Authors: Brendan Carroll
Luke Matthew secretly attributed her concerns to jealousy, and had broached the subject with Lucio, telling him that there seemed to be some controversy between their two guardians. Lucio had paid a visit to Inanna, praising her superiority, her voice and her overwhelming intelligence. This overt flattery of which the Italian was quite adept had appeased the dragon, but she still kept a wary eye on the gryphon, snoozing with one eye open. They were lying on opposite banks of yet another dry wash in the open desert while the armies of the men they escorted, camped a few thousand meters to the southwest at the foot of one of the regions small, rugged mountains.
Lucio was sitting on his favorite flat boulder, drinking wine from a goatskin and watching the lightning flashes erupting from the top of Mt. Sinai when Simon suddenly sat down beside him.
“Ho, Brother!” Simon greeted him in the outdated fashion of the Temple. “Would you care to confess?”
“Confess?” Lucio frowned at him. “Do I look sin-ridden?”
“No. I was just making conversation.” Simon laughed. “I haven’t been around to see you lately. I hear that you spend too much time alone.”
“And you make it sound like we are safe at home in a nice little villa on the Appian Way. I am a miserable man, Brother.” Lucio returned his gaze to the top of the mountain.
“And what is the direct cause of this misery?” Simon prodded him.
“I want to go home. I’d like to spend the last of my days here on earth with my wife. Is that too much to ask?” Lucio said without looking at him.
“Is that all that is bothering you? We would all like to go home, Brother.” Simon told him, but he did not really seem interested in the subject he had chosen. The Healer’s eyes strayed to the sight of the green, yellow and gold streaks of light illuminating the undersides of the billowing clouds at the summit of the mountain. Something in his tone snapped Lucio to attention and the Italian looked at the shorter, blonde man. Simon’s face was streaked with dust and grime. The tan bush jacket he wore was torn and ripped in several places and completely covered with dirt, soot and other assorted stains. His expression matched the jacket: ragged and worn.
“You did not come here to take my confession, Simon.” Lucio said softly and Simon turned his large eyes on him.
“And you are right. I didn’t even know you were here. I was simply looking for solitude, and I don’t think it is solitude that I crave. I miss my wife just as you do. I miss St. Patrick’s and Lothian. I have no home and yet I want to go home.”
“Aha!” Lucio perked up. “Many times I have told myself this very same thing, Simon. Once I thought of home as Naples, Napoli and even dared to call myself Lucius di Napoli.” The Italian raised one hand and looked about as if addressing a large, adoring crowd. “I then became Lucius Apolonius.” He repeated the gesture and stood to take a demure bow for his imaginary fans. He slumped back onto the rock and smiled ruefully. “A man could live with only one name in the beginning, but the nobility had many names and many titles and so I took a second name. I became Lucio Apolonio when the Latin became obsolete. Eventually I needed a third name and I became Lucio Apolonio Dambretti,
Chevalier de l’Aigle d’Or
, Knight of the Golden Eagle, poor Knight of Solomon’s Temple, a simple warrior monk, soldier of Christ, defender of the faithful, protector of Pilgrims, children, women and other helpless creatures. I took the name Dambretti from a can of extra virgin olive oil in a bombed-out kitchen in Germany during the First World War. Later on, I learned that Napoli was not even my home. Then I became Lucius di Venetia to some when times were more innocent, and we were still simply men and the elves respected us, you and I.
“I was arrogant, a fool. All the time I fought against those who loved me, who cared for me through thick and thin, life and death, war and peace. A few years ago I made a remarkable discovery and everything that I had ever questioned was suddenly and profoundly answered. I learned the truth and I made peace with my worst enemy, myself. Since then, Simon, I have been incredibly happy, almost insanely happy. Every day was a new day, a new life and every blade of grass, every drop of water, every breath of air was special to me. I understood everything. Nothing troubled my mind.
“I had Catharine at my side, my devoted wife whom I love with all my heart and I had my son and my grandson near at hand. Only Galen’s absence caused me to worry from time to time, but even then I knew that he was where he wanted to be, and he could come home any time he chose. That was my life up until I flew away to Egypt a few weeks ago. I had a flock, a following, men who respected me and wanted to listen to me. Think of it, Simon. Did you ever in your life think to see me as a teacher of men? Even Brother Barry was shocked when I asked him for a position at the new Academy.
“Now everything is turned up-side-down and though I still know that I can never truly be separated from Catharine, even by death, I am miserable. I thought that misery would never find me again after my descent into the Halls of Amenti. I was wrong. I miss St. Patrick’s, Lothian and Naples and yet none of them are my home. I feel that we may never leave this desert in this life time. We may never see Lothian again.”
“That is very similar to what I feel.” Simon agreed. “So you descended into the Halls of Amenti? I would like to hear about it, if you don’t mind.”
“Oh, well, then… hmmm.” Lucio frowned. “I will try to find the words to describe it.”
“I’m sure you can manage.” Simon smiled and returned his attention to the ominous, thundering clouds. Lucio had pretty much summed up his own feelings. A slightly different set of circumstances, but the same end result. A feeling of desolation and dissolution pervaded the entire company camped at the foot of the ‘Holy Mountain of God’. Simon’s main concern was
which
god this mountain belonged to. If they were wrong, if the teachings they had propounded and taught for years were in error, they might be in even greater trouble than they imagined. Simon recognized the fear that gnawed at his stomach day and night as what many priests had faced at some point in their lives, the moment of doubt. Only time would tell if they were right to do what they were planning to do.
If anyone would have told him a year earlier that they would be about to ascend the summit of Mount Sinai, open the Ark of the Covenant and toss it into the depths of Jethro’s furnace, he would have laughed or perhaps fainted, but never would he have believed it. Destroy the most holy relic ever created on the face of the earth? Impossible! And yet, here they were about to attempt just that. There was no doubt in his mind that this was the Mt. Sinai where Moses had witnessed the flaming bush that did not burn and heard the voice of God from the midst of the flames.
This was the Biblical home of Jethro, the high Priest. Simon narrowed his eyes as Dambretti continued in his soothing Italian-tainted French, explaining and describing his descent into the Halls of Amenti.
Jethro, the Midianite. The High Priest of the Midianites, also known as Reuel, also known as Raguel. Raguel. One of the seven archangels in some estimations. Raguel! One of Uriel’s brothers! Lucifer’s brother! Moses’ wife had been the daughter of Raguel, a Nephalim. Moses had been married to a Nephalim! Moses had been Mark Andrew’s nephew-in-law.
Simon began subconsciously quoting lines he had learned in his study of angels from the Book of I Enoch. Enoch, the youngest son of Cain. Cain, the son of Lucifer and Eve! Raguel had transported Enoch to Heaven while still in the flesh. Cain’s Uncle Raguel. The implications were mind boggling.
“These are the names of the angels who watch. Uriel, one of the holy angels who preside over clamor and terror.” Simon said the words of I Enoch, Chapter 20 aloud and Lucio stopped talking. “Raphael, one of the holy angels, who presides over the spirits of men. Raguel, one of the holy angels, who inflicts punishment on the world and the luminaries.”
“Simon?” Lucio leaned around to look into his face. The Healer looked as if he was in a trance. “What is wrong?”
The Healer blinked and then focused on the Italian’s face. “Raguel. Jethro was known as Raguel. Jethro, the High Priest of the Midianites who lived on this mountain with his seven daughters was an angel, Brother. An angel and his daughters were Nephalim.
Moses married a Nephalim
. Zipporah was half-angel. Raguel presided over this great temple and the god who dwelt below it. Raguel, one of the guards of Second Heaven.”
“A guardian angel?” Lucio asked in confusion.
“No.
A guard
. He guarded this place, and he wrought great magick in the hilltop temple on the summit of Mt. Sinai. You saw the ruins up there!” Simon’s face grew pink with excitement. “This is very strange. It was Raguel, who made the Ark of the Covenant and within it, he placed the essence of destruction and punishment of the world, the power of the jealous god whom he guarded in this place. Raguel gave Moses the power of dominion over his enemies… a magick box!
And there was seen in his temple the ark of his testament.
” Simon quoted from Revelations. “That is why Raguel became a fallen angel. He took wives from the sons of men and he had children and he used his power to further the career of his son-in-law. I wonder if Raguel is still here.” He looked around and then shivered.
“I didn’t know that Raguel was a fallen angel, Simon, but I am no expert on the angelic orders. Your father should know if this fellow is still around.” Lucio told him. “But I hope he isn’t or else he might not be too happy to see us.”
Simon nodded his head slowly as the rumblings increased. The ground shook under their feet and the night, outside the noise rolling down the side of the Holy Mountain, was extremely quiet as if the desert itself were holding its breath.
Finished.
Quatotations taken from the King James Version Bible, the New Testament and the Old Testament, the Revelation of St. John, Jude, Mark, Luke, Matthew. The Testimony of the Mad Arab and the Necronomicon. The Emerald Tablets of Thoth, the Atlantean, the Centuries of Michel de Nostradame
Contact the author at the following places:
Email:
[email protected]
Author Blog:
http://brendancarroll.wordpress.com/
Twitter: @BrendanCarroll7
Facebook:
https://www.facebook.com/BrendanCarrollRCG?ref=tn_tnmn