Gene of Isis (53 page)

Now go.

Having placed the Star vial in its keyhole within the connecting chamber, the next door vanished and without so much as a sideways glance, Molier entered the Ark chamber, having retrieved both vials to take with him.

I suppressed my gasp of awe on sighting the inside of the Ark chamber. One golden red pathway led to a central ringed platform, around which was a sea of the same flammable fluid that filled the canals in the outer chamber. The walls were of highly polished gold, as were the several large pillars that supported the roof of the chamber and the inverted golden dome above. The unusual dome hung above the central platform and mirrored the
entire chamber, in the centre of which was a golden box. The box was about approximately 115 cm in length by about 70 cm in height and from its reflection it appeared to be as thick as it was tall. A band of hieroglyphs went around the sides of the box, and bordering each corner of the Ark was a leg support of rich polished timber. I suspected this was the shittim wood or ‘incorruptible wood’ of which the Ark was constructed, according to biblical accounts. What did differ from the Bible’s account of the divine instrument were the adornments on the golden lid or ‘mercy seat’, as there were no golden cherubim with their wings outstretched toward each other. Instead, two metal points rose up out of the lid, and these curved inwards toward each other. To me these odd features seemed very reminiscent of electrical conductors, and in fact the Ark appeared not unlike one huge battery.

Molier had walked around behind the Ark and had knelt down. When he arose once more there were two golden chains attached to the breastplate that he wore.

This seemed to be a clear hint that I needed to secure myself to something. I dragged myself toward the golden stand on which the breastplate had been placed and wrapped an arm about its base, which was embedded in the floor.

Molier laughed as he spied me preparing to bear witness to his victory. ‘Holding on will not save you now, Miss Montrose. There can be only one witness to this event, and as it is I who has the protection of the breastplate, the power of the Elohim is now mine.’

He placed the Star vial and the Fire vial in the two conductors atop the Ark and as soon as they
were housed correctly, a current of electricity erupted between them. Then an arc of light formed between the vials. The contents of the two vials drained into the interior of the Ark.

Molier, pleased by the unfolding events, lit a match and tossed it into the fluid surrounding the central platform. The temperature in the room rose dramatically, and the lid on the golden box slowly lifted into the air and began to spin around. A coiled red ring levitated into the space between the Ark and its mercy seat, and the ring began to glow as the spinning lid produced a great whirlwind. Sparks of light began to shoot out from the glowing mass that had manifested around the ring.

Molier seemed unaffected by the conditions in the chamber. The chains prevented him from being blown away, and the shooting sparks of light rebounded off the breastplate. He reached for the ring.

A powerful burst of energy, as deafening as it was bone-shattering, ripped me from my anchor. I clutched the sack of bones to me, so that if we landed in the flames, we’d be damned together. Rocketing backward, I collided with the wall.

I was unconscious before my body hit the floor; all I was aware of was the light.

The coolness of the hard surface against my bare cheek and fingertips was the first thing I felt. Upon raising myself a little, I discovered that I’d been laid out on a floor of pure gold. But there was no such floor in the Star-Fire Temple, so where was I now? Wherever I was, my sack of bones was right alongside me and that morbid fact was very comforting.

I got to my knees and, as the floor was so polished, I could see my reflection. There was no sign of my injuries. I ran my hands over my torso to confirm the wounds had gone—there weren’t even any holes in my shirt where the bullets had penetrated!
Could I have ascended to the Plane of Shar-on?
Or was I just…dead? I could also be dreaming, but the event was so real that it felt more like an astral experience.

This round chamber was similar to the Ark chamber, only larger and grander, with huge columns of white gold and walls of yellow gold. The dome overhead was glass, or perhaps crystal, and beyond it was a bright sea of stars. It was unlike any view of space that I had seen in my travels on Earth. Seven thrones crafted from precious metals and stones sat before me in a semi-circle, all so highly polished that they sparkled and emitted an otherworldly glow. Between myself and the thrones was the Ark, its Mercy Seat spinning above it, and the Ring of Testimony still poised in midair glowing with pink brilliance.

An utterance and rattling sound alongside me drew my attention. There was Molier, still trapped in the breastplate that was chained to the floor. He was cursing under his breath, as he could not seem to get his chains to unfasten. ‘This is a cock-up of cosmic proportions!’ He looked at me and, although agitated, he was not fearful. ‘You shouldn’t be here…and neither should I! You should have perished, and I should be back on Earth wielding the divine power and knowledge of the gods!’

‘Well, I guess all those scribes and prophets through the ages, whose knowledge your brotherhoods have managed to buy or steal, didn’t
know everything…or a least they never recorded the entire truth for prosperity.’ As I stood up, seven women appeared before the seven thrones and seated themselves. They were all identical in appearance and dress.

The women were clearly Egyptian and clothed in tight-fitting silver garments that fell from beneath their exposed breasts; the straps going around their necks were crowned with silver wing-like necklaces. Only the centre female wore the traditional headdress of Hathor—bull horns with a sun-disc in between—and carried her staff of power. These must be the seven faces of Hathor, the seven goddesses of destiny, who constituted the grand council of the ladies of the Elohim.

‘What is the meaning of this!’ Molier challenged the council, frustrated that he could not break free of his bonds. ‘I have won possession of your Ark and its gifts without question. The porthole between our worlds should have been shut down!’

‘Only if the Ark detects a stronger negative than positive influence in its presence will the gateway be destroyed.’ The woman wearing the headdress of Hathor spoke on behalf of them all. ‘Clearly this was not the case in this instance.’ She motioned to me.

‘She should have perished, for I wear the breastplate,’ Molier persisted.

‘It is only men that require protection from our Ark. And as you have brought a challenger to our realm with you, it would seem a contest is in order.’

Molier looked to me, insulted by the suggestion. ‘This girl is hardly any match for me in battle,’ he scoffed, confident of a win.

‘Our daughter has brought forth a champion who wishes to fight on her behalf.’ The goddess drew our
attention to the sack beside me, which had begun to wriggle.

My heart stopped beating as a skeleton rose out of the sack.

‘Albray?’ I uttered, mortified, and the skull on top of the bones nodded.

‘Oh dear,’ commented the goddess. ‘This will never do.’ She pointed the jewel on the head of her staff at what remained of the knight. A light-beam passed through the levitating ring to produce an even more powerful ray which collided with the skeleton. The process of bodily erosion began to reverse, and organs, body tissue, veins and finally skin, reconstituted.

My horror turned to elation to see my knight as alive as he’d appeared in my dreams—he was also buck naked.

The goddess smiled in approval. ‘Much better.’

‘That’s hardly fair…he’s dead!’ Molier objected to his arch-rival’s resurrection.

‘And you should have died centuries ago,’ the goddess decreed. ‘The challenge seems perfectly fair.’

It took a moment for Albray to realise his circumstances. ‘Ladies of the Elohim, it would be my honour to rip this beast apart with my bare hands. However, I would prefer it if the rest of me was clothed.’

The head of the council pouted in protest as she considered whether to grant the knight’s request. ‘It seems a great shame to cover such a work of perfection.’

I had to admit that I agreed wholeheartedly.

‘Ladies,
please
can we get on with this,’ Molier appealed, exasperated.

‘Are you in a hurry to die?’ Albray asked as, with a thump of Hathor’s staff on the floor, my knight was supplied with a pair of trousers just like the ones he usually wore. The rest of him was left naked—a nice compromise on the goddess’ behalf, I considered.

The golden breastplate that had been restraining Molier vanished, along with all his clothing bar his trousers.

‘Now you are truly on equal terms,’ Hathor was pleased to announce. ‘Let the battle for our Ark and its treasures begin.’

‘Wait a moment,’ I protested, unfamiliar with the terms of such a contest. ‘What will become of the loser of this duel?’

‘The fate of the loser is decided by the victor,’ the Great Mother informed me.

That was what I was afraid of. I turned to Albray, feeling responsible for the position he was now in. ‘When I saved your bones it was to divert the fate Molier would sentence you to. I didn’t realise I was awarding him a second chance to have his way.’

Albray took my hands in his to reassure me. ‘I have waited many centuries to atone for my failure in life, and I am indebted to you, Mia, for securing me the chance to end my curse.’ He looked at Molier.

‘The feeling is mutual, Devere,’ our adversary retaliated.

‘No need to ask by what manner of contest you both desire this challenge to be resolved.’

‘By the sword,’ both men replied in unison, as they glared at each other.

‘So be it. Let the Wheel of Fate take combat form to decide this,’ the central goddess decreed, thumping her staff twice on the floor.

My perspective shifted and I found myself seated on one of the seven thrones of Hathor. Then the chamber morphed just as suddenly into a large sunken arena over which the seven thrones presided.

The floor of the arena was comprised of three large flat rings that were set one within the other around a flat central disc; together they formed one huge circular platform of pure gold. This platform seemed to float in space as the area between the combat floor and the high walls of the sunken arena vanished and fell away into a bottomless, dark abyss.

I looked at the goddess alongside me to discover that she had transformed into the green-clad persona of Ashlee Granville. Beyond Ashlee, the manifestation of Hathor retained her central position in the council. To the other side of the goddess were three other women in nineteenth-century dress, each one a little older in appearance than the next.

‘The youngest woman is my dear friend, Lady Susan Devere.’ Ashlee answered my query before I’d even thought to ask.

‘She is just as I imagined from your description.’ I smiled as I realised that all the women present must be daughters of the blood, all intimately involved in the outcome of this battle. ‘Next to Susan must be Clarissa, Lord Hereford’s wife. And next to her, the Dowager Countess Cavandish, Lady Charlotte.’

‘It seems all my descriptions were accurate.’ Ashlee motioned to my other side, where a woman clad in red was seated. She appeared a lot like Lillet in appearance and for a moment her identity had me stumped. ‘Lilith del Aquae?’ It finally clicked who this seventh woman was, and she smiled graciously and nodded. ‘But where is Lillet?’

‘She has never assumed her place on the council,’ Ashlee told me. ‘She will not let go of her guilt. She feels she is responsible for Albray’s self-imposed curse. She has bound herself to the astral realm closest to the physical in order to help him. Hence, Lillet resides many planes below the vibrational frequency of the realm where the Elohim reside.’

‘Still, she should be here,’ I insisted, unsure as to whether I was annoyed at the council, or Lillet.

‘Only when Albray is free will Lillet move on.’ Ashlee put my query to rest.

Hathor stood to address the men in the arena below, and a weapon manifested in each man’s hand. As the swords were the very ones the two men had used in their confrontation in the temple nearly eight hundred years ago, Molier and Albray were comfortable with the arrangement. ‘The winner will gain his freedom and sovereignty of our Ark.’ The goddess seated herself before she announced. ‘Begin!’

The first clash of swords was immediate, as Molier rushed forward, his weapon thrashing backwards and forwards in a frenzied rush. Yet Albray was not easily overpowered and fought Molier off, thrusting him back.

As the two men circled each other, the sound of metal detaching from metal was heard and the outside ring of the Wheel of Fate began to tilt and spin. This event nearly threw Albray off-balance as one of his feet had been resting on the ring. He raised his foot and swiftly regained his equilibrium as Molier took advantage and attacked.

The next time the detaching metal sound was heard, the outside ring stilled and the one inside it began to move. This development cast Molier off-balance and he slid away from Albray onto the outside ring, where only some fancy footwork prevented him from falling into the dark oblivion beyond. Molier jumped the spinning ring to return to the central disc where Albray awaited him.

‘You’re not getting away that easily.’ Albray lashed out with his weapon, and was clearly overpowering Molier until a metal sound gave warning of a change in conditions. The central disc began spinning and tilting, and both men jumped backwards, narrowly avoiding metal spikes that shot up to form a deadly bed of blades.

This is a nightmare!
I decided.
Hasn’t Albray got enough to contend with?

‘The Wheel of Fate is unbiased.’ The goddess addressed my unspoken protest.

‘It is also inhumane,’ I said. ‘I assumed that on higher planes of awareness such bloodsports would have been abolished, and a better way to resolve such differences would have been devised.’

‘The arena you see is not in physical existence. This battle is being played out on a subconscious level. But as armed combat is how these men have always wished to settle this centuries-old dispute, I have obliged their fantasy,’ the goddess said.

‘Albray and Molier.’ Ashlee shook her head to imply they were hopeless. ‘Their souls still belong to a thirteenth-century consciousness, and deep down they are still warrior knights. The real test of the Ark is for them to ascend beyond their current understanding.’

‘But Albray has progressed spiritually through his experience of other eras,’ I argued and Ashlee nodded to agree.

‘The big question is, just how far he has progressed?’

As I observed the challenge in progress, I had to concede that such a contest was probably every warrior’s dream.

‘Every soul has its Day of Judgement,’ Hathor informed me, ‘and each soul that resolves to take the path of light contributes to universal consciousness. By the time every human soul has chosen the higher path, every child born on Earth will have incarnated into the bloodline of Isis and all shall share in the ascension of the species.’

‘What would happen if Molier were to win?’

‘Molier cannot win without losing,’ the Great Mother explained. ‘Any more than he can lose without winning.’

‘I don’t understand,’ I freely admitted, to beg more information. ‘You speak as if you know the outcome of the battle already?’

‘I do,’ the goddess replied, amused that I could think otherwise. ‘One of these men desires to evolve more than the other.’

‘Are you saying that the loser stands to gain more than the winner?’ I struggled to make sense of the conversation.

At that moment Molier’s sword was sent flying over the edge of the Wheel of Fate, which ceased its activity. Molier was left defenceless at the end of Albray’s blade.

‘Mercy.’ Molier dropped to his knees and managed to stall the death blow with his appeal—eight hundred years of life and he was still not ready to face death. ‘I ask you, is it my fault that I was not born of the blood? Whereas you, Albe-Ra, were born the Shining One, automatically granting you access to the inner circle behind the brotherhoods. How else but through the conquest of the Arks was I ever to gain such privileges?’ There was no fear underlying his plea, no humbleness or respect.

‘If your soul had been ready, you would have been born into the line of Isis.’ Albray was not going to be swayed by such tactics. ‘Do you not see that presuming to play god as you have has only delayed your true aspirations?’

Molier frowned as he momentarily considered this, but rather than discuss the premise further or admit to any wrongdoing, decided to revert to his own defence and direct the blame for his plight back on Albray. ‘I would not have abused the ambrosia of the gods for so long if you hadn’t trapped me in the temple. I didn’t realise that my soul would be trapped within my body as a result!’

‘Sion’s teachings warned that there would be
consequences for abusing the birthright of the holy line,’ Albray argued. ‘Every knight is taught that.’

‘But what those consequences would be was never disclosed. Do you know what it’s like to have a soul that functions purely on a physical level? I cannot experience emotion. I have only the instinct to survive. I can feed my intellect with knowledge but higher wisdom shall always elude me. I endured six hundred years in the dark airlessness of that temple
…six hundred years!
And if I cannot claim the Ring of Testimony then I face an eternity of spiritual darkness, whether I am dead or alive.’

Albray struggled against his desire to sever Molier’s head from his shoulders—his rival’s lack of emotion was vexing him, even though Molier had just explained that he was incapable of feeling. ‘You were more than prepared to banish me to the dark abyss.’ My knight drew back his weapon, resolved to be done with his curse.

Molier did not flinch in the face of the threat. ‘I do not have the benefit of your high spiritual standing,’ he stated bluntly ‘Are you not Albe-Ra, a prince of light? And if so, surely you are more merciful than a wretch like me?’

For once, Molier was right. ‘Kill him and darkness wins,’ I stood and yelled down at Albray.

‘He cannot hear you,’ the goddess informed me.

‘But he must hear me,’ I protested.

‘Do you not trust that our knight has evolved enough to reach that conclusion on his own?’ Hathor challenged.

‘Of course,’ I realised, and seated myself again. I would place my faith in the soul I had grown to love and trust implicitly.

The longer the death blow was delayed by Albray’s soul-searching, the broader Molier’s insincere smile grew. ‘It is just as I suspected…you have developed a conscience and no longer have the constitution for killing.’

I held my breath, knowing that the observation would be disturbing to any warrior.

‘No, Molier. The difference between you and I is that I always had a conscience…and if you had exercised the same, you would not now be on the border of damnation!’ Albray was riled. ‘But if you are to be damned, you can take responsibility for it.’ My knight cast his weapon into the abyss and relief washed over me as Albray looked to the heavens to appeal. ‘I beseech the great ladies of the Elohim, can this man’s fate not be of his own choosing?’

‘Yes!’ I cheered my knight’s scruples, and looked to she who sat in judgement.

‘It seems that the next chapter of Albray’s tale shall be the start of a whole new book.’ Hathor and indeed all the women seated alongside me were smiling.

It was exciting to know that Albray had secured himself a future. I would have questioned the ladies further, if the outer world of inner self had not suddenly launched my consciousness into a downward spiral. I knew my consciousness was returning to the physical world for it felt like descending to the bottom of the ocean. My body felt suddenly dense and laborious.

I raised myself from the floor where I lay in the doorway to the Ark chamber, to find Molier and Albray standing on either side of the Ark. The Mercy Seat spun over its treasure and the Ring of
Testimony glowed invitingly between the two men, right at their eye level.

‘Wait!’ Albray cautioned Molier from taking advantage of the situation too quickly. ‘Look down upon your being.’

Molier was amazed, as was I, to see that his subtle body was freed of its blackness and was pulsating with light.

‘The ladies of the Elohim are awarding you, and the souls you have corrupted, the opportunity to wipe the slate clean and move back into alignment with cosmic law,’ Albray advised Molier. ‘A step forward to take the ring will return you to the eternity of darkness you have been endeavouring to shake for centuries. A step backwards into the flames will return you to the matrix, where you will be assigned to a suitable era in which to further evolve.’

Molier didn’t seem to fancy his options, and he observed Albray with ungrateful eyes.

‘Only through death shall you ever obtain the chance to be reborn of the blood.’

The statement came as something of a revelation to Molier, who had become accustomed to the inevitability that he would never incarnate.

‘This is your chance to prove that you have the moral fibre from which a son of the blood is fashioned.’ Albray spent his last words of wisdom and fell silent to let Molier decide his own fate.

Clearly, it was difficult to be grateful to Albray for this unexpected opportunity and for the first time since I had started following this ancient mystic tale I actually felt for Molier. How difficult would it be to ignore your natural instinct for survival in order to achieve your greatest aspiration?

Bow down thine ear, and hear the words of the wise, And apply thine heart unto my knowledge.

Molier began quoting from the Proverbs of Solomon in an attempt to strengthen his courage and make the decision we all knew he wanted to. Still, his hand was poised before the great ring of power and he had to exercise restraint not to take it.

Remove not the old landmark; And enter not into the fields of the Fatherless.

His fingers recoiled from the temptation.

Better is little with the fear of the Lord, Than great treasure and trouble therewith.

Molier looked to Albray resolutely and held wide his arms.

Albray nodded to assure Molier that his decision was sound.

For riches certainly make themselves wings; They fly away as an eagle toward Heaven.

As my knight completed the verse, Molier allowed himself to plummet backwards into the flaming liquid and his life was extinguished in an instant.

My attention was snatched from the gruesome scene by a throbbing pain in my chest. I placed my hands to my heart to calm my intense emotions. On discovering my shirt was moist and sticky, I looked to
find my hands covered in blood. ‘I am dying?’ With that revelation the ground rushed up to meet me.

‘Miss
Montrose?’
I heard a voice calling to me, although it sounded far away.

I was so peaceful. I wanted for nothing as I held no conscious thought—except to ignore the summons.

‘Mia!’ I was being shaken from my focused-inward bliss and, despite my unwillingness to wake, I recognised the voice calling me. A sharp pang of yearning in my heart spurred me to surface from the sanctuary of my unconscious state.

As I stretched out, I became aware that I was propped up in a seated position against someone and my eyes came to focus on the face of my knight.

‘Albray.’ I turned toward him and held him close. ‘I have died and gone to heaven.’

‘No.’ He pried me from his body and holding my face in his hands he brushed my hair aside and kissed me.

Perhaps this was just a brief interlude on the astral plane, while my fate was being decided. I didn’t care, as long as it lasted.

It took some time for me to exhaust my delight in having my dream lover close and tangible, but as this reality didn’t seem to be going anywhere, I drew away. My hands and shirt were still blood-spattered, but my wounds were mysteriously absent. ‘This is a dream. You have come to say goodbye.’ My heart jumped into my throat and the swelling pressure it caused nearly choked me. ‘You are free.’ I forced a smile, only to set tears rolling down my face.