“He got inside it?” Isis asked, her eyes wide.
“He did, my lady. I wish I could say I tried to stop him, but Set’s apology for his past behavior was convincing.”
“Then what happened?”
“Once Osiris was inside, Set and his men slammed on the lid, nailed it shut, and carried it to the Nile. They . . .” the man shook his head. His voice sank to a whisper. “They threw the coffin into the water."
“Take me to the place.”
The grief of the goddess pulled Elizabeth into harmony with Anne, and they watched this scene unfold. Did Anne sense her presence, she wondered. Perhaps not. Anne’s link to Isis was almost seamless.
Once the scene ended, Elizabeth rose from her straight-backed chair, clear-headed now. She dressed for the coming ritual—shrugged into her robe, slipped her feet into velvet, soft-soled slippers, and donned one of the family heirlooms, an ancient, magical amethyst ring, on her forefinger. The gold dragons at the base seemed to slither into place, arming her.
Elizabeth made her way through the house to the temple, thinking about what she’d seen so far. Anne as Nephthys, then Isis. Why did Anne keep going back to Egypt when the scourge of Avalon stood in the temple, the one responsible for this psychic attack? What did these two stories have in common? Two men fighting for the throne, one a set of brothers, another father and son. Clandestine assignations and secrets about the parentage of children.
Downstairs, most of the lodge had gathered in the ballroom, their dark robes somber in the evening light. The quiet murmuring stopped when their head priestess arrived. The group arranged themselves in a semicircle, hands folded, eyes intent on Elizabeth.
She told the whole story since a few people had not heard it yet. She wanted to be thorough, to let the group think this through before attempting the banishing. Elizabeth added her latest experience.
“Gerald will not be joining us tonight. Our businesses and financial holdings have also been attacked and he is attending to that.”
At a few raised eyebrows, she added, “I would advise you to see to your own affairs as soon as you can in case the attack spreads to the whole group.” She paused, looking around at her colleagues, thirteen highly talented magicians, carefully chosen to form a balance of abilities. All of impeccable character. “Our identity is well hidden, but we don’t know who is behind this. Clearly, they have ties to the metaphysical community. I’m just suggesting this out of an abundance of caution.”
“Thank you, Elizabeth. I’m sure we’ll all do our due diligence once we’ve attended to the more pressing business at hand.” Winston straightened the purple cord around his waist. He explained Anne’s medical condition, forgetting his audience couldn’t quite follow his technical terms. After he finished, he looked around at the confused faces and smiled ruefully. “To sum up, her condition is stable for the moment. The baby is fine. But she could go into labor at any time. It seems the entity is here to stop the baby’s birth.”
Murmurs greeted this last statement.
“Thank you, Winston,” Elizabeth said. “Now, given that Anne seems to be returning to Egypt in her astral traveling, presumably guided by the situation, how can we use this to our advantage? What does it tell us?”
The group stood quietly, some lost in thought, others with mouths pursed or foreheads wrinkled. Julia and Bill Hardy spoke in whispers. Finally, Cordelia Stuart raised a forefinger.
At Elizabeth’s nod, she stepped forward. “We all know the stories that are at play here. The metaphysical tradition holds that both the Egyptian and Jewish traditions succeeded in bringing in the savior of their age, but in Camelot, Arthur left no child born from his marriage with Guinevere. Instead, he was killed and taken away. We still await his return.”
“So, you’re suggesting this child might be involved in the return of the King?”
Cordelia ducked her head slightly at hearing this stated so boldly. “Perhaps.”
A tingle of energy set the hairs on Elizabeth’s arms on edge, alerting her there might be something to Cordelia’s idea.
Alycia Thompson spoke up. “I took the liberty of investigating Michael’s lineage.”
“Thank you,” Elizabeth said. The family had already done this, but Alycia was an expert in genealogy and might have discovered something new.
“He does come from the Levite priesthood. Anne, as we know, is of the Magdalene bloodline, so the two parents are from ancient and powerful heritages. Two spiritual families combining again. The child could well be pivotal to the new era that is dawning.”
“Where is Michael this evening?” David Wilt asked.
“He was called away to Egypt. We haven’t been able to contact him yet.” Arnold spoke from the doorway where he would keep vigil during the ritual. If he had to leave, he’d assign another member of the security staff.
“Anne Morgan le Clair has been kidnapped.” Elizabeth’s voice rang out. “It is our duty to rescue her and the young prince.”
This archaic phrase had the desired effect. The group circled around her, backs straight, eyes intent.
“Let us proceed into the temple. The west will enter first. You know your stations.” She turned to David. “Guardian, let us know when the temple is ready.”
Soon David called them in, and the group walked through the carved oak double doors, some pausing at the threshold to take in the sight of Anne lying in her hospital bed surrounded by monitors, but discipline prevailed and they made their way to their chairs. Some closed their eyes, further preparing themselves for their role in tonight’s ceremony.
Those in the directions picked up the implements, a few ancient, each one representing the element, and called in their quarter in order. Elizabeth picked up her wand and flourished it. Bill Hardy in the South held a dagger with a long history. Cordelia stood opposite Elizabeth and picked up the sacred chalice, holding it with reverence. Julia balanced her husband in the North and called in the element of earth. David sealed the temple with a flourish of the ancient sword belonging to the lodge, and Elizabeth felt the air in the room tighten like the skin of a drum.
Elizabeth had taken David aside and instructed him to keep a close watch. He’d need to open the circle to allow the entity to escape once they’d driven it from the crystal. The nurse stepped back, and Winston stood beside Anne, his hands hovering above her. His job was to block any attempt to harm her or the baby. Elizabeth wished Michael were here to do it. Where was he, anyway? She also missed Gerald. Although his magical abilities were not strong, his special gift was his heart. His love buoyed her up, wrapping her in a cloak of warmth and optimism. She could use that about now.
Once the quarters were called, Elizabeth turned to the crystal ball in the center of the temple and began the rite. She raised her wand above her head. “I invoke the Defender, Archangel Michael. Sekhmet, the Protector. I invoke the guardian of this Lodge, Mother Isis and call upon Anubis, the Opener of the Ways. I call on the guardians of the soul of Anne Morgan le Clair Levy, the guardians of the spirits of the companions assembled here. Come to us now.”
As she called each name, Elizabeth could feel the light intensifying on the inner planes. Lord Michael took up his station in the South, his sword gleaming. Anubis walked in and stood in the West, his dark robes almost cutting the air with the force of his presence. He wore his human face and a fierce expression. Sekhmet took her place on the other side of the western altar, her golden body shining, her expression serene.
Elizabeth began a chant to raise the energy of the temple further. The chant grew in intensity as the others joined in, spiraled up the scale, then right before it crescendoed, she pointed her wand at the center crystal and drew a banishing pentagram in the air. The others followed suit.
“Mordred, son of the Goddess and God, conceived of the high ritual at Beltane in the sacred Avalon, I expel you from this place. I call upon all the powers gathered to sever your ties to Anne Morgan Le Clair Levy. I command you to release her. I send you ba
ck to your place in the other world.” She flourished her wand and then pushed the energy she had gathered with her words at the crystal.
A quiver went through the temple. Winston’s face sharpened, and he moved one hand up as if to block something from reaching Anne. The Archangel Michael standing at the southern altar was suddenly engulfed in scarlet flames.
There was a pause, then a long, low laugh sounded like a gong, spreading a malevolent arrogance that set Elizabeth’s teeth on edge.
Ah, my Lady, still the Lady.
Elizabeth wondered what he meant by this.
These powers will not interfere with my rightful claim. It is me, not him, who shall be reborn.
Elizabeth could see by the looks of shock and anger on the faces of the lodge members that everyone had heard these words in their minds, even the least talented. She looked to Anubis, who could banish this upstart with one wave of his hand if he chose, but he only smiled at her. Sekhmet’s fury was legendary, although Elizabeth had only ever experienced her compassion and unconditional love, but she stood, holding her lotus staff, watching with a detached interest.
Elizabeth turned her attention back to Mordred. “What is your claim?” she asked.
A bright yellow glow began in the heart of the crystal and spread, rapidly engulfing the whole temple. The faces of her companions were lit with the light, Alycia’s spectacles reflecting the luminosity like a cat’s eyes caught by headlights. The energy did not feel malevolent, but Elizabeth lifted her hands to push back and suddenly found herself in a clearing surrounded by a grove of trees. Her knuckles had smoothed out, the age spots on the top of her hands had disappeared.
Her own voice rang out, clear and strong. “Arthur, Guinevere, join hands.”
The young royal couple stood before her, Arthur decked out in his finest. His tunic sported the golden double dragons of the Pendragon coat of arms. The jewels set in his gold crown caught the sunlight.
The bride wore a gown of white, the layers billowing in the light breeze. Elizabeth abruptly remembered her family had converted to Christianity, which explained the color. Yet, here she was getting the blessing of the Druids and the Priestesses of Avalon. Had they already done a service in the cathedral just down the hill? Many of the Knights of the Round Table stood watching. She recognized Gawain and Bedivere.
At least we’re in the right story, she thought.
Elizabeth shook her head against the enthrallment, but the Lady of Avalon—Viviane, her famous ancestor—steadied her. Elizabeth looked through the Lady’s eyes around at the gathered crowd and saw her lodge companions had joined her, some overshadowing their past selves as members of this famous crowd just as she did, others standing as shades because they had not lived at this time. All watched intently.
The Lady’s voice rang out again. “Stretch out your joined hands.”
The couple did as instructed. Elizabeth noticed a ring shining from Guinevere’s hand. So, they had already been to the cathedral. The young bride looked up into the Lady of Avalon’s face and Elizabeth gasped. Her granddaughter Anne looked back at her.
With a snap, Elizabeth returned to the present, to the temple. Murmurs rose from around the circle. Cordelia grabbed the rails of the hospital bed to steady herself.
“We were there,” someone said.
“What an extraordinary experience.”
“Let us maintain order,” Elizabeth said.
The whispering in the lodge fell into silence.
Elizabeth addressed Mordred, who stood in his fighting clothes in the middle of the temple where she imagined many still saw the crystal. “How is this an answer to my question?”
I am the only born son of Arthur Pendragon, High King of Britain, and Morgan, the daughter of Igraine, High Queen, and King Gorlois. It is my right to rule.
“You, my dear boy, are a gift of the gods, a divine child born of the sacred Beltane rite. You are not the child of those humans who took part in the ritual.”
It is my right to rule.
“You failed to understand your place during Arthur’s time. Your human parents are of lesser stature than the deities who came into the people celebrating the ritual. You are higher than a king. This is the tradition.”
Mordred shook his head, his jaw clenched, his face set in stubborn lines.
Elizabeth wanted to snatch him up like a recalcitrant child and throttle him, but she took a steadying breath and said, “It is the twenty-first century. The Pendragons do not rule England any longer. The monarchy no longer holds temporal power.” Elizabeth fought the rising frustration. How could she explain the modern world to this medieval soldier?
The bloodline will always rule, he answered. It is my time.
Elizabeth gathered a ball of fire in her solar plexus, pulled it up through her arm, and sent it crashing across the temple at the surly warrior standing in place of her precious Atlantean crystal. Her companions joined in. Streams of fire flowed across the space, all meeting in the dark figure of Mordred. But he threw up his arms and to her great surprise, Anubis stepped in, surrounding Mordred with his cloak, deflecting their energy.
Not yet, he said.
Chapter 9
Michael ducked his head at Tahir’s wife, Jamila, as she handed him a cup of tea. He sat cross-legged on a cushion on the second story of their tiered house just a block away from the Sphinx enclosure. Tahir nodded for his wife to set the tray in the middle of the rug and busied himself with the shisha pipe beside him. Michael rubbed the back of his neck. It still stung from the theft of his crystal—at least that’s what he thought had happened. There had been only one set of footprints leading into where they had found him in the temple. None returning. How his crystal had been stolen might be a three-pipe problem, as Sherlock Holmes would phrase it. Tahir looked prepared for that as he broke up a briquette of charcoal and spread it evenly in the bowl of the pipe.
Tahir had sent Azizi home to his family. It was still the wee hours. Jamila went back to bed, the children and grandchildren still slept, so it was just the two of them. The night was silent—as silent as Egypt ever got. An occasional voice lifted from the street, the bark of a dog, the noise of distant traffic reached them through the open windows. Michael watched the now familiar ritual as Tahir stuffed the tobacco into the bowl and sprinkled a few grains of hashish on top. It was the only time Michael indulged in either substance—here in Egypt with Tahir. It seemed to take down the remaining barriers so they could speak mind to mind. Before smoking, Michael reached into his pocket for his cell phone, but remembered he’d accidentally left it in his room. He’d call home later. He hoped Azizi had taken pictures in the newly uncovered temple.
Tahir lit the mixture in his pipe and inhaled deeply. He blew smoke from his nostrils, reminding Michael once again of a dragon. Then Michael took a turn. They passed the hose of the pipe between them a few more times and fell into silence. The orange cat who had adopted the family jumped down from the balcony, stalked across the rug on silent feet, and curled up in Michael’s lap. He stroked the old tom, who purred and kneaded his leg.
At last, Tahir spoke. “Tell me the whole story again.”
And so he did.
Michael listened with a critical ear as he talked, surprised that sitting here in Egypt, he’d kept returning to Arthurian England. Tahir reloaded the shisha pipe, then lit it and they smoked again, then sat brooding on the story. Michael picked up his teacup, but found it empty.
After a few minutes, Tahir asked, “Do you have a strong connection to the story of King Arthur?”
Michael shook his head. “I’ve always felt more drawn to Egyptian stories, as you can imagine.”
“But the two are connected.”
“How so?”
“The followers of Akhenaton are not the only ones who have taken the true teachings out of Egypt. First, Bishop Theophilus and his mob burned the great repository of knowledge.”
“The Library of Alexandria.”
Tahir nodded. “The G
reeks invaded and the seven Cleopatras ruled.” He ticked the events off on his fingers. “Khemit fell to the Romans, and those who kept the knowledge went underground, but some fled north.”
“Mary Magdalene.”
“Yes, but others as well. Even before her. The wisdom keepers established themselves there as the Grail Kings, intermarrying much as the royal family here had done, continuing the mother line. Centers of learning sprang up in these courts. But the Roman Church grew in power and eventually brought their reign to an end. The kings who served the land and people gave way to the kings who served the church, and the knowledge was hidden once again.”
“I guess I hadn’t connected all this back to Ancient Khemit quite so clearly.”
Tahir shot him a look of disapproval, but then he waved that away with his hand, like a teacher erasing a blackboard. “You have married into one of those caches of hidden knowledge. And also into an ancient bloodline of Egypt.”
It surprised Michael. He’d never thought much about family lines. He knew the Le Clairs claimed a lineage back to Yeshua and Mary Magdalene. But Egypt? It made sense, based on what Tahir had just said.
Tahir pointed the end of the shisha pipe at him. “Plus, you bring your own powerful bloodline to the mix. The Levite priests—keepers of the Ark of the Covenant, the teachers of the priest king Solomon.”
Michael squirmed, and the cat lifted his head and let out a meow, instructing him to hold still. Michael stroked the tom until they both settled back down. Part of him always felt uncomfortable with all this talk of bloodlines and royalty. It was the twenty-first century and monarchs had become figureheads. The Rosicrucians had escaped Europe to establish a New World Order in America, free of kings. At least, that was the popular story. But what if they were escaping the kings loyal to their old enemy, the Church of Rome? What if in establishing democracy, they also wanted to bring back the rulership of the old knowledge in a different form? After all, they had only allowed the aristocracy the vote in the beginning of the republic. Democracy had not been meant for the masses. Not then.
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