by Rob Swigart
“We will be seven in the minibus to Spain. More would attract unwanted attention from national police and border security and would be unnecessary. Divine Mother’s transport team has begun searching for a facility for unwed mothers, perhaps a monastery or convent, possibly a state orphanage. We expect to know in the next twenty-four hours.”
The audience stirred, looking at one another. This is what they had worked for, what Ophis Sophia had been seeking for over four millennia.
Nizam continued. “Prepare the others, all of them, around the world. Everyone must be ready to go as soon as we have secured the Child.” He paused. “There is much to be done by midnight when we will leave for Spain. The following will go to Spain.” He read the names. “You three,” he indicated Wide, Lean, and Tall, “will remain here to coordinate worldwide operations. Attacks must be simultaneous, everywhere at once. How many are we now, worldwide? What are the numbers?”
“It’s a moving target, Teacher,” Wide responded. “People everywhere are hungry for transformation. Unrest grows everywhere with water shortages and failed harvests and corrupt politics. Recruiting has been extremely rapid in Africa and South America, and growing congregations in Indonesia, even Europe. It is somewhat slower in China because of government controls, but still substantial. The subcontinent is taking off. The numbers swell by the hour. When the Child is born the world will become aware of our power.”
“Excellent.”
“The faithful are waiting to hear from you, Teacher. When they do, they will publicly proclaim their dedication to the Divine Mother. They will be ready. They will do what they must.”
Nizam smiled his chilling Gnome smile. “Our readjustments of global infrastructure will introduce the beginning of chaos, after which Ophis Sophia will sweep the world. In the true Chaos that follows, people will demand order, and we will bring it.”
“It shall be as you command, Teacher,” Wide answered.
“Now,” Nizam continued. “Travel time to Spain, including stops, is fourteen hours. We arrive in Oviedo tomorrow afternoon, Tuesday. As you know, the omens announce the Child for the next day, Wednesday. Should we be stopped and interrogated on the way, we are Maronite pilgrims going to Santiago de Compostela. Dress appropriately.” He raised his hands in a kind of benediction. “This is the culmination of our history. We shall see the Serpent rise.”
Restrained eagerness charged the room with something intangible. “The serpent will rise!” they repeated, and turned to go.
Nizam stopped them. “One more thing.”
They turned back.
“The Delphi Group still has the Tablet of Destinies and refuses to give it up. Once we have secured the Child, we must secure the Tablet and eliminate the Delphi Group for good. Do you understand?”
Wide rubbed his hands as though husking wheat and spread them to scatter the chaff. “We understand, Teacher.”
“All, including the Jesuit. Ophis Sophia is not vindictive; it is not revenge we exact, but a cleansing, necessary in the names of Kemal, Toufic, and Shamaoun.”
They roared approval.
When quiet returned, Nizam nodded, and despite the strain on his face they could hear elation in his voice. “Very well. Go.”
When the room was empty he got out his kit and injected himself. It was going to be a long two days and though he hid it well, his wound was draining his strength.
Late Start
Lisa laughed out loud when Isaak and the others disappeared backstage, leaving her with Steve at the altar. “Oh, the irony,” she murmured.
“I don’t…”
“Left at the altar,” she quipped.
“And the snake that’s going to crush us? Minister or best man?”
“Hopefully not the groom.”
The congregation had degenerated to a mob, all discipline gone. Each was responding to some disturbing personal vision with wailing or frenzied scratching. Here and there squabbles broke out and blows landed. Several cowered against the walls, hands over their heads, shaking in fear, exhaustion, or delirium. Some were retching, looking up with red, erratic eyes. Many were bloody or bruised. The perfumes of myrrh and oil from Lex’s anointing succumbed to less pleasant smells.
Isaak reappeared in white pants.
“So you didn’t jilt us after all,” Steve observed.
“Excuse me?”
“Looks like chaos out there.”
Isaak sniffed. “You’re being sardonic, of course, but chaos is necessary, as in the beginning.”
“I’m not certain chaos characterized the Big Bang, but even if it did, it didn’t last long. Galaxies, stars, all very organized.”
Isaak sniffed. “Politics are corrupt. Humanity is destroying the environment, the climate. Greed dominates. The world needs the chaos that’s coming. It is written.”
Lisa thought of Usem’s translation, sitting on Steve’s phone, out of reach in his pocket. “The Tablet?”
Isaak’s smile brightened. “Udnamekam, our founder, was an omen priest not far from here. He copied the Tablet of Destinies.”
That got Lisa’s attention. “It was a copy? From what?”
Isaak’s smile thinned. “The words of the first Mother, through the mouth of Dimme.”
“Dimme was a demon,” Lisa said softly.
Isaak’s interest in this line of conversation faded with his smile. He turned away.
“What happens now?” Steve asked him.
“Those people down there will demand Ušumgal. Sacrifice is their right and privilege, today of all days, the eve of the greatest event in all history, the third Miraculous Child after Isaak, son of Abraham and Jesus, son of Joseph. Now, after so many sacrifices, comes a new Child for a new age.”
“Mmm,” Steve mocked. “How many times have we heard that?”
“It has never before been true.”
“We’ve heard that, too. But wasn’t Jesus the son of God, not Joseph?”
Lisa gave Steve a sharp look at this provocation, but Isaak’s eyes were on the mob and he didn’t react.
“What about the father?” Lisa asked.
He turned. “What?”
“After Abraham and Joseph, who’s the father of this third Miraculous Child?”
Isaak stared. “Unspecified,” he said at last. He descended to the floor and walked untouched among the howling mob.
Steve whispered, “Well, that was interesting.”
“But an important question, don’t you think? All this talk of the mother, and no mention of a father? Virgin birth again?”
Steve replied absently. “Isaak is walking around down there like he’s picking flowers in a meadow, and you don’t seem concerned that Ušumgal is about to crush us like beer cans. Uh-oh, isn’t that a line of men carrying the python. They’re coming this way. I think Isaak is going to turn off the chaos and we’re next on the menu.”
The shake of her head was barely visible. “No, Alain is on his way down. We have to get going.”
As if in answer, there came a great shout from the gallery. A series of cans clattered onto the floor and popped open, sending white smoke billowing around the feet of the crowd. Clouds rose up and dimmed the torches to flickering orange.
The great python was thrashing among the panicking men. One tried to clamber up onto the dais, but the snake had locked its jaws on his leg and dragged him back. The screams of terror were deafening.
They watched stupefied from the dais. The dark haired doorkeeper appeared, close to panic. He shook uncontrollably and his eyes kept darting back to the mess below.
Alain was right behind him. “Come along,” he said genially, gesturing at the pandemonium below. “Our friend Kasim here is going to lead us out of this hell, aren’t you, Kasim?”
The man nodded vigorously, backpedalling. “Follow, please. Back way.” He disappeared through the curtains. They hurried after him. He disappeared around a corner, then another. They ran after him down a long hall under the gallery parallel to the temple a
nd up two flights of stairs. The sounds of chaos faded.
They caught up with him at the outer door. “Out there,” he said, breathing hard. “Please, go, hurry.” His frightened eyes turned back up the hall and widened. “They’ll be here soon.”
“Yes,” Alain confirmed, opening the door.
“Go, please,” Kasim urged. “If they find out what I’ve…”
“It’s fine, go back,” Alain told him. To the others he said, “Kasim told me the congregation is going to be quite disappointed.”
“Angry,” Kasim said. “Very angry.” With a quick nod he disappeared back down the hall.
Outside, the afternoon was calm and clear. In the far distance a tractor plowed a field, sending up a plume of dust. Small clouds hugged the horizon. There were no hints of either war or miracles.
They hurried to the car.
Tuesday: Damascus Road
Shortly after midnight Tuesday morning Father Colmillo hesitated, head lowered, outside Celia’s room. He was caught in a maelstrom, unable to catch more than glimpses of the emotions swirling around him in an ever-tightening spiral. He saw guilt, fear, anger, an urgent sense of self-preservation, and something a little like love. He couldn’t isolate a single one from the racing torrent. They tumbled together, exhaling elusive fragrances or flavors but no tangible object he could grasp. He was lost.
Out of that whirlpool arose a single thought: the child must be stopped. This was his prayer, something he repeated silently, hands clenched as though engaged in mortal combat with each other. So little time remained, a day, no more than two. The child must not be born, Lord. So many will suffer. I will suffer. I suffer now.
Celia, back from the infirmary, was asleep on the other side of this gray metal door. He could slip inside and… And what?
He must do something. He couldn’t remain here in the hallway. One of the sisters making rounds would discover him, and he had no excuse. There was no penitent in need of his succor, not in this room or any other. He reached for the lock. All he had to do was turn it. His hand moved of its own accord. He heard the click, so loud he glanced around in fear.
The hall light was dim, the silence suddenly oppressive, amplifying every sound, the rasp of his breath, the beating of his heart. Come, he said, you are Father Colmillo, not the kitchen boy. This is your world.
He couldn’t convince himself. The door eased open and the sound almost unhinged him. He told himself he was exaggerating; there was no sound, no one heard. He slipped into the room and closed the door.
Her cell had no window to welcome the moonlight and he waited to adjust to the dark. Vague shapes gradually formed at the edge of imagination. Was that dark bulk really the bureau? Is that light patch a sheet on her bed?
He touched the bureau and felt relief. It was real.
He turned to the bed and saw the shine of her eyes staring in silence. At him.
He knew then that she hadn’t slept, wouldn’t sleep. She’d been waiting for him, her accusation on the brink of release.
She could destroy him! His anger built swiftly. His body quivered with it. He reached up and pressed his scabs. Celia had caused them. The pain fed his anger.
Who would believe her, this abomination? Say what she will, she’s a half-wit, mentally slow, physically sluggish, of no consequence.
A counter-thought stabbed him: he had been too attentive! Others besides Sister Mary Lamiana knew of his attempted exorcism. San Akakio was a small community, inbred and isolated. Malicious gossip hung about like a perpetual fog. They would wonder why this girl was so important. They would look at him, and they would judge.
The eyes watching him blinked, their glow obscured and revealed. She said nothing.
He could end this now! He stepped toward her and reached out, hands aching to close around that thick, stubborn neck. His fingers touched her cheeks, smooth and slick as scales. He couldn’t control their trembling. With a grunt of effort he lowered them to her neck, closed them around it. Her skin was cool to the touch.
He began to squeeze.
Her arms lifted slowly, with a kind of deliberate grace, and wrapped around his shoulders and back. She drew him gently to her, cradled his head against her abundant breast, and crooned something soft and sweet and wordless into his ear.
In shock he let her go. Something broke inside him, and he spiraled into the whirlpool. A great wave at the bottom captured him, hurled him sideways, washed over him, and even as he was drowning, swept away all his impotent rage, all his dread. From there, he fell into the dark, deeper and deeper, unable to resist any longer. The demon was too strong.
With a sudden convulsion of his body he burst into great wrenching sobs that would not stop.
Translation
As soon as Lisa and the others were sequestered in a farmhouse a few kilometers south of Oviedo, she called Ted and Marianne in Paris and asked for a list of homes for unwed mothers in Northern Spain.
“That covers a lot of ground,” Ted said. “Galicia, Asturias, Cantabria, Basque country, civil, private, religious….”
“Start with whatever’s closest to the Desfiladero de las Xanas and work out from there, all categories.”
“Right.” Ted put Marianne to work and came back on line. “Anything else?”
“How about the Divine Mother? Any progress identifying her?”
“Nothing yet. Beletili as an example has a typical uninformative web page and a seemingly random schedule of virtual appearances. Like many cults, her followers are sorted into various levels of access, and the higher they are the more secretive things get. This is pretty typical for cults like this. Public face is pretty bland and it’s increasingly difficult to get information the higher up the hierarchy you go. There are some others, all pretty similar. Her origins are obscure, with no known connection with Ophis Sophia, which doesn’t mean there isn’t one. We’ll keep looking.”
“OK. What about Nizam?”
“He’s one tough son of a bitch, Lisa. Stood in front of us with one of Frédo’s bullets in him for a quarter of an hour talking calmly. Bled all over the floor and never changed expression, like he barely felt the pain, though it must have hurt like hell. I had someone follow him, but he shook the tail and probably found a doctor. I’m sure he went back to Alamut, though. A half dozen men drifted in during the evening and a minibus left at midnight. Managed to check traffic cameras and the van is headed your direction. I can’t say for sure he was on it, but the likelihood is high.”
“He was,” she said. “Wounded or not, he won’t miss this. The Divine Mother is already here. They can find out where the Child will be born as easily as we can, and since tomorrow’s the day of the omens, we have to be ready.”
“Want me to send backup? We have some people we can call on in Santander.”
“No. Steve thinks it’s better just the three of us, and I agree. More would be conspicuous.” She sighed. “I’m going over the tablet again. I’ll call if we have questions.”
“Usem says there are… ambiguities.”
Lisa laughed aloud. “Ambiguities are good, Ted. We’re talking about the future here, though one now quite close.”
“Soon to be the past,” Ted said. He cleared his throat.
“What is it?”
“I thought you ought to know. Brother Constantine was injured.”
“So I feared,” she said. “Lex?”
“I’m afraid so. Constantine’s deaf. It appears to be permanent.”
She sighed. “Thank you, Ted. Take care of him, will you?”
“Of course.” He switched off.
Across the living room, high French doors opened onto an achingly green lawn. Clouds were still thick overhead, but there was no rain and little breeze. The lawn sloped steeply to a two-lane highway. Even from the other side of the room she could see the driveway where it branched off and climbed to the house. Ted had picked this place because it could be adequately defended: no one could approach without coming up from the highwa
y unless they rappelled down a cliff behind the house. Steve had rigged motion alarms at the back just in case.
Not that anyone was going to attack them here. Hopefully Nizam didn’t even know exactly where she was, at least not yet. What they did know was that she had left their underground temple in shambles, with an angry python loose among the disappointed mob of drugged fanatics screaming for blood and sacrifice.
Both Ibrahim and Lex, or Namtar, would also be in Spain. “He’s got his whole inner circle here,” she told Steve. “This is his big moment. They’re going to be looking hard, for the child, and for us.”
“It won’t be easy to find us here. Ted was careful. The owners think we’re a couple from Lucerne and our butler. We rented for a month.”
“Cute.” Again a shaft of regret ran through her. Much as this was like a family, it was not a family. Her smile was thin. “All Frédo’s little act of bravado did was to rile the snake pit. Nizam’s not going abandon his quest, not when he’s this close.”
She opened Usem’s message. “From physical evidence and the date at the end,” Usem wrote, “I believe this tablet was written at Harran around 2245 BCE.”
Alain was seated in a straight backed chair near the window, looking out, only half listening. Lisa settled back on the sofa beside Steve and read the translation aloud.
Dimme, daughter of the Great God An,
She who brings forth from the ground, who gives life,
She of the stern face, She of the mighty arm,
Tells the omen-priest Udnamekam,
Saying, I have come forth from the Ešgal
Saying, I have come forth from the Under Earth.
Saying, I have come forth from the sheepfold,
I have come forth from the cow pen,
I have come forth to say a man of Harran
Will come, he will go up. His flocks will follow.
The god will command, a voice speaking,
A voice of terror, and the man will obey,