Gene of Isis (48 page)

The next morning at seven o’clock we were crossing from the Island of Roda in another small boat to Bulak, the harbour of Cairo. Half an hour and a short donkey ride later, Cingar and I were entering the walls of Grand Cairo—and what a spectacle of multiculturalism it was. There were Turks, some with eight to ten women in tow completely enveloped in dark silk. There were Greeks, Armenians and Jews in turbans and striking costumes, scantily dressed Arabs and swarthy Bedouin of the desert. Crossing the square we jostled against camels, dromedaries, horses and donkeys, trying to hold our breath for fear of
plague until we reached the large wooden gate which divided the Frankish quarter from the often hostile local population.

‘Here we shall make provision for our journey to the Suez.’ Cingar assured me that we would be leaving the filthy city before nightfall. ‘Old Cairo is far more pleasant on the senses,’ he assured me. But as the ancient part of the city was situated about four miles from Bulak, my schedule did not permit time for sightseeing.

Our journey down the Nile was well spent, learning as much about our adversary as possible.

Mr Devere had been engrossed in reading the journals of Lord Hamilton for some days now and had been relaying the tale of his adventures in the Sinai over dinner every evening.

‘The journal claims that when Lord Hereford opened the gateway to the Star-Fire Temple, a creature was released from it that had been dwelling within the mount for a long time…at least since the last time it was opened. He estimated, from the body of a crusader knight found therein, that it may have been sealed for about six hundred years!’

My husband had gone rather pale and I guessed that, like me, he was remembering Lord Malory’s assertion that Ashlee’s destiny was to destroy just such a beast. Lord Devere looked to Lord Malory who had raised his brows as if to say, ‘What did I tell you?’

‘If Molier is the creature I saw when I found Earnest, there is nothing human about him,’ Lord Devere posed. ‘How are we expected to kill something that is not of this earth? The creature
shattered into a spirit state just like that!’ He clicked his fingers to demonstrate the speed of the transformation.

‘But Molier was once of this world,’ Lord Malory corrected. ‘A man, just like you or I.’ As Lord Devere appeared sceptical, our host decided to explain further. ‘A journal in the possession of our brotherhood, written by a thirteenth-century priestess of the Cathar faith, tells of a renegade Sion knight named Christian Molier. He was assisting her to return a treasure to the Star-Fire Temple in the Sinai after the final siege of Montsègur in the thirteenth century. But when they arrived inside the temple, Molier tried to steal the treasure from the priestess, intending to use the site’s supernatural power to his own ends. Another knight of the order, who remained true to the cause, saved the priestess. The knight sacrificed his own life in order to trap Molier in the mountain, where he remained until Lord Hereford’s visit hundreds of years later.’

Lord Devere and myself were too stunned to speak, and before my husband could express his disbelief, Mr Devere asked: ‘And do you know the name of this heroic knight?’ My brother-in-law swallowed hard, as if he anticipated the answer.

Lord Malory grinned broadly. ‘His name was Albray de Vere.’

Now we were all doubly stunned. I recalled Mr Devere telling me of the spirit of a knight who was advising his wife and I realised, as Mr Devere must have, that the knight was some kind of guardian of the ancient, sacred site.

‘Oh, my god.’ Earnest’s mind was churning over, although I was the only one present who knew why he was so astounded.

‘Yes,’ Malory confirmed. ‘He was some great-great-uncle of yours. He was conceived during the first crusade, the bastard issue of a priestess in the Holy Land and a visiting forefather of the de Vere line.’

Lord Devere was having trouble digesting the information. ‘Are you telling me that my forefathers ran around raping Middle Eastern priestesses—’

‘No.’ Malory held up a finger to stress the point. ‘It was an arranged pairing, specifically to produce a pure-blood prince of the Royal House of Judah.’

‘What!’ Lord Devere stood up, he was so shocked.

‘Don’t you get it!’ Mr Devere stood to confront his brother before he launched into a sermon. ‘The knighthoods, and the Star-Fire Temple and its treasures from which Molier draws his power. It’s all about the blood!’

‘Please tell me that you are not talking about the bloodline of our Lord Jesus Christ!’ Lord Devere demanded, ready to walk out of the room depending upon the answer.

‘We are talking of a bloodline that goes all the way back to the Nefilim goddesses of old.’ Earnest turned back to Lord Malory before his brother could argue the issue, for he had more urgent information to pursue. ‘You still haven’t answered the question of how we destroy Molier?’

Days ago, when we had first left Alexandria, Malory had instructed Devere to call upon his forefathers to shield us all from the sight of the creature my husband had seen—that much of the story Lord Devere did believe. Now that the subject of killing the creature had been raised again, Lord Devere remained present, curious to hear the response.

‘We can only speculate, for this quest has never been undertaken before,’ Malory explained. ‘In searching for an answer we have turned to legends dealing with the undead for guidance.’

‘Oh, please!’ Lord Devere said in disgust.

‘Fortunately for us, Christian Molier and his associates at the Arsenal Library seem to have a fascination with the subject of vampires and similar legends and have written extensively on the subject.’

‘Really?’ Mr Devere was surprised. ‘But isn’t that self-destructive?’

‘Molier’s entire existence is self-destructive,’ Malory replied. ‘He has done a fine job in his plays and writings of making the vampire appear heroic and misunderstood, but it is written that the three fatal dangers are these: a stake through the heart, but only if it severs the spinal cord, decapitation, and fire.’

‘Fire.’ The last point caught Devere’s attention. ‘Interesting then that inside the Star-Fire Temple there are several pits that can be filled with a flammable liquid and set alight.’

‘But I still don’t understand how Molier could stay alive all that time in the temple? Or how he has now become more spirit than man?’ Lord Devere was frustrated by all the gaps in the story.

‘I think you might best sit down before I explain that conundrum, Lord Devere.’ Malory gestured for my husband to be seated once more and he reluctantly complied. Although my lord found much of the brotherhood’s beliefs hard to swallow, he could not deny what he, with his own eyes, had seen.

The hours that followed were some of the most fascinating of my life. We were told of the Star and Fire vials, at least one of which Malory suspected
Ashlee had in her possession, although Mr Devere would not confirm or deny the allegation. We were told of the vials’ function as keys to a greater treasure, and how the vials themselves contained mysterious ambrosias, miraculously self-filling and said to grant immortality and spiritual advancement to those of the blood.

‘But why turn to vampire legends?’ Lord Devere was curious about this point. ‘The defining trait of a vampire is that they drink the blood of the living.’

‘A common misconception, fabricated by the church to prevent the drinking of blood,’ Lord Malory answered, before going on to explain the difference between the Highward Fire-Stone, made from ORME specifically to heighten the awareness of the females of the holy line, and the Fire-Stone, made from the menstrual blood of the Nefilim goddesses, which was fed to the males of the line who had been singled out for leadership.

Lord Devere was solicitous of my sensibilities. ‘This is hardly a fitting topic to be discussing in the presence of a lady.’

I had to smile at my husband’s embarrassment. ‘I would think I am far more qualified on the subject matter than you are, my lord. I do not find it offensive,’ I assured Lord Malory and bade him continue.

‘Molier is not of the blood. Though he is a sworn defender of the cause,’ Malory scoffed, disgusted by the betrayal of the order by such a high-ranking initiate. ‘The text pertaining to his entrapment in the temple stated that although the Star vial had been safely locked away in its annexe, the Fire vial was still in Molier’s possession when the gateway was closed to imprison him. We believe that he
consumed the contents of the vial to remain alive all those centuries, and took the vial with him when Lord Hereford accidentally released him from the temple. As the elixir was meant only for the males of the blood, we suspect that, although it has extended Molier’s life and given him heightened psychic abilities, it must also have had debilitating effects.’

‘How do you mean?’ Devere was pleased to be breaking new ground, having already known that which currently had Lord Devere and myself reeling in shock.

‘Well, for example,’ Malory motioned to Mr Devere, ‘if you were to be fed the Fire-Stone substance, your physical strength would become the equivalent of ten men and your life expectancy would also be increased. You would have the ability to change form and levitate, just as Molier does. However, you would not suffer the same intolerance to sunlight that he does for your atomic structure possesses the Gene of Isis. Your love of your wife, who also possesses this gene, then heightens your psychic powers. No Chosen ruler could be without the understanding of true love and survive.’

‘Is that why the very ancient pharaohs of Egypt were recorded as living for extraordinary lengths of time?’ I mused out loud.

‘Exactly, Lady Devere,’ Malory said, and my husband looked displeased that I was supporting the Grand Master’s theories. ‘But Molier has no such love of the goddess and even if he did, without the Gene of Isis it would serve him not,’ Malory continued. ‘He is dependent on the Fire-Stone substance and is condemned to live in darkness for the rest of his days. My personal theory is that the Fire-Stone—despite sending all Molier’s atoms into
a high-spin state, each a spinning vortex absorbing cosmic light into his physical and light-body—has not enabled him to return that life-giving energy back to the cosmos; that is, the outward-spinning vortexes of his subtle bodies.’

‘The chakras,’ Mr Devere noted, nodding in understanding.

‘Yes.’ Malory was pleased that at least one person was understanding this discussion. ‘I think, in Molier’s case, his atoms are consuming that vital life force, but as his light-body is unprepared for such a large degree of digestion and transmutation, the consequence is the damming of the cosmic energy within his physical form.’

‘You could be quite right about that, my lord,’ Mr Devere concurred. ‘Molier’s light-body is very strange indeed. Whilst his aura sparkles golden, as an enlightened soul does, his chakra centres are bogged with darkness.’

Malory smiled, amazed and proud at how much his student had learned. ‘You noted this personally?’

‘I did,’ Mr Devere confirmed, suppressing a cocky smile. ‘When I met him in Paris.’

‘That might also explain Molier’s intolerance to light,’ I suggested, fascinated. ‘As his system is so dammed up by light, he can’t possibly sustain any more.’

‘Interesting.’ Malory smiled at my theory.

‘So, rather than raising his physical body closer to a spiritual state of being, the Fire-Stone may be drawing Molier’s spiritual body closer to his physical which gives longevity?’ Mr Devere pondered the premise and found it deeply curious. ‘That would surely have devastating effects on his soul-mind? For Molier’s spirit would, in effect, be merging with
his physical body, and perhaps even be trapped inside his physical form.’

‘He didn’t look too trapped in the physical when I saw him,’ Lord Devere reminded us.

‘Not while he remains undead and taking the Fire-Stone,’ Mr Devere said. ‘But what might happen if his physical body was destroyed? Does the soul-mind trapped therein perish? Where do vampires go when they die?’

‘Wherever the damned go,’ Lord Malory proposed, and we all knew he was referring to hell.

‘If Molier fears his own demise that would explain why he is after both vials. Perhaps he believes that the treasure they will unlock can in some way prevent his eternal damnation?’ I added my two pence worth.

‘Well, at least we have a vague motive, I guess.’ My husband was processing so much information that he didn’t know where to start any argument, and so decided to forgo the opportunity for now.

‘In which case, death by fire is our best chance for destroying Molier,’ Mr Devere decided.

Malory realised there was one catch. ‘But only if we can surprise him while he is in physical form.’

Everyone present took a deep breath and sighed, realising our plan of attack still required quite a bit of serious thought.

Mr Devere appeared the most concerned. ‘I just hope we can catch up to my wife before she opens the gateway.’

Eight hours after departing Cairo in the direction of the rising sun, we were travelling across as perfect a desert as if we had moved thousands of miles away from civilisation. The Bedouins referred to the wilderness as the open sea, and loved it better than any landscape the East had to offer.

I had not forgotten Jessenia’s warning in regard to riding a horse in my condition, and I was not ignorant enough to suppose that a camel would be any more favourable. I had been forced to tell Cingar about my pregnancy so that he could make provision for it. Although he now understood my husband’s frustration and was doubly displeased by my decision to pursue my quest, Cingar assured me that with enough money, anything could be arranged.

‘Would jewels or coin be preferable?’ I assured my guide that money was no object.

Thus it was that I found myself travelling in the style of an Arabian princess. Atop my camel was strapped a carriage compartment, with a roof, two solid walls at the front and back, and a flat floor. To
my right and left were thick curtains that could be drawn back, or closed and tied to keep out the desert winds and sand. Beneath me the floor of my travelling compartment was lined with rugs and cushions to absorb some of the impact of the jarring motion of my ride.

To act as a guide, Cingar had procured a Bedouin man well known to him, in whom he claimed to have implicit confidence. Our caravan consisted of ten camels, our guide and three young camel drivers, all of whom we were required to make provision for during the journey.

Our camels, at a steady pace, were capable of covering twenty-five miles a day. I was told they could reach speeds of twelve miles per hour, but bearing my condition in mind, Cingar insisted we did not push our luck.

Our Bedouins didn’t know quite what to make of me, a woman dressed like a man, who carried a sword and a pistol, but as Cingar made it clear that I was paying for this little expedition, I was treated with the utmost respect. I imagine the fear that I could dispense with their services as quickly as I had employed them, and thus withhold food, water and shelter, might have had something to do with the Bedouins’ faithful reverence.

Even in the shade of my compartment the desert heat during the day was nearly unbearable and I felt for Cingar enduring the full pelt of the sun. He assured me he’d tolerated the same conditions many times before.

After three days of travel we passed the only landmark to speak of between Cairo and Suez—a large green palm tree. It took three more hours to leave the landmark behind us and I could well
understand why the locals preferred the vast sandy nothingness, as there was less to mark the slow progress of the passage. Still, the tree did serve as a preoccupation for the better part of a day.

By high noon the next day we came in sight of Suez, which appeared as a tiny dark city when compared to the mountains that neighboured it on both shores of the Gulf. Not one blade of grass graced the shore of the unsalubrious waters, so Suez relied on supplies from Cairo to keep the residents fed. The purpose of this city was mainly as a place of trade for the great caravans to Mecca, and both Cingar and the Bedouins agreed that we should only water our camels from the well and then move on. As I had been informed that the crossing of the Suez marked the halfway point of our journey, I was just as eager to keep moving and avoid any questions.

On crossing the Suez we entered the Sinai proper and for the first time since commencing my journey, I truly felt myself treading in the footsteps of my dearly departed Lord Hamilton. I could hardly imagine how his wife, Clarissa, had survived this journey wearing the attire of an English lady; with a light cloak over my silk shirt, I was still sweltering, and suffering from heat rash that itched with a vengeance underneath my corset. I did not wear the undergarment as tightly as most ladies would, and had it not held my treasure I would have dispensed with it altogether.

Albray had been greatly enjoying our travel in the desert, but then he did not have to suffer the heat. He did, however, sense my discomfort via the stone I wore, but as we were now so close to our destination he would not condone me removing the charm from my person.

We were one day out from the mount we sought when Albray’s good mood appeared to diminish somewhat. I was feeling rather weak and poorly by this stage and I gathered that my physical ailments might have been disturbing him.

‘Please won’t you let me remove the stone from my person?’ I appealed, feeling guilty. ‘I can’t stand to see you suffer at my expense when you have already suffered so much in your own lifetime.’

I am not suffering, I am worrying.
He faced me from his cross-legged perch in my compartment.
I’ve been unable to locate Molier’s whereabouts since we banished him in Ostia. I felt sure I would have been able to spot his party in the open desert, but I have been unable to locate them.

‘Perhaps they are not following us, or have taken a different route to the mount?’

No,
he said with certainty.
They would be close by now, or arrived, and they have not. Molier will not allow his precious vial to be locked in the mount, when he is dependent on its contents…of that much 1 am sure.

‘Then how could he hide from your sight?’ I asked. ‘Can he shield himself from us as we have from him?’

Molier cannot call on your great ancestors to shield him as he is not of your bloodline,
Albray informed me.

‘Then maybe he can call on some other protector?’

Yes,
Albray said gravely,
and that is my worry.

‘Why so?’

There is no point in speculating,
Albray answered after a pause. He forced a smile, clearly not wanting to cause me undue alarm.

‘According to metaphysical laws, no entity or spirit more spiritually advanced than he could come
to his aid. And from what I have observed of Molier, his light-body is a bog of negative energy.’ That’s when I realised Albray’s worry. ‘You don’t believe in demons, Albray, surely?’ I was almost amused by the premise.

Not in the biblical sense,
he said,
but there are sub-planes below the physical world that correspond with each progressive plane above this one. These are frequented by tortured souls, thought forms and alien entities that have yet to exceed lowly desires and pleasures. King Solomon, among many other scholars through the ages, wrote volumes on the subject and how they might be put to good use. And I’ll grant that the Arsenal Library in Paris houses many such texts.

‘Let us hope you are wrong about that.’ Now I really was feeling ill.

Mid-morning, on our fifth day of travel from the Suez, our mounts scaled the hard dirt track that led to the top of Mt Serâbit. Excitement and fear gripped my stomach. I was so tense I could barely consume water, let alone eat.

If you would just partake of a little of the Highward Fire-Stone, your strength and vitality would be restored.
Albray had been trying to persuade me to take the substance for days.

‘Am I dying, do you think?’ I asked for his opinion only half in jest; deep down I knew I was fine, although I did feel like death warmed up today. I had already told Albray that, because I was pregnant, I would only take the mysterious substance to save my life.

No, you are not dying,
Albray conceded, frustrated,
but you are weak and in no state to combat a psychic attack!

‘I fear I left my strength back in Alexandria.’ How I wished I could be back in that bath with Devere. My being literally ached to feel him close, wet and cool against my skin.

Albray rolled his eyes.
He is not back in Alexandria. He is less than one day behind us.

‘Really?’ My spirits suddenly soared at the notion that I could be reunited with him within the day. ‘How much less than a day behind us?’

My knight was grinning now, caught up in my elation.
That would depend on how early he arose this morning. But, as he is in the company of some gentlemen that we do not entirely trust, it would be preferable to complete our quest before your husband arrives.

Good cheer departed and my fear returned. ‘His brotherhood?’ I ventured to guess, although I desperately wanted the answer to be in the negative.

Albray nodded.

‘The man who threatened my Lord Hereford?’ I almost choked on my words.

The very one.

‘Your personal power will only be realised upon her pleasure…And, with any luck, you’ll have many, many adept offspring.’
The man’s words, from the memory I accessed in Devere’s mind, came back to me forcefully.

What if the secret brotherhood had discovered that I had fled Devere and had now come in pursuit of me personally? What if they knew I was with child? What did they have planned for me and my family? And worst of all, what if the brotherhood sought the vials in my possession for their own purposes?

Questions and doubts cured any homesickness I might have felt for either England or Devere. ‘Do you think my suspicions of Devere’s brotherhood are justified? After all, you belonged to a brotherhood, not so very different.’

Such brotherhoods exist for your protection,
he reasoned.
But their agenda does not always accord with the individual initiate’s.

‘And what was your brotherhood’s agenda?’ I wondered what my dear friend had ultimately died for.

To preserve the greater mysteries, and the bloodline of Isis, until such time as mankind is ready to dispense with religious doctrine altogether and think for himself…or herself. Then the wisdom of the ancients can be released into safe hands and be used for the higher good of creation.

‘Do you think that time is now, Albray?’

That would be nice.
The knight obviously cherished the thought.
And that would make my vow pretty much redundant. Still,
he did not look too hopeful,
do you really think that all those godfearing folk you left behind in England are ready to know all that
you
have learned?

I winced when I considered the uproar such an account would cause in merry old England. ‘I think they would bring back witch burning, just for me.’

I think you might be right.
Albray clearly felt he was in for a wait.
However, I am sure that the outcome of today might have a bearing on the advancement of that time that has been hailed as ‘the end of days’.

This comment shed a whole new light on the dogma of the Book of Revelation that had been feared by all of Christendom for so long. It seemed that this time of reckoning was an event to look forward to and not to be dreaded.

Our party came to a stop below the incline that led up to a rocky peak and Lord Hamilton’s excavation site, which had almost entirely been swallowed by the desert sand once more. Ahead lay the large round metal gateway, encircled by a ring of mysterious black stone embossed with ancient hieroglyphs.

I had expected that we would have to excavate the gateway, and we had brought shovels and picks with us for the chore. Considering the amount of time since the gate had been opened, I had thought it would have been buried by the sandy dirt churned up by the sirocco winds. And yet, here it was, glistening in the sun as if it had just been exposed and polished for our use. The entrance was just as Lord Hamilton had described it.

Our entire party stood in awe of our discovery, until the Bedouins spied several wild camels wandering around the ruins further up the mount, and with a mighty cheer, they ran off to round the beasts up.

‘Where the hell did they come from?’ Cingar was immediately suspicious, although the beasts were not saddled. ‘I shall investigate. There are places enough amongst these boulders for bandits to hide.’ The gypsy borrowed my pistol and whistled to the Bedouins to advise them to exercise more caution.

Whilst the rest of my party were preoccupied with searching around the rocky mount and excavation site above me, Albray had me scale the rock face alongside the strange metal gateway until I came to stand on top of it. ‘Well, that was fun.’ I wiped the sweat from my brow and neck. ‘What now?’ I looked to Albray for further instruction.

Take the stopper from the Star vial and pour the contents over the door.

‘But surely, even all the contents won’t be nearly enough to cover the doorway?’ I knew the vial was self-filling, but would that still be the case if every last grain of the substance was spent?

It
will be all right,
Albray assured me, knowing my fears.
I’ve done this myself.

I pulled the vial from its usual resting place in my cleavage—the Fire vial I still kept in its velvet case in a shoulder bag that I wore underneath my cloak. I removed the stopper and, kneeling down to get close to my target, I began to pour the Highward Fire-Stone down over the door. It flowed in a steady stream from the tiny vial and, as there was not a breath of wind, the glittering particles were attracted to the metal. I was amazed at the amount of the substance that gushed down over the gateway, and when I had at last coated the entire barrier, I turned the vial upright to find it still full. ‘That’s incredible,’ I uttered, amazed. An ear-splitting sound of buckling metal urged me to get off the gateway and down to ground level.

I backed away from the gateway, unable to peel my eyes from the sight of the tiny light-filled specks that seemed to be eating through the barrier. Then, in a final burst of blinding light, a void was exposed inside the dark ring of hieroglyphs.

‘Dear goddess.’ I was so stunned by the spectacle that I couldn’t move. The moment of truth had arrived. ‘It looks dark in there.’ I could have used the Star vial to light my way in, but how would I get out?

I moved to our pack-camel as it carried the long-stemmed torches that the Arabs used to light the camp at night. The top of the torch was wrapped in
fabric that had been doused in a flammable substance and with one whiff I immediately recognised it. It was the same foul-smelling stuff contained in the bottle inside the hollow journal Lord Hereford had given me—which I had also left with Devere. The Bedouins held a thick rounded piece of glass some distance from the fabric, allowing the sun to burn into the cloth. Where the ray of light was focused, the cloth soon ignited. I used the same method to achieve my goal.