Messiah: The First Judgement (Chronicles of Brothers) (29 page)

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.

Jether staggered to his feet.

‘We bid you welcome, Warlock Kings of the West!’ he cried, strangely exhilirated. ‘Dracul – Long has it been since you crossed my threshold.’

Dracul leered at him. ‘It holds a certain ...
je ne sais quoi
’ He shrugged. ‘My old tutor. I am deeply indebted to your instruction. It has served me well in the employ of my master, Satan.’

Jether watched Charsoc out of the corner of his eye moving towards the Codex of Fire lain on the table.

Dracul moved nearer; he raised his broomstick; instantly it became a live hissing serpent.

‘It would seem you sink to the lower boundary of harlotries since your defection.’ Jether observed. ‘I regress momentarily to your kindergarten tactics, Dracul.’

Jether raised his hand imperceptibly. The serpent metamorphosed into a hissing black cat. ‘The mislaid part of your costume, I think.’

Dracul’s serpent transformed back into his staff.

‘Before this day is out, Jether,’ he hissed, ‘you and your compatriots shall be our captives behind the magenta veil of the Unholy of Unholies.’

Jether’s expression grew stern. He lifted the Staff of the White Winds. ‘I think not, Dracul.’

Dracul was instantly thrust violently against the wall of the cavern, thrown to the ground, gasping for breath. He glared up at Jether with loathing, raising himself up from the ground with his long green hands, his eyes filled with malice.

‘Jether the Just–’ Dracul and the fast recovering Warlock Kings moved towards Jether. A ferocious evil pack.

‘No, Dracul!’ Charsoc cried. ‘We have greater fish to fry than old sorcerers long past their prime. I intend this very day to bring my master, Lucifer, the secrets that the Codex holds.’ Charsoc pushed Maheel aside and strode his way to the head of the table. He stood staring down at the Codex of Fire.

‘Secrets of the First Judgement.’

Issachar strode towards Charsoc.

‘Leave him, Issachar!’ Jether cried, watching from the corner of his eye.

‘The Codex will discern its reader. Charsoc too easily forgets the sacred mysteries of Holy Lore.’

Charsoc stared down at the Codex hungrily, then opened the cover. Jether watched him intently from the far side of the chamber. He turned the first page. It was blank. Charsoc frowned. He turned a second page, then a third. Frantically, he rifled through the Codex. Each page was empty. Blank.

He turned to Jether, vehement hatred in his eyes. Jether held his gaze. ‘You have been found wanting.’

Charsoc continued his frantic rifling of the pages, unnerved. Each was blank.

‘Yehovah knew of your intrusion,’ Jether spoke in a low voice, ‘the very second the thought was conceived inside your dark and twisted mind.’

Charsoc flung the Codex to the floor. His face dark with loathing, he strode over to the flaming indigo cloud, ‘Only the uncorrupted can touch the flame!’ Jether cried.

Charsoc turned to Jether in triumph.

‘You lose power, Jether,’ Charsoc spat, ‘Your magic grows old and weak. Mine is strong.’

Clutching the sixth stone of fire, high above his head, Charsoc stepped into the very midst of the burning indigo flames.

Jether watched as Charsoc’s face began to glow as burnished bronze, his skin burning translucent. In the very midst of the coals of fire lay the six enormous gold-bound lapis lazuli codices, their pages blazing with a fierce blue fire. Great flashes of lightning came out of the fire as two flaming living creatures became visible through the indigo flames: the mighty cherubim of Yehovah. Each living creature had four faces, the face of an angel, an ox, a lion, and an eagle. Their enormous eight golden wings were covered with eyes and outstretched. The first Cherub lifted the top codex from the midst of the burning coals, then held out his hand to Charsoc. Charsoc stretched out his right hand, his left still grasping the stone, to the flaming Cherub, then gasped. A moment later, he screamed.

A hair raising, blood-chilling scream. The skin was melting off his hand like wax, his bones visible beneath. Desperately he tried to unclasp his hand from the Cherub’s powerful grasp with his left hand.

The stone of fire fell down ... down ... into the blazing inferno.

And instantaneously Charsoc was gone. Dracul and his Warlock Kings with him. Vanished from the seventh spires.

Chapter Twenty-nine

Lazarus

Jesus wiped the tears from His cheeks and moved through the garden, past the roses, closer to the rock-hewn vault where Lazarus’s body, having been anointed with myrtle, aloes and spices, now lay. He paced back and forth, deeply disturbed in His spirit, smelling the stench of the prince of demons – of the author of death himself. Oblivious to the mourners’ violent wailing, He turned to a bunch of straggling relatives standing some way off, who were staring pale and afraid.

‘Roll away the stone!’ He commanded.

Tentatively, the men in the party approached and, under Jesus’ direction, removed the great grey stone from the front of the hewn cave. Then, as one, the men fell back, shrinking in terror.

Jesus’ countenance was fierce. He walked undeterred towards the opening. Then He stopped, sensing the great impenetrable wall of death that rose up around Him as a sombre, cold barricade. His eyes narrowed. Facing Him was Moloch, Lucifer’s champion, prince of the slayers, with his rabid depraved battalion.

‘What do you want with our prize, Nazarene?’ the fallen princes of death hissed in caterwauling unison.

Moloch rose to his full eleven feet of height. A fallen angelic prince of great stature. His tangled black hair fell across his craggy, mangled features. ‘My demon slaves summoned me. The smell of strange sorceries linger on one named Lazarus. My master, Satan, king of death and hell, has command of this body,’ he growled, his voice a strange mix of dark discord. ‘The Light-Bearer now bears darkness. He has greater sway than You on this planet, Nazarene,’ he hissed. Jesus moved towards him. ‘You are too late. We have already escorted the subject Lazarus to the underworld, to join the sleeping dead,’ he laughed maniacally.

He took out a strange-looking, tarnished sceptre – his eyes glinting a demonic red gleam. ‘I,
too
, understand Eternal Law, for I was trained by Charsoc the Dark – you trepass, Nazarene!’ he snarled. ‘
We
are the kings of Earth. You have no place with us, Jesus of Nazareth ... or with our booty!’