The Dove (15 page)

Vanni looked up again at the stars and then narrowed his eyes.  “I will never know enough.  If I could have my one wish, I would wish for a wise man to come and teach me all there is to know.”

Lemarik laughed and turned over on his side.

“I have lived for many eons, little one, and I know nothing.”  The Mighty Djinni’s dark eyes sparkled in the reflected starlight.  “I knew nothing of the wisdom contained in my father’s library until King Il Dolce Mio pointed out to me that most of what my beautiful son Omar had told me, was contained in the books in King Ramsay’s library.  Imagine my own amazement when I read the words for myself for the first time.  And my father’s library does not contain all the knowledge of the world.  There is much that is still hidden and much more that has been lost.  If my understanding is correct, then God will give us the knowledge we need when we need it, if we follow His design.”

“But how can we know we are following His design?”  Il Dolce Mio turned around to face his half-brother.

“It is as my father, Lucius, says.”  Vanni answered him.  “Everything is the Will of God.  We cannot help but do the Will of God.”

“Ahhhh, well said.”  Lemarik agreed.  “Omar told me all things in creation are the Will of God.  He created all things.  He directs all things and yet, He allows free will.”

“That makes no sense!”  Luke shook his head.  “Then what is the purpose?”

“It was the free will of the created ones to have dominion over the beauties of the Universe.  It was also the free will of those created ones to do as they wished.  When certain created ones chose to also create things out of jealousy of the Creator, He allowed them to proceed in order to teach them they were not equal to Him.  When the created ones created man in an effort to copy the work of the Creator and tried to set up their own miniature version of the Universe here on earth, He showed them that their creation was flawed.”  Vanni spoke again.  “I have read this in the library.  The god that misled the ancient people was a cruel, angry god, jealous of the Creator.  He created men to be his slaves, to worship him as the created ones, the angels and heavenly hosts worshipped the Creator, but his misbehavior led to failure.  He was lacking the one thing that the Creator had that he did not have.”

“Ohhhh?”  Lemarik perked up.  “And what was that, my dear child?  Tell an old man so he may sleep a peaceable sleep.”

“You mock my youth, Great Djinni.”  Vanni laughed and looked up at the stars.  “But I will tell you anyway.  It is written that for God so loved the world that He gave His only begotten son so we might be saved.  You have heard this, I’m sure, but have you also heard that Thomas the Contender wrote that everyone who seeks the truth from true wisdom will make himself wings so as to fly, fleeing the lust that scorches the spirits of men.  That lust which Thomas spoke of is lust of the flesh.  Earthly love, but the Creator of the Universe is endowed and imbued through and through with altruistic love.  Love more pure than the gentlest of spring rains, more brilliant than the sparkle of diamonds in the depths of space, loftier than the towering mountains rising up from the ocean’s floor which peek out at the brilliance of the sun only to sacrifice their eyes to that light which destroys them.  God is love and love alone is what this vainglorious god lacked.  He was a victim of lust, earthly love and he wanted his devotees to love him in the same manner which the angels loved the Creator.  It could not be so. And men, learning the true wisdom understood the words of St. Luke when he said
the children of this world marry, and are given in marriage: But they which shall be accounted worthy to obtain that world, meaning Heaven, and the resurrection from the dead, neither marry, nor are given in marriage:  Neither can they die any more: for they are equal unto the angels; and are the children of God, being the children of the resurrection
.  St. Luke knew that we were all children of God.  Oh! And by the way, Mighty Adalune, do you know where St. Luke’s name came from?  Luke, Lucius, Lucio?  All derivatives of the same root name?  Do you?”

Lemarik pushed himself up and frowned at the vociferous young man.

“No.  I have not had the time to memorize the entomology of given names.”  He answered somewhat perturbed by the question.

“The name means light.  Light.  It derives from Lucifer, the Light Bringer.”  Vanni smiled at him.  “Strange, isn’t it? St. Luke brought light into the darkness as he ministered in the name of Christ Jesus and yet, he and all the Lukes we know including our own Luke right here are named after Lucifer whom the world reviles and equates with Satan.  Perhaps another deception perpetrated by the Church?  It is not for me to say since I am so very young, but would it not make sense they would want the knowledge, the light, to be hidden so that they might dole it out as they deemed necessary in order to further their own interests?  And now we learn Lucifer and Satan, Light and Dark, are not one and the same.  Just as the Father in Heaven is incomprehensible, Light, Satan is incomprehensible absence of Light.  That thing, which we have unleashed on the world, is but a piece of the incomprehensible absence of Light.  To call him Darkness would fall far short of the mark.  My father, Lucius, Lucio, is, like his name implies and yet he has tied himself to the love of this world.  Even in the light of knowledge, he clings desperately to this world.  When we have all learned the true value of wisdom, we will put aside the love of this world and cling to the same love as the Creator shows for His creation.  Then we will be equal to the angels.  Of course, I must include myself in this because I am only half divine whereas you are both angels in your own right already.”

“Hmmm.  I am no angel, but you make a good point about the different kinds of love.”  Luke laid back on the thick grass and put his hands behind his head.  He turned toward Il Dolce Mio. “That sounds reasonable to me, Vanni, but where is your army, little brother?”  He directed this question at the King of the Center.

Vanni began to tap out a rhythm on his drum under the puzzled gaze of the Djinni.  Lemarik was highly upset by the words of this young man.

“They are coming.”  Il Dolce Mio looked about the meadow.  “By sunrise we will be ready to go.”

“And what will we do when we get there?”  Luke asked him.

“We will find our father and Vanni’s father, as well, and we will help them.”  Il Dolce Mio told him matter-of-factly.  “Simple.”

“Simple.  Yes.”  Luke repeated tiredly and closed his eyes.

((((((((((((()))))))))))))

The soldier picked up the black bag very gingerly by one corner and then held it over the boiling stock pot sitting in the midst of the fire.  He and two others had been given the gruesome task of boiling the severed head until the skull was clean.  The head tumbled from the bag into the steaming water with a sickening plop and the water splashed onto the hot coals, causing them to hiss and steam like hideous snakes, which, in turn, caused the men to recoil in terror. He sighed and turned to his companions, making a wry face before chuckling nervously at his own fear.  Just as he was about to comment on the heat, one of the soldiers leapt to his feet and swung his rifle from his shoulder, pointing the barrel at the first man.  He shouted something unintelligible and opened fire.  The third man followed suit as the first man jumped out of the way and rolled across the ground, terrified in earnest at their behavior.  His companions continued to scream and shout and fire their weapons frantically, ripping up the ground near the boiling pot.  Soldiers came running from all over the camp and then flung themselves to the ground as the bullets ricocheted wildly off the rocky terrain.  Someone cried out in pain as he was hit by a stray bullet.

Jozsef burst from his tent scattering maps and diagrams behind him, followed closely by his general and two other ranking Fox soldiers.  They dodged as the panicked soldiers swung around toward them, ripping a long trench in the ground with automatic weapons fire.  When they saw the ‘Prophet’ and his commanders waving their arms and shouting at them to stop, they lowered their weapons, but continued to point and babble excitedly in three different languages. 

Abaddon followed their points and gestures, tracing the line of bullet- riddled earth with his eyes to where it disappeared under a flat rock near Jozsef Daniel’s tent.  He signaled the two commanders and they approached the rock cautiously.

“Get back!”  Jozsef shouted when one of them kicked at the rock with the toe of his boot. 

Jozsef drew his pistol and approached the rock with Abaddon.

They and the rock were soon completely surrounded by curious soldiers, vying to see what was going on.

At least a hundred weapons were trained on the rock.

“Hold your fire, men!”  One of the commanders shouted.  The idiots would end up shooting each other.  “Stand down!”

A sergeant pushed the two men who had been firing their weapons, forward into the circle.

“Now what is this all about?!”  The general demanded.

“Sir!  It came out of the pot!”  One of them answered while the others simply stared at the rock.

Everyone glanced back at the fire where the aluminum stock pot steamed and bubbled on the grate over the fire.

Jozsef blanched as a dozen possibilities struck his mind at once.

“What did?  What came out of the pot?”  The general frowned at the man.

“A serpent!”  The other man told him.  He was extremely pale and sweating profusely.  “A white serpent!  We heard it hissing, sir!”

“That’s ridiculous.”  One of the captains shook his head.  “No snake could survive that kind of heat!”

“But sir!  We saw it!”  The first man spoke up again.  “We saw it!  As soon as Patrick put the head in the water, out it came!”

“All right!”  Jozsef put his pistol away.  He had to know what it was.  “Rogers, Abiff!”  He spoke to the commanders.  “Stand ready.  General, move the rock.  Let’s see what this is all about.”

Someone handed Abaddon a rifle and he put the barrel under the edge of the rock.

“Stand ready.”  Jozsef said again and the soldiers fell back.  “Now!”

Abaddon flipped up the rock and the captains opened fire with their pistols while everyone ducked for cover again.  A slender white cord, resembling a rope with glittering silver attached to it, slithered away rapidly.  The bullets did not affect the thing as it made its way into the crowd of men.  They shouted and fled in all directions.  Jozsef recognized it immediately and was somewhat relieved that it was nothing more, though he was unsure of what it was exactly that animated the white braid with a life of its own.  The pitiful creature that had occupied his body before the transformation had extensive knowledge of the bizarre incidents involving the white braid and its ability to leave its Master’s head at will.  With sudden clarity Jozsef revamped his view and thought perhaps that Ramsay had not been the thing’s master at all, but perhaps even the other way around.  Perhaps the divine Adar was embodied in this innocuous ornament, which had attached itself to the head of Mark Ramsay.  It was impossible to say.  Whatever the case, he wanted it.  He felt he could control it.

“Stop it!  Grab it!”  Jozsef shouted in vain.  No one would dare go after it.  For the second time in less than twenty-four hours, Jozsef watched his army scatter in terror.  He stood with his hands on his hips, watching in disgust as they ran.  The ‘snake’ was soon far out onto the desert floor with only Abaddon running after it.  The thing soon outdistanced him and he came walking back, empty-handed.

“Was that what I think it was?”  Abaddon asked him when he returned to the tent.

“It was the white braid from the King’s head.”  Jozsef spat in anger.  “Dammit!  Why didn’t you tell me it would do that?!”

“I didn’t know, sir.”  The general looked sheepish.

“I’m sick of your incompetence!”  Jozsef shouted at him and then approached the fire where the pot still boiled.  He could see strands of black hair in the bubbles.  “Rogers!”  He shouted at the captain who stood warily, several feet away.  “Get over here. Watch this damned thing yourself.  Bring the skull to me!  And don’t make any more mistakes!  Is that understood?”

“Yes, Your Grace!”  Captain Rogers grimaced at the bubbling pot and picked up the tongs.

“Get those two idiots back over here to help you!”  Jozsef snapped at him and then disappeared into his tent with Abaddon on his heels.

Jozsef sat down at his folding table and took a long drink of water.  Why was he surrounded by such incompetence?  Did not any of the divine ones remain ready to stand with him?

“Dammit, Abaddon!”  He said again. 

“Your Grace!”  Abaddon bowed slowly.  “It was a surprise to everyone.  Surely you can…”

“I can see that you are as inept as ever.”  Jozsef said tiredly.  “I would have loved to have had that thing in my treasure house.  I could have controlled it, used it.”

“It is very powerful, Your Grace.  I don’t know that we could have contained it without great preparations, but your pardon, Your Grace, I did tell you that when we emerged from the underworld passages, he no longer wore it.”

“Sit down, Abaddon.”  Jozsef waved his hand at an empty chair. He remembered that, but he had attached no importance to it at the time.   “What do you suppose has become of Mark Ramsay?  Did you notice nothing else during your journey with him?  Did you encounter any other… specters or demons, perhaps?  Did something possess him or perhaps…”  Jozsef frowned.  Even Nicole had commented once or twice in passing that her father had finally done away with the annoying reminder of his failed marriage to her mother.  She had been referring to the absence of the braid and the silver ornaments that had once belonged to her mother, Meredith.  The significance of the thing had failed to impress him and now it was too late.  He had held this thing in his hands and let it get away.