by T. M. Lakomy
“This world is but a dream of someone, someone who thought himself greater than the Creator himself. This world was Lucifer’s dream, the mirrored stolen thoughts he snatched from the symphony of chaos before the throne of God, eons ago when existence was new. He made himself a god over the creation that he wrought in his dreams, and his gaze gave soul and breath to the ideas, and he bequeathed them his own light. And they were enamored, the angels that fell beneath his spell. The beauty of his thought was endless and its enchantment was strong. So they tuned to him, and lent their song to his echoes, intertwining with their master’s theme. They blended together in the chaos of light and darkness, and Lucifer smote them together to create earth.
“The angels saw through his eyes and they breathed their divine flame into his creation, mingling their will with his, as their heartbeat mirrored his, and their songs rose in unison with him. And they devised plans and ideas, giving form to the notions that Lucifer fed them with—his poisoned ether and the breath of life. For he was prince of the air, and breath and air sustain all living things. But without it comes death, the great flaw in his plan, and the decay and undoing of his grand designs.
“A third of the heavenly host was taken with him in his fall, and that fall was radiant. Never did a more beautiful star fall from the gates of heaven, plunging amid burning wings of fire and opalescent lights. Upon descending to earth, he tricked the angels that had joined him. Many he bound and trapped, casting them down to earth where they became trees, their weeping souls trapped in sap and bark forever. There many of them rotted, their souls erring into the abominable darkness Lucifer had created to spite God—the void that is empty of the holy light.
“And Lucifer was born of the most radiant, pure fire. When we yield our spirits to the fire, we find our own godly spark and we can wield it, using it to weave dreams and tap into the Twilit world. But wary are we of what fire we choose to consecrate to ourselves. Some fires are jealous and desire only to seize our flame and devour our soul while others seek to live within us freely, sharing our souls as we share in their essence. And beyond all is our warden, the Hag Goddess, clad in rags. She walks across earth unmolested by even the vilest of its secrets, and she watches over everything. Yes, even over the chessboard, for she weaves the great tapestry of existence with golden hands.” Estella finished her speech, stepping back from Mikhail as he rose surveying her bitterly. His jaw was tightly set and disapproval was etched in his face.
“And what have you to show for the knowledge you attained?” Mikhail asked. “Yet many like you who are gifted to see beyond the veil merely watch on the borders of the great battle and do little or nothing to help. They hide like cowards in the shadows. The church alone can offer salvation. Your people peddle nothing but fancies!” His words were cutting, but Estella did not flinch. She even smiled as the words brushed over her, waving them aside carelessly.
“I don’t have time for these tirades, Mikhail,” she said. “I fled because I had no inclination to be made a tool by anyone, especially not your misogynistic orders that seek only to further their goals on the backs of my people. You are bound to the chessboard, but we are bound by nothing but our devotion to nature. From her we come, and to her we shall return. We don’t need to embroil ourselves in petty wars, for we have bigger realms to explore. We are the children of the Sophia, the mother goddess, and she has chosen us for herself. She takes us out of the cruel game, picking us out as one sifts through wheat, and gives us the gift of deciding our own path.
“And we inhabit the Twilit worlds, where those that weren’t duped by Lucifer abide. For there in the fall they were left but were not diminished, and they hid from his tyranny and shielded themselves from his poisonous breath. They wove around his dimension their own kingdoms and lofty abodes, and there he shall never trespass and neither shall he claim their domain as his own. And so we are allowed to stray and get lost in their realms where they are as kings and queens—the immortal ones, beautiful and serene, the Elvish creatures that our stories recount with awe and love. That is my path, Templar, and the Hag promised me my way out, and that shall never be denied to me.”
Estella’s eyes were hard as she walked towards the hearth. Mikhail followed her. She pointed to the tendrils of flames curling upwards as they suddenly broke into distinct forms. Flame beasts and humanoid figures fell into a languid dance. Mikhail frowned, turning his back on her and her frivolous display of power. Then as an afterthought he turned back, beckoning to the fire, and amid the blaze rose another fiery entity, shaped in the form of a raging serpent. With lashes of fires it pursued the beasts and humanoid forms, slaying and devouring them one by one.
“Frivolity is the distraction of Satan!” Mikhail’s presence loomed threateningly over Estella as he spoke. “None of you would fight for your heavenly Father who sent his only begotten son to save our souls and redeem us. We were lost sparks, caught in the whirlpool of darkness, and that darkness would have feasted on us and enslaved us in agony, languishing forever. He sent his salvation to forge us a path back to our true home, at the right hand of God, at his feet, the glorious sons and daughters of God.” Mikhail then extinguished the hearth with a single, austere glance. The light and passion in his face was full of the fervor of his convictions as they burned mightily within him.
“We are the chosen knights of our Father,” he continued, “and when the great end comes, we shall be the rewarded soldiers of our beloved king. We shall stand by him in battle and fight for our home, our glorious home where we each have thrones and a mighty crown of stars to burn on our heads.”
“There is no home but the Twilit world,” said Estella, shaking her head pityingly. “That is my home. I am daughter of the primordial darkness, the fabric of creation whence emerge the stars and the divine designs. I am the daughter of the Mother that finds beauty in the night and the empty spaces in the unfinished creations. And there we wander forlorn, singing in the eternal night and whispering to the stars our loving tunes to adorn their loneliness. We gave our hearts to those that did not want to go home to heaven but sought worlds for themselves as the freed captives of this bruised earth. We want our freedom from this war and the liberty to dance and dream in the infinite richness of the holy night beneath the garments of our mother and her watchful gaze. That’s home to us,” Estella said and closed her eyes, inhaling deeply. Mikhail crossed his arms behind his back.
“Already Samael is after you,” he said, “and will stop at nothing to trick you and break you into a million pieces that he can crush beneath his boots. To delight in your screams that will never end until time breaks its coils and infinity collapses into nothingness. No, even then shall he pursue you, and till you are dead you will be in constant fear, and in death he will seek to trick you also. Until you pass that door into the Twilit realm, you are captive to his malice.” Mikhail grabbed her roughly, but she smote his hand away.
Reaching for his dagger, he made towards her. “You deserve to die for betraying our Father and spitting on the gift he gave you, vain, selfish cowardly! Undeserving of the benevolence of our Father, and cruelly heartless to my love to you.”
Estella did not flinch, staring back into Mikhail’s obdurate eyes. “Bless you, Mikhail. You are such a champion of your cause. If one cannot subordinate the unbelievers, then let’s murder them, for in that is God’s glory indeed. Go ahead and slit my throat, and my blood be upon your hands,” she mocked him.
“You do not know what Samael will do to you, foolish woman,” he spat at her, a faint pleading evident in his hoarse voice. Estella was staring through the stained glass windows and humming to herself obliviously.
“Indeed you truly believe yourself mighty,” Mikhail continued. “Do you have no parcel of humility within you? Where was this arrogance when that demon haunted your bedchamber? That foul ordure of hell?”
Estella raised a faintly amused brow.
“I suggest you mention me with better manners, my Lord Templar, if you truly thi
nk you are a man of God,” came a chiding voice.
Antariel’s soft grey wings blocked out the light, casting a long shadow across the hall. His visage was impassive, but his bright blue eyes returned the coldness reflected in Mikhail’s. However, Antariel’s contained a darker and far more ancient arrogance that Mikhail could not hope to surpass. He lifted his head as he spoke, forming the words craftily on his cunning lips.
“Do not presume to speak for God, my prodigal friend, though you may speak for yourself,” Antariel said lightly.
Mikhail unsheathed his sword inscribed with the runes of power and the sigils of his order. His countenance was a wolfish snarl.
“I see mercy has redeemed her erring child,” Mikhail spat. “But the venom was not drained from you, was it? Why aren’t you home serving your master? I command you in the name of Metatron to obey my words or be constrained before the throne. I bind you to speak the truth!” His sword glinted palely in the shadow of Antariel’s wings. A crackling fire in the shape of a circle emerged around Antariel.
“Through the sacred Shem ha-Mephorash,” Mikhail chanted, “by the power of Metatron, by Raphael who frustrates all demons, and seventy-two living letters of the Lord our god, I bind you, redeemed angel, through the consecrated power of our sacred order.”
The fire that was crackling around Antariel flared a reddish white, but he looked on immovably serene. Estella nervously observed them but maintained her distance.
“Ah I remember now the litany of the holy names,” Antariel smiled humorlessly. Then raising his left hand the fires fanned higher, taking the shape of winged creatures. He set them free across the hall, dancing and multiplying as they dispersed. Mikhail marched up to Antariel, holding his sword before him in defiance, until he was barely a foot away. The two locked eyes.
“Go home, Templar,” Antariel commanded. “You are not welcome in our thoughts, nor our hearts any longer.”
“Who is ‘our’?” Mikhail snarled incredulously. “Do you possess her now? Is she a trinket for your lustful games? How fallen are you now, Estella, that you seek the solace of redeemed petty demons. Your gift is wasted on you.” He threw the words like daggers at Estella, but she merely blinked unresponsively.
“Talk to me, Templar, not to her, for you know nothing of her but whatever fragments of her ever changing mask she decided to grace you with. She cannot hear you, neither can she feel you. And yes, that is my doing.”
“I see now that you are my only audience,” Mikhail forced the words out bitterly, regretting them instantly as he saw the amusement in the angel’s blue eyes.
“Yes indeed, and so let us talk angel to man, almost biblically in fashion.” Antariel’s benign smile was gone. “I want her safe from harm just as much as she does. I will do my utmost to protect her from danger, so in that we may both collaborate towards the same goal. Your order will not enslave her, for she was not born to be anyone’s thrall. The cardinal’s demons will seek to dismantle you and the queen inch by inch and cast you out to the dogs to devour. I will assist you, for I know these ancient evils and their purpose and ways better than you. As for Samael, you cannot fight him alone, nor can you be sure of any move he seeks to make on any of us. In that you would also require my council.”
“Let me share with you a secret that your beloved queen hides,” Antariel continued. “She is of the lineage of the Magdalenes. That is why she wields such sway over your mortal orders. I can assist her in unlocking her potential. I know the rules of the game here. But Estella must remain Estella. She won’t be controlled lest she break and flee into danger, for that is her way and you cannot change her. She will lend you her eyes, but do not restrain her, for in that I will become your archenemy.” Antariel’s words fell like fountain water, limpid and clear, and the threat and promise they held washed over Mikhail, sinking into every pore.
“I see you have your own designs after all, even in this form. I thought one could not come before the throne of God with impurity in their hearts,” Mikhail seethed, aiming to wound. But Antariel augustly leaned forwards and pressed a finger to Mikhail’s chest.
“Sadly you do not know anything about the hearts of men. The true treasures of the soul are hidden from you. I have seen, and even Estella sees, where you dream to go, but you cannot for you are blind and your Father has not deemed you worthy of sight.” Antariel withdrew his fingers from Mikhail’s heart and closed his wings gently, letting the sunlight wash over them. “Let us unite in this journey to destroy the doom hanging over us. I have gathered news that should interest your order. I know Samael’s next target.” As Antariel spoke Estella stirred from her reverie and came to join them.
“Off we go then, to our next step in the game,” she sighed. “Shall we send news to the queen and esteemed Templars to convene with us here? I doubt travel would avail us well in these times.”
Antariel did not respond but inspected the finger he had lain on Mikhail with mild curiosity, casting a cunning glance at him.
“We shall send word then, and secure the house,” Mikhail responded coldly, suddenly coughing beneath Antariel’s watchful stare.
19
WALKING DOWN SUNDERED PATHS
I swallowed the razor with its mocking, glittering gleam
The brightest light in the gathering dark
Felt it seek out each corner of my soul, my pains to redeem
From ancient bondage and kindle their ravenous spark
AROUND THE GREAT TABLE IN THE HALL THEY SAT WHILE MESSENGERS, who had been summoned by Mikhail, came and went. Some were angels constrained to obey his command, and others demons bound to his will. They reported to him and brought him tidings. The hours went by and the maids brought food and drink. The frosty atmosphere that had lingered heavily began to evaporate as a brittle cordiality set in. The crackling fires of the hearth warmed Mikhail and Estella’s coldness, and Antariel watched as they dined and drank.
The pestilence that was falling over London had weakened the people’s resolve, and many that were taken sick or had perished were those opposed to the cardinal. The news was troublesome, and the culprits were demons who regaled themselves on their prey, harvesting their god sparks to gain strength and a foothold on earth. Estella was of the opinion that they should send Mikhail into the first circle of hell beneath the protection of the lion-headed angel Nesargiel to free the souls that had been harvested. Antariel, however, thought that it would be safer to bind an angel to go forth and liberate the souls, weaving a trap for the demons on the way.
As time passed, the messengers networking between the various Templars intensified, and the situation grew dire. Cargoes came from the Holy Land, bringing treacherous burdens. Mikhail set his Templars to neutralize the threat before it hit the shores, and the cardinal held a black mass and officially summoned Samael, the Blind God, into the world with the guidance of Lucifer. Five hangings were scheduled that morning, though the Templars intervened. The queen’s forces officially broke away from the king, plunging the kingdom into disarray.
Estella’s own networks flourished just as rapidly. People came in and out soundlessly to hold council with her. But they had nothing but distrustful looks for Mikhail, who ignored them as he poured over charts and manuscripts with a furrowed brow. Oswald was making his way to the manor, and the queen herself had left her summer abode, both desiring to meet with Estella.
DISTANT CHATTER REACHED Mikhail and Estella from the entry hall where the maids admitted visitors. A small woman entered tentatively, clad in purple silks and leathers, her long, blond hair braided and piled on her head. Like the others, she uttered no word, but surreptitiously made for the hearth where Estella was seated at a large table.
The crackling fires danced across Estella’s face as the lady in purple glided towards her. Her ethereal stillness was unnerving to Mikhail, and the lights flickering in her vacant blue eyes reflected nothing of her thoughts or the soul within. The woman was slightly built and short of stature, and her pale, por
celain visage was adorned with freckles and devoid of expression. Mikhail noted that she had the same impassive nature as Estella.
Estella nodded to her solemnly, and the lady took a seat before the hearth across from her. They sat in silence for many moments sharing thoughts. After what seemed like half an hour of silence and trepidation, Estella beamed at her. The taciturn lady returned the cryptic smile brightly, and life seemed to seep through her veins. But then she shuddered, coughing while Estella reached forwards and seized her arm compassionately.
The two Templars flanking Mikhail looked on with distaste, whispering between themselves haughtily, their hands on the sheaths of their swords. The lady in purple smiled at them, but there was nothing sweet or innocent in her smile. Instead a morbid danger loomed over them and drowned their clamoring thoughts. Estella snorted as the supercilious Templars stiffened and averted their gaze while Mikhail stared fixedly at his maps.
Faint whispers broke around them like the murmur of old trees, and Estella rose to her feet. The lady followed her, and they walked toward the exit, arm in arm. As much as Estella was graceful, the lady moved with the fluid motions of water. They stopped before the exit hall and Estella bent over to kiss her brow, then the lady disappeared like a dream.
“That was Selene, one of our most accomplished dream weavers,” Estella said. “She and her trusted Twilit prodigies have caught one of the cardinal’s new friends in their meshes. She will be bringing him here shortly for questioning. I suggest we begin preparing ourselves for a long night of interrogation.” Estella sighed, crossing her arms and beckoning towards Antariel. He smiled from where he leaned against a marble pillar, then vanished.