by John Edward
On the Honduras–Nicaragua border
The village was not even big enough to have a name. The people lived poorly, removed from “civilization,” which meant that they stayed far from the frequent dangers of civil war that could erupt on either side of the border. They spoke a combination of Spanish and a native tongue that was almost extinct. They prayed to no God or gods and subsisted off the land.
In the middle of the day, a cloud descended like a theater curtain of black and red velvet over the huts and makeshift shelters of the village.
Forty or so people—men, women, and children, including an illiterate elderly couple who had survived decades of wars and massacres—all came outside and looked up into the sky. What they saw was unfamiliar to them. The infants and very young children began to cry. The curtain—or whatever it was—moved closer, falling from heaven.
When they were finally enveloped in the miasma, there was no escape for any of them.
A noxious odor overcame many of them, who fainted. The others, of strong jungle stock, who had experienced very little or no contact with city life or any of the accoutrements of the modern world, stood as long as they could, before the bacteria-laden darkness fell completely to the ground. The babies died first, then the oldest among them. It took about an hour before the last of the villagers succumbed to the mysterious killer disease.
The dead and dying could not hear the cackle of laughter on the other side of the curtain that separated their world from denizens of another, malevolent dimension who had released the dark energies that contained every evil known to mankind and many other kinds that had not yet entered human consciousness.
The experiment had worked. Now others around the world would be surprised by the same random plague designed to incite fear and panic among survivors who would hear of its power and finality.
CHAPTER
82
The sunless chamber that had no visible ceiling housed the Tribunal, as the souls of darkness, who had once been soaring spirits, huddled to speak with one another and to observe what was happening on Earth as they stood around the mirror-like pools of consciousness that dotted the “floor” of the assembly hall.
Their beings vibrated with anticipation of the work of centuries that was timed to culminate in a crescendo of energies that would truly rock the foundation of the world from which they had emerged in previous ages. The choices they had made, both in their terrestrial existence and after, placed them in positions of great jeopardy and great promise. It was exhilarating, this time of waiting and watching.
The humans, it seemed, were all too eager to take the easy way out when presented with moral dilemmas in the course of everyday life. What a delight! How easily malleable they were! There were some exceptions, of course, and the heavenly realm was full of those who, even tentatively or reluctantly, had made a decision at some point in their lives to live rightly or had opted for the good over self-serving evil.
That was a shame, of course. Why couldn’t they all get with the program?
But then there would be no challenge and no confrontation such as that which awaited the world. What a conflagration of emotions lay in store for the unsuspecting humans when Viva Domingo would become a reality and not just a mysterious slogan and rallying cry for those in the know.
The hourglass had been turned one last time, and the end of time approached …
* * *
“We call to disorder this convention of the Tribunal,” the once and future Angel of Darkness, the most senior statesman of the assembly, declared.
A hideous laugh erupted among those gathered with a purpose. To the human eye, the evil senate was only dimly visible, as multiple cloaks of darkness—more accurately, of the absence of light—shrouded the figures, who knew each other well by the sounds of their voices and the distinct odors of translated beings. Most, but not all, had once been human and had retained, even on this side, certain senses and connections to earthly conditions of being.
Angel Emphatic, as he liked to call himself, pretending that he had no care for rank or title, though he clung to both tenaciously and purged any who threatened his preeminence in the governance of the Tribunal, spoke in a booming, mellifluous voice that demanded the attention of all within its range. Silence fell like another cloak over them.
“The time is near at hand for us to broadcast the energetic message of our accomplishments. Legions of souls have already embraced our past messages, even if they do not fully understand why and how this is so.” The dictator of the Tribunal paused and peered out at the indistinct mass of those in attendance. If they could see him, they saw his broad, mirthless smile, an evil gash that split his face—if it could be called a face—nearly in half.
“Our agents and avatars on Earth have reported successes at every level, on every continent, especially in North America where they have found the soil of discontent to be richer than it has ever been for many generations of mankind. It is laughable that the African continent is riven with wars and famines, because it has been the case for so long. And the peoples of Asia, who multiply faster than we can calculate, are shouldering the burden of our cause quite reliably.
“For centuries we have discounted the little nations and little people that call themselves Europe, because they do so well at destroying themselves and denying the divine. That leaves us with only the barest toehold among peoples in South America and throughout the Pacific Ocean—both of which are vastly outweighed by our strength elsewhere.”
A rumble of approval grew into an unearthly roar from the numberless assembly of beings.
“The earthly clock ticks down as the celestial signs align in our favor, as in distant ages past. But very soon we shall have the resources at our disposal to evolve to the next and final stage of our destiny. Soon we will be able to see ever more clearly the families who have crossed into the Light and have been kept from us. Then we can pose to their souls a choice once again. Soon we shall have that which was promised to us and never delivered: the promise of eternal love and energy—the order of disorder.
“That covenant, which was broken by the Supreme Spirit—not by us!—will be fully restored, and I shall be—that is, we shall be masters not only in name but in a new reality.” Emphatic’s demonic voice achieved an unbearably high pitch that, on Earth, would have shattered glass and cracked stone. Human ears would be pierced and bleed at such an ungodly shrieking sound.
* * *
The pools of consciousness on the other side of the veil, in what men and women called Heaven, similarly served the Council of Elders and the hierarchy of angelic spirits as a view of earthly activities and helped them know when—or whether—to intervene and attempt to guide humans as they stumbled toward destiny.
In contrast to the Enemy, the Council of Elders and the forces of light and good upheld the concept of salvation. They represented hope for all of humanity, yet theirs was a more difficult “sell” in the turmoil and tribulation of the times. Often the members of the Council and the chief elders themselves felt frustration and even despair at the paltry results of their attempts to guide people to the right choices. The flaw in the human makeup that some theologians called “original sin” and others termed “ego” was so powerful that it sometimes presented a chasm between the subject and the right or moral decision that faced him.
What could be done to illuminate the human mind beyond engineering miracles and phenomena to demonstrate the power of the light versus the destructive might of the dark energies? The Council of Elders did not try to manipulate the celestial mechanics in the way the Tribunal had for centuries and to taint man’s search for answers in the heavens with evil and occult meaning.
“Have we been weak or misguided?” Caleb once asked during a difficult assembly of the Council when wars and uprisings seemed to spring up daily upon the earth and the people seemed to be drifting farther from their influence. The Dark Forces were exerting an almost magnetic attraction over the often hapless and gullible h
uman species. “Is it our own fault?”
There was no satisfactory answer to such a question. Caleb and the other Masters of Light—a legion of soldiers who practiced the art of spiritual warfare in the cause of the good—must simply apply their energies more effectively and tap into the energies of the Earth in ways that would block the power of the Tribunal. But how? When? Where? The eternal battle was waged over such questions and with similar desperation … and thus it always had been.
The question of free will lay before Caleb and all of mankind. It was clear that each human being in the earthly realm possessed the ability to choose good or evil, light or darkness. That the balance of energy within a person and in the physical world could be manipulated from either direction—inside or outside. Subtle distinctions and choices could, ultimately, tip that balance all to the side of evil or darkness, almost without the person involved knowing what was happening. Education—for good or ill—played such a critical role in human moral development, whether the source was religion or the positive influence of a strong family, in any and every part of the world, be it a teeming city of millions or a small village just one step above tribal existence.
The energies that had been unleashed on the Earth by the Tribunal were aimed at tipping the balance all toward the Forces of Darkness. Was it too late to reach even one human being who wished to make the choice for good versus evil? Had it become too difficult, with such forces arrayed against the light, even to hope for one good soul, let alone enough to restore any hope for the balance of energies that had existed, however tenuously, through the ages?
CHAPTER
83
Los Angeles
Anderson felt a little disheartened by his conversation with Dawson and with no new leads on the abduction case he decided that if a thing needed to be done, he would just have to do it himself. He settled down in front of his computer and called up the few scraps of evidence left at the crime scene. Perhaps there was something that would tip him off as to why this island was such a magnet for this series of murders. Poking about on the Internet caused him to look at some of the myths in the Book of Invasions, and deeply embedded in Irish lore, he had to admit it was all fascinating stuff.
Legends had it that the Fomorians were a divine race of demons, who had inhabited Ireland for countless generations. They resisted invaders and all newcomers to their territories. Their leader was Balor of the Baleful Eye, the gaze of whose single great eye caused instant death; he could not be killed by any weapon known to man, nor by any warrior. Balor dwelt on Tory Island in constant dread of the fulfillment of a prophecy, namely his eventual destruction by an unborn grandson. Despite his attempts to forestall this end by keeping his daughter Eithne away from men, she became pregnant and gave birth to triplets. Balor cast them into the sea. But one survived: Lugh, who grew up to lead the Tuatha Dé against the Fomorians and who himself killed Balor with a slingshot through his eye.
The Tuatha Dé Danann also claimed divine origin as keepers of the Light Forces, led by Lugh, revered as a god of light, whose summer festival was Lughnasad—still celebrated in Ireland. The Celtic word lugos, Anderson learned, could mean “raven,” and there was a link in many of the legends between Lugh and those birds.
Lugh was a warrior-hero, a sorcerer and master of crafts, whom Julius Caesar called “the inventor of all the arts,” In battle, Lugh used his magic powers and an enchanted sword. His surname, Lámfhada, meaning “he of the long arm,” possibly reflected his skill with the throwing spear or the sling with which he killed his own grandfather, the evil Balor.
So, if Lugh represented the forces of light and good … then why would the serial killer claim, if that is what he was doing, the name of a god of light instead of a figure of darkness? How could so many brutal deaths be done in the name of good?
One other thing kept coming back to him as he kept reading. Unlike our concept of good and evil, these gods and legendary men from the distant past were very ambiguous. To call one good and the other evil simply meant that the victorious side claimed to be “good” and named the other, losing side “evil.” Lugh could just as easily have stood for a symbol of darkness instead of light. And maybe Balor wasn’t evil—but who was to say?
None of this made much sense to Anderson and whether this would help him or not he didn’t have a clue. But he knew that time was running out … and that somehow the killings in Belfast had something to do with the President’s son being kidnapped. And if he didn’t solve one or both of these cases shortly there would be consequences beyond anything he could conceive of.
CHAPTER
84
In the Tribunal, Angel Emphatic called upon his ancient ally, Balor of the One Eye, to speak about the impending firestorm of terror to be unleashed upon an unsuspecting Earth. “All of you no doubt know of the power of the baleful One Eye and how we have all benefited from the generosity of its employment over many millennia of earthly time. Now we shall all see a new world broken through the single evil eye of the Dark Master, Balor.”
“My dear Lord Angel and venerable comrades in the cause of righteous darkness. For this moment each of us was created and chosen from the beginning of time by the Source of All and the Giver and Taker of Life. Long ago, many of us transitioned to this side and evolved—through much hard work, I must say—toward perfection.” Balor manifested in this setting as a gnarled old man with a wispy white beard and a bald head. His skin was nut brown and wrinkled, his hands large and his legs rather stubby. He leaned on a bent stick as if he required it for support.
He went on, “There is much value in the ancient magics that gods and men wielded for century upon century in places far-flung across the Earth. I came into being in the place that is called Ireland today. It was, during past ages, the Earth’s very center of spirits and magical doings, misted in cloud and separated from other lands by harsh seas. There, in the navel of the world, I grew to maturity and ruled over a realm not large in size compared to some but unmatched in power. Gods and men were jealous. Although some, like the mighty Romans, were afraid to invade, others were bolder—and infinitely more foolish.
“Though I was defeated by my own grandson in one battle, by a fluke, I died with honor and left a curse upon the very earth that had been my mother. For she abandoned me and stole my magic for a single moment that made me vulnerable to a slingshot—a stone in my eye.” Balor pointed to the seemingly bloodshot orb that he displayed on occasions such as this as a badge of divine honor.
“Because of my eternal curse, the land of Ireland has been plagued with diseases and hungers, with many turmoils and troubles over time. Even the Christians, our mortal enemies—along with all religions—who sought to bring peace and light to the cursed isle, fell afoul of the evil I had wrought and fought among themselves, shedding more blood that I had any right to expect—even at my most optimistic!”
The demonic assembly roared again with approving laughter.
Balor said: “The day of blood is upon us. My trusted minions on Earth have devised an ingenious exhibition that will serve more than one purpose. For the men and women of the terrestrial plane are fascinated with murder and mutilation. They say always that they are repulsed, horrified, shocked at such crimes. But all of them are, more truly, fascinated and attracted to grotesque and violent killings. Well, we have presented them with one of the most delectable serial murders in their history. And upon its completion, ever new horrors and devastations shall be released from the bowels of hell to overrun their land and the entire planet. We are opening a vortex and portal to pass through with ease.”
Angel Emphatic grinned like a death’s-head and applauded his old friend as the Tribunal erupted with cheers and shrieks that shook the outer realm to its very foundation.
The gods of the underworld, ancient and eternal, were well used to the wars between the Armies of Light and the Forces of Darkness. For millennia the battles had raged—on the subcontinent of India, on the plains of Troy, in dense jungl
es throughout Africa and Southeast Asia. The gods’ agents among mankind, whether they believed in the reality of the divine energies or assumed the struggles were merely between human forces, all too often seemed eager to carry the banners of darkness and light into endless, bloody wars.
To what end? Often they did not know themselves. But our planet was the playground and battlefield of many manifestations of spiritual powers throughout the ages—powers that men called Kali or Zeus or the Sun god or any of a thousand different names, with a thousand different faces. In the end, it mattered not what they were called, only that the energies they sponsored were put to good—or terrible—uses among men, women, and children of Earth.
CHAPTER
85
Grenada
“How can somebody evil make the signs from the heavens hurt people? I thought you always said it was supposed to be used only for good.” Ruby was sincerely confused.
Mama G smiled. “People always have a choice to use knowledge for good or for evil, child. People have done that many times, as a matter of fact. Remember in your Bible stories how King Herod wanted the wise men to find Jesus and report back to him where the little baby was?”
Ruby nodded, her eyes wide with wonder and horror. As always, she was learning more from her gramma than she had bargained for, and she loved every minute of teaching, which was better than being in a classroom. Then again, nothing was better than being with Gramma.