The Lord of Always

by David Brian

  “But how –”

  “Never mind the ‘how’ of things, lad. You’ve been through more than enough already. Just know this; many years from now, when you feel as though life has turned its back on you, when the time comes and you need me, I will be there for the both of you.”

  “George?”

  “Yes?”

  “They said you were fallen. Both Anat and Baal Hadad claimed you had fallen.”

  “Indeed.”

  I knew I had to ask him, even though I dreaded his answer: “You seem a really nice person…”

  “I do my best.”

  “I don’t wish to offend you.”

  George cocked a brow: “Go on?”

  “Are you Lucifer?”

  George laughed so hard he nearly choked, and clutched a hand to his chest in an attempt to stifle the pain.

  “It’s just that Lucifer is the only one I know of who fell from Heaven.”

  “I’m not Lucifer,” George said calming himself to a smile.

  I opened my mouth to speak again but George waved me to silence. “Everything you are capable of perceiving with your physical senses; as I told you before, it was created by a being known by a multitude of names. His true name is known by very few. As I previously explained, he is Yaldabaoth, the Ancient of Days, and the Son of Chaos. Truthfully, he should be classed as neither good nor evil, though it is fair to say he is not without flaws. Yaldabaoth is the progenitor of this creation. He is ruler of the Seven Heavens, and proclaims himself Lord of Always – but this is a deceit.

  “Really though, the name of the deity is not important – because a name changes depending on the scripture you read, the creation myth you follow – there is far more to this story though than ever is allowed.

  “Above the Seven Heavens there exists Chaos, and this is as much as mankind is taught. The truth is, above Chaos there are other celestial realms, other Heavens. So, you see, there is much potential for falling from such heights.”

  “Then you’re not the Devil?”

  “Have you seen me with horns?” He was smiling as he answered.”

  “If they are celestial beings, why would the archons be so cruel?”

  “It is their way. They are flawed.”

  “But it makes no sense, angels are sup –”

  “They are incomplete, as imperfect as He whom they serve.”

  “And this Yaldabaoth character you speak of, from where did he originate?”

  George sighed and flipped the contents of the pan, turning the bacon and mushrooms.

  “It was long ago, but one of my sisters, Sophia, she fell into Chaos. Once there she used the pleroma of the Monad – the spiritual essence of the true Lord of Always – to form a new being. She named her child Yaldabaoth, and quickly she realized her mistake; she had created a powerful – though imperfect – being, who declared himself the One True Creator.”

  “Your sister fell. Your sister?”

  “Yes.”

  “That’s crazy. Then that makes you –”

  “Yes. Seems unlikely, doesn’t it?”

  “So why the heck would you stay down here, on Earth. Surely you’d rather –”

  “Enough with this chatter, okay? At least for now,” he said, cracking eggs into the frying pan. “I will give you as much detail as is reasonable, but this is not really something that need concern you. You have a long life before you, so perhaps you could start it by hurrying up with the toast.”

  “One more question…”

  George sighed. “Go on?”

  “The giant slug thing…what the hell, man?”

  “Frank, within your body there are cells whose purpose is to protect you, to fight infection. White blood cells, yes?”

  “Yes.”

  “Consider that visitation to be a part of my Father’s immune system. It is not a strictly accurate comparison, but I feel it will suffice.”

  “Then your Father is…?”

  “I am a child of the Monad.”

  “Then you really are an angel?”

  “Of sorts.”

  “You’re an archon.”

  “No…not at all. Archons are material beings. I was birthed in a higher place…a different, more spiritual realm.”

  “Then what –?”

  “Frank. I am George Smoke. Eons ago, before any of this…I experienced being an aeon, an emanation birthed of the Monad. Similar to – though very different from – those beings we encountered during these past hours.”

  “And that slug monster turns up to protect you whenever you’re in trouble?”

  George laughed. “Probably not. Aeons and archons are different from humankind. They do not experience time in the same manner as humans. As George Smoke I live in the timeline, but to do so I am required to break myself down, allowing different fragments to experience life as you do. I think that, with so many of my scattered parts suddenly amassed in one place, and with the presence of the archons, my Father’s defenses were triggered.”

  “I see.” I didn’t really understand, but my head felt like it was spinning.

  “Good. I’m glad that you see. Now, Frank, what’s happening with that toast?”

  “Sure thing, boss man,” I said, willing the pressure in my skull to lessen.

  George pulled a small black pouch from his trouser pocket and pressed it into my hand. “Here. You should hold on to this, son. Keep it somewhere safe until the time is right.”

  “What is it?” I asked, making to untie the sash.”

  “Might do well not to open that in here, lad. The aura is liable to alarm the girls.”

  “Really? So what is –?”

  “It’s just a little souvenir I picked up from the battlefield. It’ll prove useful some day.”

  “Is this…?”

  “Yes, well, a part of one at least.”

  “Jesus!”

  “Nah! He never much liked these buggers, either.”

  “You knew Jesus?”

  “Frank. Enough with the questions,” he gestured toward the grill. “Toast!”

  I conceded, finally admitting to myself that even if George did opt to explain the true intricacies of reality, I would never really be capable of understanding. And some things were better not known.

  ***

  We enjoyed a supper of hot buttered toast, bacon, eggs, mushrooms, tomatoes and oven cooked waffles, all washed down with lashings of hot tea. As we ate, George filled in the blanks for Roz and me, explaining how he had first noted the arrival of the archons in the skies over Boscastle.

  After we finished the fry-up, Molly brought in a fresh pot of tea and George and I ate second rounds of toast, this time layered with homemade blackcurrant jam. The ladies used this opportunity to make short work of the scones, covering each bun with excessive layers of fresh cream and jam.

  By the time we finished eating my belly felt huge, but stuffed full of tasty contentment.

  We talked long into the night, listening to the old couple’s fascinating tales of different times and different lives. I watched George and Molly together, and finally I understood what kept him here. Molly completed him.

  We found laughter in harmony, and at times I squirmed as George puffed on his Calabash and rejoiced in telling greatly exaggerated stories about my persistent heroics (his words not mine). It was blatantly obvious that George’s intent was to overstate my impact on proceedings, turning me to some fictional action hero. It was also blatantly apparent that neither Roz nor Molly were taken in by his exaggerations, though this never lessened his efforts.

  The two women giggled and smiled at George’s tall tales, and I think that for each of us the relief became palpable. The horrors had passed and we were filled with good food. This, along with the heat from the fire and the glow of dawn’s rising light, led to a sudden realization of tiredness for Roz and me. And so, after much hugging and embracing and repeatedly thanking the Smokes for all of their kindness and assistance, it was with some trepidation, and m
any assurances from George that ‘things will be okay’, we finally said our farewells and headed, up the hill toward Penhale House.

  Chapter 45

  We barely spoke a word as we walked. I think that in spite of George’s constant assurance that all had returned to normal, we both remained terrified that there would be a chorus of archons waiting for us at the top of the hill. Even if those archons we faced had been successfully banished, returning to the scene of our previous nightmare remained a terrifying prospect.

  It was early morning when we reached the gates of Penhale House. We were relieved to see the building standing proud and welcoming beneath the backdrop of an impossibly blue sky – as opposed to at the center of a rocky amphitheatre on a red-raw Heaven.

  Out front of the main house, Joseph Carmichael busied himself under the hood of the Ford. His hand waived an oily greeting as he spotted our approach.

  “Hey up, young uns’. You must have been up and out right early this morning?”

  He seemed untroubled; apart from whatever was occurring beneath the hood.

  Roz glanced at me before replying. “Yes, Mr. Carmichael, we were up bright and early, so we decided to get out for a walk.”

  “Well, you’re still early for breakfast, luv’.”

  “That’s okay; thanks… we’re not that hungry.”

  “What’s up with the motor, Mr. Carmichael?”

  Joseph stopped what he was doing beneath the hood, straightening his back and wiping his hands ineffectively on an oily rag. “I’m not sure yet. It’s got an oil leak somewhere, but it got down onto the fan belt and now it’s splattered everywhere.”

  “Are you alright, sir?” I asked.

  He grinned. “I’m fine, lad. There’s not a week goes by when this motor doesn’t require a sticking plaster of some description. Though do us all a favor. The both of you need to stop calling me Mr. Carmichael. I prefer Joe, so either that or Joseph will do.”

  “Okay, Joe,” I said, and then, before another word could be spoken the front door of the house opened and a slim, schoolmarm looking woman, wearing a tight frock and thick rimmed glasses, appeared carrying two steaming mugs.

  “Joe, I’ve got your coff – oh, hello, you two,” she said, smiling. “You’re up and about early!”

  “We went for a walk,” I said, “and then we ended up getting lost.”

  “Oh dear me, that is a shame. Still, looks like you found your way back to us. Breakfast will be ready within the hour.”

  “Thank you,” I said, “But honestly we’re fine.”

  “Oh,” she appeared offended. “Has the food been to your liking?”

  “It’s been wonderful,” said Roz. “It’s just neither of us has much of an appetite this morning. But, thank you anyway.”

  “Well, if you change your minds later I can rustle you some toast.” She walked down the steps and passed a mug to Joseph.

  “Thank you, baby bear,” Joseph said, planting a kiss on the woman’s mouth.

  Given the familiar way this woman addressed us, I had assumed she must have been a member of staff we hadn’t yet met. Now though, I felt the color drain from my face as the realization hit me. Roz too was staring openmouthed, having reached the same conclusion.

  Joseph winked at me as he lifted the cup to his lips. “She’s a good wifey, always keeps me well stocked with coffee and biscuits while I’m working,” he said, arching his brow as he looked at Roz.

  I gently nudged my wife’s shoulder; conscious of the fact the couple had clocked her bemused expression.

  “I’m sorry,” said Roz. “It’s a wonder I didn’t catch a fly. I was miles away in a daydream. I think I’ve worn myself out with all this walking.”

  “Perhaps you’ve overdone it getting up and about so early,” said the slim woman. “You look ever so pale.”

  “I’ll be fine,” said Roz. “But you’re probably right; I’m just a little tired is all.”

  “Actually,” I said, “I’m feeling pretty whacked out, too. I think we might go upstairs and grab forty winks.”

  “Good idea,” said Roz.

  Joseph grinned at the woman beside him. “You see, Gloria; these youngsters today have got no stamina.”

  I wished Joseph the best of luck sorting out the Ford, and thanked Gloria for her concerns. We made our excuses and turned to head up to our room.

  Roz stopped short of the steps to the house and turned back to the couple. “Gloria?”

  “Yes, dear?”

  “How long have you and Joseph been together?”

  Gloria placed a hand on Joseph’s arm. “I met this big beautiful man thirty-three years ago come September, and we’re into our thirtieth year of marriage. He’s proven a good catch.”

  “You make a lovely couple.”

  “Well, thank you dear.”

  “Do you have children?” I asked the question without stopping to think, and instantly regretted being so blunt.

  Joseph and Gloria exchanged a brief though telling look. “No, lad, fate decided against being kind to us in that department. It’s been a source of great regret, but we’ve got on and built ourselves a good life down here. You have to make the best of things, you know?”

  I smiled uneasily and apologized for the abruptness of my question, though my concern was waved away. I couldn’t be sure, but I imagined the Carmichaels’ eyes following us as we headed up the steps and into the house. They probably considered us a slightly odd pair.

  “Well, that is weird,” said Roz.

  “You’re not wrong.”

  “So where is Beth?”

  “She died in the hell house.”

  “Then why didn’t Joseph mention her?”

  “He never knew her. Don’t you see? She died in that house, therefore she never existed. Consequently, Cathy never existed, and so Peter never existed either.”

  “Christ!”

  “I very much doubt he can help.”

  “Ha bloody ha, Frank. This is insane.”

  “It really is.”

  “It’s been a strange couple of days.”

  “It really has.”

  “I am so tired, Hub.”

  “Me too, Tub.”

  “But I doubt I’ll be able to settle in this house. I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to sleep anywhere, ever again. And I certainly don’t think I can sleep here.”

  “Me neither.”

  I closed the drapes and climbed on the bed beside my wife. We lay, still clothed, in each other’s arms, and we slept the sleep of innocents.

  Chapter 46

  It was late afternoon before I opened my eyes. I awoke to the feel of Roz’s fingers stroking my hair, and as I yawned and smiled up at her she planted a kiss on the bridge of my nose. “Did you sleep?” I asked.

  “Like a baby.”

  “Good. I guess I did, too.”

  “What shall we do tonight?” Roz asked easily.

  I was taken aback by the question as I doubted Roz would want to stay at the hotel, and I was even surer she wouldn’t want to venture out after dark anytime soon. Certainly not until after we left Cornwall. I assumed it was going to take time for things to return to normal, or as normal as they ever could be again. I told her I hadn’t given much thought to the evening’s itinerary and was happy to do whatever she chose. She suggested eating dinner in the dining hall, and then walking down into the village for a look around the area, followed by a few drinks in the local bar.

  We showered and changed ready for the seven p.m. sitting, and then headed down to the hall. The dining room was only moderately busy. We were one of seven couples in that evening, plus a solitary, elderly gentleman sitting two tables over from ours. We both selected the prawn cocktail starter, and then Roz opted for the roasted sea bass, with new potatoes and salad; I chose the fourteen-ounce sirloin, medium to well-done with a peppercorn sauce, new potatoes and a side salad. A five-piece combo set up on stage, and as we ate they played background harmonies. Our waitress informed us th
at once the dining was cleared, the band would be covering a selection of Glenn Miller big band classics.

  The meal proved first class, although both of us opted to skip pudding in favor of leaving room for an ale or two down in the village. After exchanging brief pleasantries with some of the other guests, we made our excuses and left. The band was performing a decent cover of In the Mood as we left the hall, and we could still hear the good feel rhythm of the beat as we exited the main gates of Penhale House.

  It was the middle of the evening by the time we set off down the hill toward the village, but thanks to the summer climate it barely qualified as dusk. The temperature remained pleasantly warm. Roz stopped and pointed toward the terrace of red-brick cottages on the opposite side of the road. Lamps within the dwellings suggested warming comfort existed behind those pulled drapes, offering protection against the encroaching night. “Well, that’s strange,” she said.

  “What is?” I asked.

  “Those cottages are just like the ones back home, at the top end of St. James Place.”

  “Yes, I know,” I said.

  She noted my quizzical expression and asked, “What is it?”

  “We had this same conversation when we first arrived in Boscastle.”

  “Did we? Oh, I must have forgotten.”

  I was completely thrown by her response, and as we continued down the hill I wanted to ask her what else she had forgotten. I wanted to ask her… something…there was something I wanted to ask…

  The Cobweb Inn was a fine old establishment, illuminated by ships’ lanterns and appearing all the more fun for being adorned with layers of fake webbing, as though it were the parlor of some gigantic arachnid.

  Over the course of the next two hours I sank two pints of bitter and two pints of Cornish scrumpy. Roz matched me for number of drinks, although opted for half measures. Neither of us was usually a heavy drinker, but we were on holiday so what the heck. Nevertheless, it was with a swerve and a stagger that we made our way out of the village. Night hung over us like a giant black wing, and light from the windows of Penhale House acted as a beacon drawing us toward the summit of the hill. It was a journey traveled largely through pitch, except for the occasional breaking of cloud which allowed a fleeting glimpse of the half-moon.