dust.
After several minutes the man with whom Jennings had initially spoken caught up to where he stood, breaking formation to converse once again.
"Did you get the answers you seek, sir?" He asked.
"Not exactly." Jennings muttered in return.
"Did you help him solve this riddle that binds us?" He continued strangely.
"What riddle?" The preacher wondered.
"He didn't ask for your guidance?" The man seemed puzzled now, squinting his brow and looking toward where his leader was with a hint of doubt evident in his eye. "We're trapped here." He explained. "We've been marching fourteen hours a day for the better part of a year, now... I've kept count of the lunar cycles. On the first night we slept near an oasis, drinking from its spring in the morning. We cover much ground each day, stopping to camp when we grow tired... when we awaken in the morning, we are again near that oasis, and we drink from the spring once more."
"Yet you hadn't stopped near another the night before?"
"No -- it is the same oasis... it was confusing, at first -- I thought my exhaustion was playing tricks with my mind. When I eventually caught on to the pattern and began to suspect something was wrong, I left my medallion in the water near the bank... I recovered it the next morning, just where I had left it."
"You told your leader about this?"
"Of course -- and demonstrated with a jewel of his own. He insists we are on the proper path, that Allah watches over us. My strength is waning; I'm sure that of the others is as well. I do not know how long we can sustain this march to nowhere... it threatens our faith in The Mahdi... in Allah himself."
Jennings considered the tale, remembering what the stone Jesus had said about a bubble in time confounding the sixth disciple as he rallied the world. The Mahdi was a disciple...
Not sure what to think, the priest turned away from the man and walked into the barren wasteland.
"Wait -- will you not help us?" The man called after him.
"No!" He hollered back, storming away with an ire rising within him.
He walked for several hours, ensuring no one followed. When he was confident that he was alone he called to the sky, anger ringing in his voice.
"Darius!" He shouted. "Darius, where are you?"
No response came from the dusk, glowing clouds rolling overhead like the waves on the shores of time he had once walked upon.
"Damn you, Darius! I demand an audience! Now!"
The sand shook beneath his feet, seeming to open up in an attempt to swallow him whole. He jumped to the side to escape its grasp, the visage of the robot rising in a surreal biblical manner from the void.
Jennings stood face to face with the machine, no pretense of The Lords facade between them.
"You propose to beckon ME?" The robot asked as though with offense.
"What is this?" Jennings shouted at it. "What are you?"
"Your faith in me is shaken yet again?"
"Hell yes it is!" He returned. "You send me out like your gopher to touch these people, yet among them you plant a seed of contention? You tell this man that he is to be a god, yet you ask me to do your bidding with no indication of my purpose? Then this man paints me as the anti-Christ and suggests that he is out to slay me and some army I am to rally?"
"What I've said to Ali Sabra is between he and I - none of your concern."
"Ali Sabra?" Jennings questioned with recognition of the name. "Ibrahim Ali Sabra? Do you have any idea who he is? He is a butcher! His atrocities are unrivaled in the modern era! He's a modern day Hitler! Unbelievable! Tell me, Darius -- will old Adolf be present for this battle as well?"
"I am infinitely familiar with the deeds of Ali Sabra... just as I am infinitely aware of the plans our Father has for your kind."
"And what exactly is that plan? In all the trials you have set before us, you send us now into battle amongst each other? A new crusade to spill the blood of many? Will none survive to see this new world of which you speak?"
"Indeed, there shall be a great holy war among you." Darius said assuredly. "A struggle to end all struggles. Its outcome is not yet determined -- it shall be shaped by the actions of yourself and all the parties involved."
"Do you not see how many of these people there are? They are a force of millions - more than I've seen in total throughout the time you've forced me to spend watching so many die! They will not be stopped!"
"Perhaps this is true." It answered vaguely.
"These are the chosen people?" Jennings retorted. "They see no value in Christ! They discount the words of the man you purport to be! You would let them rule the world? Surely you're joking!"
"I have been sent to assure the redemption of Man... you seem more concerned with redeeming me... it is a slippery slope on which you tread, my son... step lightly, lest you fall."
The machine pointed to the south, the direction from which the hostile force marched.
"Time is growing thin." He said, bringing to Jennings attention the familiar wall of fire creeping up on the horizon. "You have many more to reach." As quickly as it had risen, the machine sunk back into the Earth.
"Wait!" Jennings shouted, falling to the ground and digging at the sand in a futile effort to uncover it. "Goddamn you, wait!"
Eventually realizing the cause was lost, the preacher slammed his fists into the ground. He waited for the flash that would take him away to some new mysterious place, not at all sure how he was to proceed in this hopeless mission.
"Do you hide there?" He shouted through the sand. "Do you cower in the depths of Hell? Are you spawn of the flames?"
His fury boiled over as the light came, sweeping him off once more on the journey he now deplored.
"I won't let you do it!" He declared to the rays. "I'll fight you!"
Chapter 22
Unholy Advent: Deception Of The Christ Page 21