The Glory

by J. R. Mabry

  “What?” Marco leaned back and studied Dylan’s face. “Birds fly, fish swim, Thelemites do sex magick, and Dylan smokes weed. How could you possibly upset the balance of nature that way? Aren’t you afraid you’ll put a pox on the harvest or something?”

  Dylan shrugged. “Ah got allergic. See, there was this little dog—never mind, dude. It’s a long story. Ah’m just allergic now—to purty much anythin’ fun.”

  “Really? I brought absinthe,” Marco sang, his eyebrows dancing. “Made it myself.”

  “Hot damn!” Richard said, but Dylan just shook his head.

  “Nothin’ stronger’n mint tea for me,” he said, looking at his shoes.

  “Well, buck up, my friend. At least you still got sex,” he wiggled his eyebrows at Susan, and she blushed. Dylan turned red, too, but Richard suspected it wasn’t from embarrassment.

  “Terry, my fey friend,” Marco said, stepping up to the porch and catching Terry up in his magnificent arms. He swung him around and put him back down like a child. Terry’s smile looked more genuine by the time he was back on the ground, and he gave Marco a fist bump.

  “Where’s your top half?” Marco asked, kneeling down to give Tobias a nuzzle.

  When Terry didn’t answer, Susan answered for him. “Brian’s fixing dinner.”

  “You mean I’m on time for dinner?” Marco breathed, in mock amazement. “There is a God after all.”

  Richard held the door for them all and they began to stream into the house, to the obvious displeasure of the onlooking crowd. The late afternoon light streamed through the stained glass windows in the chapel, casting a glorious golden glow that extended all the way into the foyer. Marco followed Richard to the kitchen where Brian was standing at the stove, stirring a stew pot.

  “Brian!” Marco thundered and coming up behind him, gave him a generous squeeze. Brian accepted the backwards hug, smiling, but then turned away from the stove, catching Marco up in a proper bear hug.

  “You look well,” Brian said, wiping some mashed potato from his vest and straightening his tallit. A moment later everyone had gathered around the kitchen table, followed by Tobias, who plopped down under the table and began panting loudly. Richard went to the fridge and began pouring iced tea all around.

  “Who the fuck is this?” a tinny voice called out, barely audible.

  “Dylan, will you turn Randy up?” Brian asked.

  Dylan turned the knob on a small guitar amplifier resting on the bench from 3 to 7.

  “Who said that?” Marco looked around.

  “Kat’s brother,” Susan said.

  “Who’s Kat?” Marco asked.

  “She’s our newest oblate,” Richard said. “Wiccan chick—”

  “Young woman,” Susan corrected.

  “She and Mikael are quite the pair.”

  “And where is the spiky-haired one?”

  “Can’t you guess?” Richard asked.

  Marco’s face screwed up into a scowl as he thought.

  “What’s the date?” hinted Richard.

  “September twenty-first…Oh, silly me. They’re at Mabon!”

  “Setting up for it, but yeah. I’m sure the bonfire will start as soon as it gets dark.”

  “So where is this Randy guy?”

  “In the mirror,” Dylan said, pointing behind him at the large, framed mirror hanging on the wall.

  Marco peered into it, then snapped upright when he saw a person in the reflection who was not in the room. “Shit!”

  “Close,” Dylan said, unkindly. “He did nearly destroy the world.”

  “I almost rid the world of its dreaded fixation on avocados,” Randy said. “Don’t be such a drama queen.”

  “Hi, Randy,” Marco said, peering into the mirror again.

  “Hey,” Randy responded. “So who the fuck are you?”

  “I’m Uncle Marco—ceremonial magickian and occult inventor.”

  “Nice elevator speech. That what it says on your business card?”

  “Yes, as a matter of fact. That is exactly what it says.”

  “I’ll bet you’re a Thelemite asshole.”

  “Solitary Thelemite asshole, thank you. I’ll bet you’re a Golden Dawn prick.”

  “How did ya know he was even a magickian?” Dylan asked.

  “Just look at him,” Marco pointed at the mirror.

  “Fuck Golden Dawn,” Randy spat. “I’ve got your Golden Dawn wedged up my ass with a hamster.”

  “Huh. Hostile son of a bitch. Does he ever stop?” Marco asked Richard.

  “He does if you ignore him.”

  “Done. When is dinner, Brian?”

  “Hey!” protested Randy.

  “About forty-five minutes,” Brian answered. “I just put the pork tenderloin in the oven. Stuffed with sage and blackberries from the garden, by the way.”

  “Ah am salivatin’ on mah cassock, dude,” Dylan said.

  “Here’s some pre-prandials, though.” Brian put a plate of figs and whisky-soaked cheddar on the table. A moment later, he set a basket of crackers beside it.

  “Sit, Marco, and tell us what you’re working on,” Susan said, reaching for a fig.

  “Oh, do I have a lot to tell you! First, Terry, you’ll be pleased to hear I’ve taken a deep dive into the Enochian rabbit hole,” Marco said, lifting a glass of iced tea to his lips.

  “Enochian is for pussies,” Randy announced.

  Marco ignored him. “The language is tricky, but I’ve got the rudiments of it down pretty well.”

  Terry seemed to emerge briefly from his reverie. “Marco, I’d be really careful with that, if I were you. If you’re going to work Enochian, I strongly suggest amending Dee’s prayers.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Because commanding angels isn’t nearly as effective as asking them.”

  “That makes sense,” Dylan said, “Nobody takes kindly to the imperative mood.” He palmed a piece of cheese and passed it under the table to Tobias.

  “I saw that!” Brian complained.

  “Do you have a grimoire worked up?” Marco asked.

  “Sure. I’ll email you a Word file.”

  “I will try it out, and compare my results against Dee’s formulations. I’ll let you know what I find.”

  “That right there is the scientific method,” Dylan said, putting his arm around Susan.

  “Except for the magick bit,” Susan said, shrugging free of Dylan’s arm.

  Marco stood up. “I’ve got a couple of things to show you,” he said, eyes dancing with glee. “Dicky, can you give me a hand?”

  Richard leaped up and followed Marco out of the kitchen.

  As they walked to the front door, Marco whispered, “That Randy is one friendly guy.”

  “You don’t know the half of it,” Richard whispered back.

  “Has anyone noticed that he’s translucent?”

  Richard nodded gravely.

  “He’s fading, isn’t he?”

  Richard closed his eyes and nodded again.

  Marco opened the front door and held it for Richard. “Does he know?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “How long does he have, do you think?”

  “At the rate he’s fading? I don’t know. A week? Maybe less?”

  “And he can’t feel it?”

  “Honestly, I have no idea what he can feel or can’t feel. And from what Kat says, he’s kind of autistic. I’m not sure he knew what he was feeling back when he was…in the flesh.”

  The light was dimming and the breeze was turning cold. Marco slid open the door to his van and with a flourish, invited Richard to enter. Richard stepped up, but there was very little room to navigate. He sat at the small table, overflowing with detritus. Marco knelt on the cushion opposite Richard and, turning his back to him, began digging through a mountain of accumulated odds and ends.

  “How do you get any work done in here?” Richard asked.

  “Magick,” Marco said, dramatically. He appare
ntly had found what he wanted—a black case about 18-inches long. “Hey, what’s with all the people across the street?” he asked.

  “Uh…ever since the Republican convention, they just keep coming.”

  “They got a ‘Map to the Stars’ or something like that for Berkeley?”

  “We’re hardly stars.”

  “Uh-huh. Only three billion people watched Dylan face down that ass-clown Bishop.”

  “They do seem to really like it when Dylan comes out. You know, just before all that went down, we had another group gathered in that same place—a horde of the possessed.”

  “Ha!” Marco said. “What’s the difference?”

  “Well, them we had to kill. These guys, we just want to.”

  Marco fished in one of the overhead cupboards. “There you are, you pork-pecker.”

  “Pork-pecker?”

  “Got it all now. Time for show and tell!”

  Inside once more, Marco laid the black case on the kitchen table, along with a carved wooden box about a foot square. Even Terry seemed to surface some interest. “First things first. I know your penchant for spiritual maguffins, so I knew you’d jump at the chance to see these.” He touched a spot on the wooden box that Richard couldn’t see, and then slid back a panel in its side. He pulled out a small velvet bag—it was a deep navy blue that almost shone. He handed it to Richard.

  “What’s in it?” Richard asked, pulling open the bag. The velvet was old and slightly faded but still beautiful.

  Richard turned the bag over and emptied it into his hand. It looked like a pair of spectacles. And yet somehow, the lenses were wrong. Richard turned them over and frowned. “The lenses aren’t clear. You can’t actually see through these.”

  “Those aren’t lenses, those are stones,” Marco smiled. “These are the magic spectacles that Joseph Smith used to translate the Book of Mormon.”

  Richard blinked, his eyes wide. “Wait, I thought he used the Urim and Thummim. I’ve seen those, and they don’t look like this. They are…were…in the Jewish museum downtown. So that can’t be them.”

  “Besides, Larch stole ’em,” Dylan noted.

  Marco shrugged. “Maybe it’s not the Urim and Thummim that were used in Jerusalem, but I’ll bet it’s the same stones Smith thought were the Urim and Thummim.”

  “I guess that could be,” Richard held them up to the light. “What happens if you put them on?”

  Richard met Marco’s eyes, and Marco smiled. “Should I?”

  “What’s the worst that could happen?” Marco asked.

  Richard looked around the room, and everyone seemed to be vibrating with excitement. “Dammit, Dicky, if you don’t put them on I’m going to grab them from you and put them on myself,” Susan said, gesticulating.

  He pulled the spectacles over the bridge of his nose. Instantly he pulled them off. “Okay, that hurt.”

  “What? What did you see?” Terry asked.

  “Light. Just…light. It was so bright it hurt.”

  “That’s pretty much what I found,” Marco said. “I haven’t tried them at night yet. But the spectacles are just the appetizer. Here’s the main course.” He opened the wooden box and removed from it what looked to Richard like an ornate censer.

  “What is that?” Richard asked.

  “Guess,” Marco said.

  All of them peered at the object, studying it diligently. It appeared to be a globe, about nine inches in diameter, covered with geometric designs in gold, deep crimson, and aqua. The top hemisphere had sections cut out of it, and a leather strap was attached at its crown. Peering inside the cutout sections, Richard saw two dials—like one might see on an old-fashioned compass. It sat upright on a small wooden stand that was obviously carved for it. It reeked of antiquity.

  Brian whistled. “That’s an oracle of some kind.”

  “You are correct, sir,” Marco said. “But which oracle is it?”

  Brian got down on one knee and traced out a caduceus. “This is the bronze serpent. And these are Hebrew letters. This is a Jewish oracle.”

  “You’re getting warmer,” Marco said.

  “The only Jewish oracles are the Urim and Thummim,” Randy called out.

  Marco intended to keep ignoring him but couldn’t help himself. “That’s where you’re wrong, my two-dimensional friend. Anyone else?”

  Dylan bit at one of his fingers, his brow furrowed in thought. Richard drummed his own fingers on the table, running through his vast store of arcane trivia. Finally, he shook his head. “I give.”

  “Yeah. Uncle, dude,” Dylan agreed. Terry just shook his head. Marco gave Susan a wry smile.

  “Don’t look at me,” Susan said, throwing up her hands.

  “It’s the Liahona.”

  “What?” Susan said. “That sounds Hawaiian.”

  Marco laughed. “It does! But no—”

  “Liahona…” Brian straightened up. “Lee-yah is the possessive form of the name of God, and -hona means ‘guidance.’ God’s guidance. So it’s an oracle, all right. Why have I never heard of this?”

  “Maybe because you never studied the Book of Mormon.”

  Brian just blinked but Richard roared with laughter. “Of course! In the book of 1st Nephi, the Liahona was found outside Lehi’s tent! It showed him the way that God wanted him to travel—it kept pointing across the Atlantic Ocean until they landed in the New World.”

  “The very same,” Marco beamed with pride.

  “How the hell did you get your hands on these?” Richard breathed, his eyes shining.

  “I traded them for some secret letters from Joseph Smith to Oliver Cowdery. Let’s just say there’s some stuff in those letters the Utah church does not want coming to light.”

  “How did you even know they had this—the Liahona?”

  “I heard through the grapevine that a Mormon archeological dig in Guatemala had turned it up.”

  “No shit,” Dylan breathed. “Waal, how does it work?”

  “I haven’t quite figured that out yet. Here’s what I’ve got so far. If you sink into meditation and try to harmonize with it, then you can ask it a question. The dial on the right, there, the one ringed in red, will point in one direction. But the dial on the left, the one ringed in gold, might point in that direction, but might point in another direction.” Marco scratched at his newly-bald head. “I can’t quite sort it out, yet.”

  “There are Hebrew letters on the rings around the dials,” Brian pointed out. “They’re highly stylized, but I’m sure I could figure it out, given some time. Do you want me to see what I can do?”

  “I would be very grateful!” Marco said. “I knew you all would be able to sort this puppy out!”

  “What you got besides the old globe and the useless glasses?” Randy asked.

  “Ah, well, you all put in an order, I believe.”

  “We did?” Richard asked, draining the last of his iced tea.

  Dylan looked a bit sheepish. “Uh, Ah did. While you were…ya know, incommunicado.”

  “Oh, okay,” Richard said. “That’s fair. What is it?” What he really wanted to know was how much it was going to cost, but he bit his tongue.

  “Can you guess?” Marco asked Richard specifically, his eyebrows comically high on his forehead.

  “Dude, ya haven’t even taken it out of the case yet.”

  “Oh, yeah.” Marco flipped open the black case and extracted a slim metal box, with a latex tube on one side, and an electronic screen on the other.

  “What is it? And do not fucking tell me to guess,” Richard laughed.

  “Would you like to do the honors?” Marco asked Dylan.

  “It’s a Christometer,” Dylan said.

  “A whatsit?” asked Richard, scowling.

  “No, we talked about this once,” Terry said, snapping his fingers. “We were debating the relative validities of different ecclesiastical orders, remember?”

  “That’s pretty much what Old Catholics do whenever they get toge
ther, though,” Dylan admitted.

  “Yes, but I remember one time Richard said, ‘I wish there was a way to measure the presence of Christ in a Eucharist.’ You even came up with a unit of measurement.”

  “Ha! Oh, yeah, the ‘christon.’ I thought we could measure the level of christons present in a Roman Catholic Eucharist versus an Eastern Orthodox Eucharist verses an Old Catholic Eucharist, versus an Anglican Eucharist—”

  “We get the idea,” Susan said, rolling her eyes. “That sounds like the kind of conversation you have after three joints and half a bottle of whiskey.”

  “That’s prob’ly accurate,” Dylan said, fumbling with the front of his cassock.

  “And you authorized Order funds to have Marco actually build the thing?” Susan asked.

  “Inquirin’ minds have been wantin’ to know for a very long time, sweetheart,” Dylan said, looking sheepish.

  “Oh, Christ. Marco, how much do we owe you for this thing?”

  “When it’s finished, it’s gonna set you back $2500. But because it’s you, I’ll take an even $2000. But you don’t owe me anything right now, because I haven’t gotten it to work right just yet.” He scratched his head. “I’m having a lot of trouble calibrating it. You know, how to set the thing to zero.”

  “We could take it to a Satanic mass. There’s one in Oakland on Friday nights, last Ah heard,” Dylan suggested. Susan turned and headed out of the room. “Where you goin’, sweet-pea?”

  “I have reached my limit of geek absurdity. I’ve gotta re-think my life,” she said. She paused at the door out to the office and flashed them a smile. “Call me for dinner, though.”

  2

  The sound of crickets filled the night sky as Mikael grounded himself and meditated. All around him, members of the coven were doing the same. Through half-open eyes he saw Kat through the leaping flames of the bonfire and couldn’t help smiling. Her eyes, too, were half-open, and she swayed slightly as she matched her own interior rhythms with that of the earth. Her head was thrown back, her face turned up to the almost-full moon, a blue cast covering her features, her shoulders, her naked breasts.

  Mikael felt the warmth of the bonfire on his back as he sank deeper into trance. Soon, he lost track of time until he was suddenly aware of movement around him. He stood, taking up his candle, as he heard Kat’s voice declaring, “Welcome, beloved. It’s time to light these candles, festive symbols of this time of abundance and cheer—a time to honor divinity in all her forms, in all his forms. For the Goddess and the God!” Kat held her candle to the one already lit on the altar, then held it out to the person on her left to light her own candle. The flame made its way around the circle until Mikael received the flame from Julia on one side and passed it on to Deb on the other. Before long, all were holding their lit candles high, illuminating the grove and casting dancing shadows over the ground.