by Wendy Alec
He turned from the window. ‘He is a ... follower of the Hebrew. Is this true?’
‘Yes, Father, Zahi has become a follower.’
‘It will bode ill for Zahi – my soul feels it.’ He sighed deeply, then bent down and picked up the cross from the floor.‘Then so be it. I, Aretas, sovereign ruler of Petra and Arabia, bestow my blessing on Crown Prince Zahi. May his ways prosper and his soul find peace.’
He turned to Duza. ‘Duza, your king commands you. Go to Jerusalem. Seek out my blessed son and bind yourself to him, day and night. Serve Zahi, fruit of my loins, fruit of all Arabia. This is your solemn duty.’
And he replaced the Hebrew’s cross upon the altar.
* * *
Charsoc sat on a throne of ivory horn in the Catacombs of Ichabod. Green vapours snaked up from the monstrous warlock cauldrons of bubbling hemlock and hellbroth, potions of bladderwrack and deadly nightshade brewing on the towering garnet altar opposite the throne. Numerous cankerworm slithered between the thousand black tapers of belladonna spluttering on the altar, behind which hung the huge magenta veil that led to Perdition’s second Unholy of Holies, governed by the dreaded high priests of the fallen – the Warlock Kings of the West.
‘Enter, high priests of the fallen,’ Charsoc cried.
The magenta veil fluttered, then the thirteen Warlock Kings of the West materialized in front of the altar. They stood, ten feet in height, their pale green parchment-like skin glowed with a luminous sheen. Their noses were hooked, their hunched backs covered by long black capes, their jet black hair was poker straight and fell past their waists, their heads were crowned with pointed black hats entwined with living serpents.
‘Jether and the elders of Yehovah are gathered?’ Charsoc asked.
Dracul, ancient ruler of the Warlock Kings, bowed deeply before Charsoc. His beady amber cat-like eyes glittered from his long bony countenance ‘The Black Murmurers advise us they assemble as we speak, O master. In the labyrinths of the seventh spire,’ he rasped, green sulphur issuing from his pale purple lips.
‘This day we uncover their scheming,’ Charsoc declared. ‘Yehovah’s powers are formidable. We need our strongest magic.’
‘The seventh chamber is impenetrable,’ Ishtar hissed.
Dracul nodded. ‘Even our combined sorceries are inadequate to penetrate the seventh spire.’
‘But this is!’ Charsoc removed a silver amulet from his robes and held it up. The Warlock Kings fell back as one, clutching their temples in agony. Charsoc replaced it swiftly in its amulet. ‘The stone of fire from the sixth chamber. My former abode.’ He lowered his voice. ‘The sixth stone. Its flame is dying. Near extinguished. It cannot exist in our kingdom of the fallen. But its power will strengthen as we draw nearer the labyrinths. We will use it for one final assault upon their assembly.’
And what of Jether?’ Dracul leered.
‘Jether’s powers fade,’ Charsoc hissed. ‘His magic grows weak.’ He rose, holding his staff high above his head. ‘I will deal with Jether.’
Chapter Twenty-seven
Galilee
Jesus gazed across the Sea of Galilee, its deep mercurial blue waters glistening in the fading sun. He glanced down at a tiny girl, no more than three years of age, who sat on His lap. She clutched Him tightly around the waist, her head buried in His chest so that only two long untidy curling braids were visible, tied with scarlet ribbons. Surrounding Him in a semicircle on the white sand were at least nineteen children between the ages of two and fifteen. Six boys, aged around twelve years of age, sat cross-legged on the rocks opposite Him, greedily devouring mounds of roasted fish, fresh from the nets and stuffing great handfuls of dates into their mouths, totally engrossed in their feast. Jesus watched them in enjoyment. Three older youths griddled sardines on the open fires.
The small girl with the scarlet ribbons raised her head, sucking her thumb. She looked up at Jesus lovingly and sighed, then deliberately removed her thumb from her mouth. ‘Jesus,’ she lisped, ‘Rubied Door...’ Then she buried her head back deep into Jesus’ robes.
An unnatural stillness fell. Even the greedy devourers stopped eating their fish and wiped their oily mouths with their sleeves, waiting for Jesus to speak. His eyes grew distant. Remembering. ‘Far away from Galilee, far beyond the moon,’ His voice was hushed, ‘lies the kingdom of the First Heaven.’
A twelve-year-old boy frowned, ‘Why can’t we see it, then, Master?’ He shook his tight black curls, which fell over his eyes, veiling the mischief hidden there. He was joined in soft laughter by his some of his peers. Jesus sighed long sufferingly.
‘Reuben, must I teach you a refresher course on physics?’ The boys erupted into raucous laughter, this time at the scowling Reuben’s expense. Jesus looked over to a fifteen-year-old youth with even tighter black curls and a straggling black growth of beard, who was busy griddling fish. ‘Stephen, teach your brother his lessons.’
Stephen looked over at Reuben through his curls, then spoke.‘The fall of man made fundamental changes in certain laws of physics and biology.’ Stephen left his fish and stood proudly on the sand, gesturing with a stick. ‘The nature of subjective time has changed since creation. The First Heaven is governed by a different set of physical laws. Here in Galilee we are contained or limited to a “one-dimensional” time frame, so we cannot walk through walls or on water.’
Jesus nodded in approval. ‘Jesus walks on water,’ Rebecca lisped, then ducked her head back into Jesus’ robe. Jesus stroked her head tenderly. Stephen continued. ‘Jesus, being from the First Heaven, enjoys a multidimensional quality of time. Yehovah is bound by neither time nor space, for He existed before the universe was, before the creation of space or matter or time. Just because you cannot see another dimension with your eyes doesn’t mean that it isn’t there. That is just plain ignorance. And ignorance is sad,’ Stephen stressed contemptuously, nodding in Reuben’s direction. The fiery Reuben scowled, darting towards him like lightning and punched him in the arm.
‘Know-all!’ he muttered.
‘Boys, boys,’ said Jesus, shaking His head. ‘Have you learned nothing of the principles of the First Heaven? Love your neighbour as yourself – especially your brother, Reuben.’ Jesus frowned at Reuben, but His eyes twinkled. Reuben’s face creased into a sheepish grin. ‘Well enough, Jesus, I’ll learn my lessons.’
‘Tell us the tale, Jesus!’ a lively four-year-old exclaimed. ‘Of the great war in heaven.’
‘Again, Judah?’ Jesus sighed. ‘Long ago, Judah, before this world as you know it, and billions of years before Galilee was created, a great angel existed, one of three great princes of heaven: the Light-Bearer.’
The younger children clung to Jesus’ every word, while the older ones soon grew more interested in their feast of fish and dates. ‘He was filled with wisdom, perfect in his beauty. But the great King longed for companionship. So he decided to create a new race, the Race of Men, from his own DNA. But the Light-Bearer grew jealous of the idea of the Race of Men and launched an insurrection – a war – against the great King.’
‘I don’t like him,’ a small voice shrilled.
‘What was his name?’ a second voice piped up.
‘Sataneal,’ Reuben whispered to another in a hushed undertone. ‘He was bad...’
The twelve-year-olds dropped the remains of their fish on the sand, now captivated.
Jesus looked at them out of the corner of His eye.
‘Was there a great battle?’ one asked.
Jesus nodded. ‘I saw Satan fall like lightning,’ He spoke softly.
The older boys stared at Him in admiration.
‘He and his renegade third were banished ... he came immediately to tempt the Race of Men away from God. And in this he met great success. And so the title deeds that the great King had entrusted to the Race of Men now legally belonged to Lucifer, who was made their sovereign king.’
‘Oh, no! He is king of the world!’ shrilled a ruddy-faced five-year-old in horror.
/> ‘Is he king of Galilee?’
The smaller children huddled together in alarm, their eyes wide.
Another child, a little older, frowned at them. ‘You’re with Jesus, scaredy-cat – He casts the demons out. Lucifer’s scared of Him because He’s the great King’s Son!’
Two of the small children stuck their tongue out at the eight-year-old.
Jesus went on, ‘The great King loved the Race of Men passionately. He was not prepared to lose them for eternity. So He decided He must leave the First Heaven and be born as one of the Race of Men.’
‘And get back the title deeds,’ Judah declared.
Jesus raised His eyebrows. ‘Excellent, Judah!’
Judah stood to his full three feet, hands on hips. He brandished a stick, then shook his unruly red curls. ‘Who will fight Sataneal?’ he cried.
Jesus placed Rebecca gently down on the sand and rose to His feet. He walked over to the edge of the shore of Galilee, His sunstreaked hair blew away from His handsome, noble face. He stared out at the last rays of dusk sun that fell across the lake casting their mysterious shifting shadows on the water.
‘I will fight Sataneal, Judah.’ His voice was very soft. ‘At a place called Golgotha. The war between the First Heaven and the kingdom of darkness will be waged.’ He turned to the children, who stared up at Him in wonder, then turned back to the horizon, His eyes blazing with fervour. ‘The war of the First Judgement.’
Chapter Twenty-eight
Mandragora
The incantations of the Warlock Kings of the West grew in intensity, their darkening wings suddenly visible. In an instant, Charsoc and the entire Warlock coven vanished, spinning through the catacombs on their broomsticks, accompanied by Dracul’s demon harpies to the lower boundaries of the time corridors where a pack of snarling wort devourers waited. Their escort.
Charsoc signalled and he and the Warlock Kings ascended into the time corridors, their black hair and robes flying, veering left, then right, through the winding time passages, beneath oceans, through spiral galaxies and interstellar clouds, diving downwards into super massive black holes, then upwards gyrating at the speed of light through multiple star systems until gradually the first glimmering outline of the First Heaven’s magnificent horizons materialized.
The coven hovered before the twelve pale blue moons that were now rising from the Eastern horizon, observing the shifting hues of the First Heaven’s horizons as the lilacs transformed to amethysts and then to a deep indigo.
Charsoc opened the silver amulet around his neck. The stone of fire was cold and grey, barely flickering. He waited until the stone finally began to blaze faintly with an orange fire.
He turned to address the Warlock Kings.
‘Unprotected, the effects of Yehovah’s presence on Warlocks will at best asphyxiate us, at worst destroy us and deliver our souls screaming to the Abyss. The only antidote is thus: each one of you must hold the stone and willingly embrace its power.’
Dracul and the Warlock Kings drew back as one. ‘Its power is not yet strong enough to destroy you.’ Charsoc removed the stone from the amulet with his gloved hand. ‘but it is strong enough to immunize us for a brief time against the consuming fire.’ He frowned. ‘But I warn you, when it wears off, we have no defence.’
He removed his glove and clasped the stone with his bony fingers in triumph. ‘It will also render us invisible.’ His face contorted in agonized pain, his entire body shook violently as the fierce orange lightnings coursed through his limbs. Then the lightnings stopped. He thrust the stone to Dracul, who grasped it, at once uttering a tortured scream. Dracul’s limbs shook uncontrollably. Swiftly the Warlock Kings thrust the stone from one to another, drawing off its power.
‘We arrive uninvited.’
As Charsoc placed his staff on the stone, a luminous fire blazed from the serpent’s mouth; instantly he and the Warlock Kings became invisible.
The fiendish troupe flew past the twelve pale blue moons, upwards through the indigo horizons towards the labyrinths of the Holy Mountain. Gradually, the seven spires of the labyrinths became visible through the flashing lightnings. They flew over pearl beaches, past the Palace of Archangels, across the vast onyx expanse of the Mount of the North and over the immense, towering jasper wall. They flew through swirling white mists and thunder and electric-blue lightnings towards the mammoth golden tower of the Crystal Palace that peaked into seven spires, surrounded by its magnificent rolling gardens that seemed to hang from infinity as if held by an invisible force.
Outside the looming golden gothic seventh spire, they came to a standstill. Charsoc disappeared through the walls of the labyrinths followed by the Warlock Kings, their path lit only by the flaming eternal torches hanging high against the walls of the caverns, which were fuelled by the burning coals of the seven spirits of Yehovah. They ascended upwards. Still upwards.
Finally they arrived outside the seventh chamber. Charsoc waited, unobserved by the Watchers of the seventh flame, who stood, barring the entrance. He put his ear to the wall of the cavern, listening intently, then passed straight through the walls of the seventh chamber, followed by the Warlock Kings.
Jether stood in the very centre of the chamber, surrounded by the seven elders of the High Council of the First Heaven who were seated on seven cornelian thrones. Behind Jether, in the furthest depths of the cavern, a stormy wind raged, and out of the wind burned a great indigo cloud. Charsoc moved nearer. There, dimly visible in the centre of the coals of fire, lay the enormous gold-bound codices – the codices of the White Judgement. He stared at them, as one transfixed, then raised his head studying Jether and the elders. He nodded to Dracul. One by one, the Warlock Kings surrounded the elders who remained oblivious to their presence.
‘Revered elders, ‘Jether declared. ‘The day of the First Judgement hastens. We are here today for the unveiling of...’
Xacheriel sneezed violently. ‘Drat and bumble!’ He fumbled in his voluminous robes for his handkerchief. ‘A thousand pardons, revered Jether!’ he spluttered, his eyes streaming. ‘...Mandragora,’ he muttered. Issachar frowned.
‘Revered elders,’ Jether continued, ‘today we unveil the undisclosed tenets of the Codex of...’
Xacheriel let out another earsplitting sneeze. Jether raised his hands in despair.
‘Mandragora?’ Xacheriel mumbled. ‘I’m allergic to it.’
‘Mandrake root – in the seventh chamber?’ Jether looked at him doubtfully.
Xacheriel nodded vigorously.
‘How do you know it’s Mandrake root?’ Issachar glared dubiously at Xacheriel.
‘Mandrake is a plant of the fall. It cannot grow in the First Heaven,’ said Maheel in his soft breathy voice.
‘My excursions to the red zone,’ Xacheriel mumbled. ‘The flesh-eating Necromancers use it for their hexes...’ He sat, glowering at Issachar, his arms folded, with his spotted handkerchief now crammed out of both nostrils.
‘I tell you...’ Xacheriel’s eyes and nose streamed, ‘it is Mandragora!’
‘Issachar is right, Xacheriel old friend.’ Jether placed his arm gently on Xacheriel’s. ‘It is impossible to smell Mandragora here in the First Heaven.’
Zebulon looked up from his supplications. ‘Yet, revered Xacheriel, I, too, smell the pungency of nightshade.’
Jether frowned, his eagle eyes alert. He raised his hand then placed his finger to his lips.
‘Let us be circumspect. We switch to the ancient language – the speech of antiquities.’ He lowered his voice, then continued in a strange unintelligible ancient angelic tongue. Charsoc smiled slowly, for he well understood their dialect.
Jether lowered his head. ‘It would seem we may entertain intruders unaware,’ he declared gravely.
‘Intruders?’ Xacheriel spluttered, his eyes streaming.
Jether shook his head, mystified. ‘There is not one who exists with the power to invade the seventh spire. Yet, I too, sense a dark intrusive presence.’ He
rose to his feet and raised his staff.
‘Disclose yourself!’ The chamber was met by silence.
Xacheriel gave another blustering sneeze. Jether walked towards the great indigo cloud that blazed at the far side of the chamber. He raised a second staff with a golden seraph carved on the top of its rod, the Staff of the White Winds. Then placed it into the very heart of the flames where the indigo inferno blazed fiercest.
Jether’s hair and beard flew wildly in the tempests that rose from the indigo cloud. He raised the staff, his voice dark with authority. ‘I command you in the name of Yehovah – Disclose yourself!’ Indigo forks of lightning blazed from the staff’s rod towards the left of the chamber.
The High Council watched. All stretched out their staffs.
They stared, transfixed as only a ringed hand materialized, its bony, ringed fingers clasped tightly shut around an object.
Jether moved forward, then swiftly placed the full force of the burning staff on the hand. Instantly the remainder of Charsoc’s body materialized in front of them.
‘Aha! I told you – Mandragora!’ Xacheriel spluttered, scowling at Issachar. ‘Charsoc showers in it!’he exclaimed triumphantly.
‘I hold the sixth stone of fire...’ Charsoc hissed. A gasp went up from the elders.
‘From the sixth chamber.’
‘Pickpocket!’ muttered Xacheriel under his breath.
‘Only the pure can hold the stone,’ Lamaliel whispered.
‘I am the pure,’ Charsoc hissed. ‘Pure evil ... pure good – both are the pure.’
‘The pure has become corrupted.’ Jether walked directly towards him, his face like thunder.
‘Then wrest it from me, Jether the Just – as I intend to wrest the codices of fire from you.’ Charsoc swiftly lifted his sceptre. Immediately Jether was seized from his feet – hovering eighteen inches off the floor. Charsoc brought the sceptre down. Jether was flung violently across the cavern floor, gasping for breath. Instantly, the thirteen Warlock Kings materialized in front of the elders, their gnarled green features twisted, hair flying. Xacheriel smashed his staff hard against Charsoc’s back, while Issachar pushed him against the cavern walls. Dracul’s long pale hands swiftly grasped Xacheriel and Issachar’s throats, while Ishtar and Loki grabbed the elders’ staffs.