The Journey

by Jennifer Ensley

  “Of course.”

  I half smiled, rolled my eyes, and kept reading. “…The great red Dragon was cast out—that old serpent called the Devil and Satan—he and his Angels were cast down to Earth.”

  “Well, finding out the answer to who exactly the Dragon was doesn’t take much of a leap. It gives you his name right there.”

  “Yes it does, smarty pants.”

  He chuckled again.

  “But as you well know, this prophesy speaks in symbols. The woman is not a real woman, the Dragon is not a real dragon, and the child was definitely not a real child. Same as with the seven heads, crowns, and ten horns.”

  “Now it’s getting interesting.”

  “Yes, it is. I believe the woman represents the true church, and the child she was giving birth to was Christianity.”

  “And the dragon was Satan.”

  “Yes… But what do the heads, horns, and crowns represent?”

  He leaned forward then but didn’t answer me.

  “Very well, I’ll tell you. The Devil was super ticked-off after just losing the heavenly war and being banished, right? So since he couldn’t actually hurt God, he went after the thing God loved and protected. Kind of like… Fine. If I can’t hurt You, I’ll destroy all that You love. Now, let’s not forget the twelve hundred and sixty years mentioned here—we’ve already established when that was. You with me?”

  “Go on.”

  “Okay then… The Dragon’s fighting mad. He persecutes the woman. She gives birth and flees into the mountains for twelve hundred and sixty years. The Dragon tries everything, but he can’t get to her, can’t destroy her. So he does the same thing again—If I can’t hurt you I’ll hurt what you love—and instead of going after the woman he goes after her seed, her child. If you replace this whole scenario with the actual things that the symbols represent, it’d go something like this… Satan stood before the Church, determined to gobble up Christianity. But God saved the Church and hid it away in the wilderness for twelve hundred and sixty years, during which time, Satan turned on Christianity and decided to destroy it instead.”

  “The same twelve hundred and sixty years we just talked about.”

  “Yes. Starting when Pope John the first was declared head over all the churches, all the way until the French Revolution when the unbelievers tried to kill Christianity.”

  “What of the heads, horns, and crowns?”

  “I was sort of saving that for last.”

  “Why?”

  “Because… I really like you.”

  He lifted a single brow. “Just spill it already. Tell me what you think they represent.”

  “Fine… The seven crowned heads represent the seven forms of government the Romans had from the beginning to the end—Kings, Republic, Decimvir, Tribunes, Dictators, Emperors, and Dukes (which were eventually superseded by the Papacy, but we ain’t there yet). The ten horns represent the ten kingdoms which constituted the Roman Empire.”

  “So you’re saying that the great red dragon—Satan—was Pagan Rome?”

  “I’m saying that the bloodthirsty Roman Empire was the creature which the Dragon controlled, yes. It fits too perfectly to be anything else—the timeline, the particular events, everything. Now, hear me out, Father. The prophesy goes on to say that a beast rose out of the sea having seven heads and ten crowned horns. It says the beast looked like a leopard but had the feet of a bear and the mouth of a lion and that the Dragon—Satan—gave the beast his power, his seat, and great authority. This composite beast represents Babylonian, Persian, and Greek Empires—leopard, bear, and lion—the ones that came before him.”

  “Jem.”

  “Hang on. Hang on. Just listen.” I paused and took a deep breath. “The Dragon fueled the Roman Empire until the Beast appeared. Then… the Dragon gave his power and position to the Beast. The Beast, in turn, spoke blasphemies against God and had great power for forty-two months. Forty-two, Father. Tell me. How many days is forty-two months?”

  “…Twelve hundred and sixty.”

  “Yes, twelve hundred and sixty years. The time from when the Pope was given supreme power, until religion was overthrown with the French Revolution. Think about it, Father. The Pope claiming to be God’s representative on Earth… his three-tiered crown symbolizing his rule over heaven, Earth, and hell… his claim to have the power to forgive sins—even after death. These things are all blasphemous.”

  “Jem!”

  “I’m sorry, Father, but feel free to show me where I err. Show me the other events, the other time in history that perfectly fits this part of the prophesy. It’s like a precision cut puzzle that fits perfectly into place.”

  He glared at me but did not answer.

  “The text also goes on to read… Those who worshipped this Beast were the ones whose names were not written in the Book of Life. Oh, and the part about one of the heads of the Beast sustained a mortal wound, but somehow survived… Well, when the Roman Empire was attacked by the Goths and the Huns and everybody else, it seemed like Rome sustained a deadly blow. But… that’s when Papal power was instituted, thus Rome was healed.”

  “But the Beast is said to have a mark upon its head numbered six six six.”

  “Yes, it does. And what do you believe that mark means?”

  “Caesar Nero.”

  “Nero was one seriously wicked, messed-up dude, alright.”

  “Yes, and his name adds up to the six six six mark.”

  “I see… You’re speaking of Greek letters having a specified numerical value.”

  “Yes, and Nero fits perfectly. Neron Caesar, when translated into Aramaic, is Nrwn Qsr. All you have to do then is add the letters up…

  Nun=50

  Resh=200

  Waw=6

  Nun=50

  Qoph=100

  Samech=60

  Resh=200

  For a total of 666.”

  “But… why did you add an N to the end of Nero’s name?”

  “It is an uncommon spelling, yes, but not inaccurate.”

  “I see… But according to the rules of Jewish numerology, when the letter Nun appears for the second time in a word, it is considered a Final and is then given the value of seven hundred. So, to be precise… Neron Caesar—Nrwn Qsr… actually adds up to 1316, not 666.”

  Father Robert narrowed his gaze, but didn’t say anything further.

  “The problem most people have is that they try to name the Beast as a single dude.”

  “As did you. You said it was the Pope.”

  “I did not. I said it was the Roman Papacy—what the Roman Empire turned into after its fall to the barbarians. Not the man… the Roman institution. Look here…” I began writing in my journal. “If I use the exact same logic you did, but instead of trying to make it Nero… you make it Roman instead. This prophesy was written in Greek. The Greek word for Roman is Lateinos—the mythical King of Latium and founder of the race and kingdom of Rome. The official language of the Roman Church is Latin—your liturgies are in Latin, your ordinances are in Latin, you’re even called the Latin Church. So the numeric value of Lateinos would be…

  L=30

  A=1

  T=300

  E=5

  I=10

  N=50

  O=70

  S=200

  For a total of…” I added them up in my journal. “…666.”

  “So you’re saying the Pope is the antichrist?”

  “I’m saying the Roman Church is.”

  “That is heresy and blasphemy!”

  “Not unless you’re Catholic. I’m not. Remember?”

  Father Robert quickly stood, sending his chair scooting across the floor.

  “Hey… Come on… Don’t get mad at me. I love Catholic people—people of all religions. You and I are friends, are we not? Forgive me. Please. I wasn’t trying to hurt your feelings, Father. I wasn’t speaking of you personally, or of any other Catholic, for that matter. I’m not judging anyone here. I was only�
�”

  He walked purposely towards the door without speaking or making eye contact.

  “Hey… Father Robert… Wait…”

  But he firmly shut the door, and was gone.

  I sighed as I stood and glanced over at the clothes laid out on the bed for me—a knee-length brown cotton skirt, a black top, and another clean pair of undies.

  I let my towel drop to the floor, then began dressing.

  *****

  I continued to study the ancient books I yet had.

  Lunchtime came and went with no sign of Father Robert. Dinnertime that evening was the same.

  When my stomach began to scream for relief, I quit my studies and slipped out of the room.

  I had no idea where the kitchen area was and found nothing edible as I silently searched the darkened halls.

  I timidly checked Father Robert’s office door.

  “Locked. Dang it. If I could get to my cell, at least the bank might front me enough money to eat on.”

  Desperate, I slipped out of the cathedral and onto the street. But with zero money to my name, and now no friends, I returned to my room emptyhanded.

  By lunchtime the second day I was beginning to get physically ill. My system and my blood sugar was all messed-up, yeah, but I also began to freeze and burn up at the same time—chilling, with sweat running down my brow.

  By dinnertime on the second day I could no longer concentrate on my studies. The words began to blur and my mind just wasn’t on it.

  I stood then, deciding it would be better to dig through garbage cans than to die all alone in this abandoned wing of Notre Dame… when an odd word caught my attention. I tried hard to focus on the ancient text.

  “Catacombs? Wait… It says here that… the catacombs under Paris contain a gateway to the Nether.” Gateway to the Nether, huh?

  I closed the large book and snatched up my other texts.

  “Thanks for all your help, Father Robert,” I whispered as I made my way down the old hallway. “I left your book where I found it—here at Notre Dame. I have no more need of it.” I checked his locked office once more, then slipped out the back and headed toward the darker parts of town… hoping to glean information about how to access their infamous catacombs.

  It didn’t take long. There are apparently unauthorized entrances all over the city. I made my way to the nearest one… and stepped into the utter darkness I hated with all my heart and soul.

  Feeling my way inside… I was almost thankful for not having a light. I didn’t want to see with my eyes the disturbing things I was now feeling with my hands.

  I journeyed ever farther into the enormous crypt.

  I traveled for probably half an hour before it hit me… the smell. The further I went, the stronger it became.

  And now… I bring you back to where this story began.

  Chapter

  10

  Hunger and desperation had led my feet into the darkness. Now that my belly is all but forgotten… fear consumes me.

  I made my way to the point where the scent of the Nether was the strongest. And now here I sit—back against the bone-strewn wall, curled in on myself with my arms wrapped around my legs and my weary head resting miserably atop my bent knees.

  I shiver.

  I almost cry.

  I would believe I am near to freezing… were my profuse sweating not now soaking through my thin clothes.

  To say that I am lost would be an awesome truth… in more ways than one.

  “Is it true that you get so hungry… you forget that you’re hungry at all?”

  Of course, no one answered my feeble whispered words. Yet, I am thankful they did not.

  I tried to sleep, but my dreams were no more comforting than my wakened thoughts.

  My mind is on Azazel… how it must feel to be cursed to this solitary, reality-altering darkness for all time.

  I shiver.

  I sleep.

  I stir.

  I sleep once more.

  Time and reason escape me.

  I know not how long I have been here.

  Has it been days? Weeks?

  “No. My heart yet beats. I am all but certain it will stop before a week finds me.”

  I inhale deeply. Then cough the wretched stench of the Underworld back out of my lungs.

  I must stay sane.

  I must do something to keep my wits about me.

  As to what that something might be… I have not a clue.

  “Okay… Let’s see… I have recorded up to the part concerning the scholarly interpretation of the Beast of Revelation. The very part which severed my only earthly tie and left me starving and destitute.”

  I sigh.

  It echoes through the tunnels, chasing after my spoken words.

  The darkness swallows up my existence.

  The ancient bones breathe around me… longing for the souls that abandoned them so very long ago.

  Will I be as these who now rest within the darkness?

  Will my forgotten body turn to dust… far from the eye of man?

  “Perhaps… Perhaps not. We shall see.”

  I sigh.

  I wipe away the clammy sweat.

  My shoulder throbs as if my heart chose to relocate itself within my body. Minus my permission.

  What day is it?

  Has the sun risen?

  The moon?

  How many times have they danced their soothing dance across the heavens?

  How long have I been willfully entombed?

  “Oh, Father Robert, I am sooo sorry. I truly am. I never meant to hurt your feelings. In my heart of hearts this is true. Your feelings are extraordinarily precious to me. Alas… I could not agree with your reasoning, even at the cost of my wretched belly. The facts are what they are. The truth is what it is. I am as incapable of changing the meaning of the prophesy as I am of writing the words it contains.”

  I lean my head back against the wall of crumbling bones and try to recall the remainder of my heavenly task.

  “Now… what came next? The seals have been broken. The trumpets have all sounded. Oh yes… the seven bowls—or vials—of wrath containing the last seven plagues.”

  Plague… I wonder how many of these rotting bones gave up their life to plague… How many of these skulls would sing the proof of their demise by such a ravenous thing as the Black Death…

  “Where was I? Umm… Yes, I remember. Very well then. The Beast is Romanism—the Pagan, the Imperial, and the Holy Roman forms all inclusive—and these bowls pertain to that, as does the rest of the prophesy. These bowls are filled with God’s wrath. God’s. Not man’s. Not religion’s. Not Satan’s. Not even the church’s. God’s wrath.”

  I shiver again. No… I have yet to cease shivering. I only happen to notice it occasionally.

  I wipe my forehead across my bent knees.

  My brown cotton skirt is soaked.

  Poor Father Robert…

  “Okay… Just like the first four seals and the first four trumpets… the first four bowls are interrelated as well.”

  I hear a noise.

  I stop my mind-calming chatter… listen closely.

  I hold my breath.

  The silence is deafening.

  The darkness is blinding.

  My body feels light—minus my faltering senses.

  I forgot I was holding my breath.

  I chuckle softly.

  It echoes through the hollow eye sockets of my current companions… filling their nothingness with a breath of joy.

  I laugh again.

  The happy choir mocks me.

  I smile.

  “Where was I? Oh yes… When these seven wrathful plagues are poured out, they will diminish the Beast—eventually destroy it completely. And even though each bowl is a plague, the followers of the Beast remain unrepentant after each.”

  Man… the vainest, most egotistical creature to walk this planet—refusing to repent, to say I’m sorry, I was wrong. Instead they procla
im… I will not beg… I will not crawl… I am good enough on my own… I need no one… I need no God.

  “You’re so vain… You probably think this song is about you. You’re so vain…”

  I giggle.

  Not because of my thoughts or the song… but because of the way my out-of-tune words echo around me.

  “Alrighty then… Umm… The seventh trumpet blew right around the time of the French Revolution. And just like the seventh seal contained the seven trumpets, so too does the seventh trumpet contain the seven bowls of wrath. So, that would make the pouring out of the bowls begin during Napoleon’s reign.”

  “What are you doing in this place, woman?”

  I would know that hissing, condescending voice anywhere—Paltiel.

  That thought brought a weak smile to my painfully chapped lips. I lifted my head but didn’t open my eyes. There was no point.

  “Paltiel… I’ve been waiting for you.”

  “Ugh… You stink.”

  “You always say that.”

  “No. Now you reek of the stench of decay and rot.”

  “I’m sitting in the world’s largest, most populated tomb. I am surrounded by decay and rot.”

  “Not ancient death… coming death. Why are you here?”

  “I had nowhere else to go. I was attacked. All my money was stolen. I had no one to turn to. And Uriel… Uriel still isn’t answering me.”

  “And that’s because he is still seeing to his summons.”

  “Yes… but I am in desperate need of help. You took my keys. I couldn’t come to you. And… I haven’t eaten for days. Please, Paltiel, please just send me to Japan. If I can get to Oharaimachi, Drella will fix everything.”

  “The portals are closed.”

  “Please.”

  “I cannot. It is not within my power.”

  I felt tears trickling down my cheeks then. I didn’t even try to hide them. I was way past pride… way past shame.

  Paltiel sighed. “Come with me. I cannot transport you to Japan, but I might be able to find you some food… clean out a bit of that infection festering there upon your back.”

  I ungracefully made it to my feet. “Gratitude, Paltiel.” I felt for him through the darkness. “Thank you so much.”