The Dragon Queens (The Mystique Trilogy) (33 page)

‘
All is clear to angels except in war.
When I awoke to this truth, it was from a dream I had last night.
I saw two angels conversing in a field of children’s spirits,
rising like silver smoke.
The angels were fighting among themselves about
which side was right
and which was wrong. Who started the conflict?
Suddenly, the angels stilled themselves, like a stalled pendulum,
and they shed their compassion to the rising smoke
of souls who bore the watermark of war.
They turned to me with those eyes from God’s library,
and all the pieces fallen were raised in unison,
coupled like the breath of flames in a holy furnace.
Nothing in war comes to destruction but the
illusion of separateness.
I heard this spoken so clearly I could only write it down
like a forged signature.
I remember the compassion, mountainous,
proportioned for the universe.
I think a tiny fleck still sticks to me
like gossamer threads from a spider’s web.
’

I awoke to find myself lying in a very comfortable white pod, open at the top, its rim trimmed with a thin tube of intense violet light. My fair, otherworldly brother was leaning over me reciting this poem about angels.

‘
And now, when I think of war, I flick these
threads to all the universe,
hoping they stick on others as they did me.
Knitting angels and animals to the filamental grace of compassion.
The reticulum of our skyward home.
’

Mathu finished his recitation and smiled warmly at me.

‘That was beautiful.’ I thanked him for his waking gift.

‘I’m glad you like it,’ he replied. ‘You wrote it.’

I was astonished by the claim, but Mathu nodded to assure me he spoke the truth. ‘Way back when you still remembered your mission here,’ he said. ‘It speaks of the time of the Draconian rebellion. You wrote it to remind yourself of who you really are and why you came here.’

But where was I?

I cast my sights about the huge round chamber. It contained many pod-like beds, which were arranged in a circular formation around the central point of the chamber and gave the appearance of what Thoth had
so beautifully described in his writings as a flower. In the petal-shaped pods were placed the bodies of the Staff of Amenti, to be bathed in the radiance of the blue flame. The advanced interdimensional power source pulsated inside a tube of light that extended from ceiling to floor in the chamber; its blue-green glow felt like ecstasy to my battered body.

‘This place is known as the Chamber of Life,’ Mathu said, and grinned. ‘How are you feeling?’

‘Sedated,’ I replied, straining to raise my head and look down upon myself. I was shocked to find I was dressed in very little—just a small band of glistening white fabric strapped around my breasts and hips. My wounds had been cleaned and my body smeared with a glistening light-emitting oil.

Mathu calmly encouraged me to lie back. ‘The oil protects your mortal skin from the effects of the blue flame, whilst acting as a superconductor for its healing energy,’ he explained.

‘You did this?’ I referred to my new attire.

My concern made him chuckle and he shook his head. ‘The Priestesses of Ur prepared you for your slumber, just as they have prepared all the Dragon Queens before you. Just as the Priests of Ur tend the Grail Princes who reside here.’

‘Levi is here?’ I looked to my right and left. Although the lids of the pods alongside mine were transparent, they were in darkness. The band of ultraviolet light that ran around the rim of my pod prevented me from identifying the occupants of the others, or much of the architectural detail of the chamber I was in. The central tube of blue flame energy, which was so radiant to the senses, cast only an eerie soothing light. I felt my physical awareness dulling once more.

‘You are safer here than anywhere on Earth,’ Mathu assured me. ‘Go now, walk the Halls of Amenti. Remember all you have been, all you are and all you will be again.’

‘Watch Charlotte…’ I was not able to complete my request, but I knew Mathu would protect my daughter regardless. My eyelids felt suddenly leaden, as did my body, and my consciousness dropped loose from my earthly burden.

A great limestone hallway stretched out before me filled with luminous air. I myself was glowing! I had shed all physical density, but my subtle body was glowing with a rich colourful vibrancy. I realised I had not yet arrived at the Halls of Amenti, but in an outer chamber that, if legend was correct, led to the famous Hall of Records. Etched high up on the wall to my left were many geometrical symbols; as I advanced down the passage I counted forty-nine in all. I felt I should know the significance of this number, but it eluded me at present.

At the end of the passage, which veered around to the right, I entered a much larger hall, also constructed of limestone, with many other halls branching off it. As I moved down the main thoroughfare of this labyrinth I glanced into the halls to either side of me, all of which hosted many other doors and passages. I was not distracted from my course, however. I had been here before; the memory was like a dream, and yet I knew that the chamber I sought lay dead ahead. As I neared my destination, I heard the sound of running water. The limestone hall ended, although the pathway underfoot did not—it extended into a bridge across a vast cavernous chamber that had no
bottom, or at least not one that could be perceived from my vantage point. High above, the ceiling of the chamber was composed of huge, glowing crystal clusters—quartz in the main, but also others of varying colours—set into the stone like stars scattered across the fabric of space. Water ran down the chamber’s inner walls and down into the black void below.

The bridge led me to a large, round mound, and awaiting my arrival on this central platform was a solitary robed figure who lowered his hood upon my approach. ‘Welcome back, Solarian.’

I gasped upon recognising my company and my heart leapt for joy and lodged in my throat. ‘Devere?’ I quickened my approach across the bridge, eager to be near him.

‘I was once,’ he admitted, and I detected a Scottish accent.

I slowed to a stop as he swung his robe back over his shoulders to reveal the attire of a pirate. ‘Sinclair,’ I realised.

‘My key incarnation is known by that name,’ he confirmed, seeming a little disappointed by my sudden reserve. ‘Still, you have known me by many different names in many different lifetimes, not all of which have been upon this Earth.’

He certainly was as charming as my husband, and his broad accent was delightful on the ear. I resumed my approach, noting the subtle differences in his appearance, which were too minor to deny that Sinclair and Devere were one and the same soul-mind.
Of course!
That was the name he wanted me to remember. ‘Polaris,’ I ventured, whereupon he smiled broadly, delighted by my recognition of his spiritual identity.

‘That is my goal,’ he said.

‘I have had a few fleeting visions since entering this complex,’ I explained, not wanting him to think I was more knowledgeable than I actually was. ‘None of which made any sense to me.’

‘Allow me to help you correct that.’

His dazzling smile and friendly demeanour encouraged me to relax, and as I stepped off the limestone bridge and onto the central platform, the pathway behind me vanished. There was a large golden disk in the centre of the island we were now stranded upon, and it appeared to be divided into six segments. ‘Please.’ Sinclair invited me to stand upon the segmented circle.

I stepped onto the plate, whereby each segment of the disk lit up in turn. When all the golden segments were glowing brightly, my guide’s smile broadened. ‘Do not be alarmed,’ he said and stepped onto the plate with me.

‘Why should I be alarmed?’ I asked, then looked down to see the golden disk beneath our feet vanish. We dropped into the void. I felt a surge of panic until I realised that I was spirit and therefore in no physical danger. As my fear lessened so did my speed, and after a long period of a pleasant floating descent, I touched down beside Captain Sinclair.

Shockwaves of recognition pulsed through me as we entered the Amenti chamber. It contained six perfectly rounded doorways, each crafted from a different shade of gold. ‘I know this place,’ I was stunned to claim.

‘You ought to,’ Sinclair laughed. ‘You helped design and build it.’ Then he smiled at me in my beloved’s endearing way. ‘And now you are going to remember everything.’

‘You have traversed Amenti’s halls already?’ I asked, and he nodded to confirm. ‘And you remember our life together?’ Hope made tears well in my eyes, for I felt distanced from my love as I addressed this other incarnation of him.

‘Aye,’ Sinclair said, observing me fondly. ‘But you speak as if our time together is done, when it is only just beginning.’

He was so very like my dear Devere when first I had met him, and his view encouraged me to complete the quest at hand. I turned to examine the six doorways.

The first porthole, directly beside the archway through which we had entered, had a frame of redgold. Beside it was one framed in orange-gold; the next was yellow-gold, then pink-gold; blue-gold; and the last was a stunning and rare violet-gold. Each passage beyond appeared filled with liquid-light that reflected the colour of its doorway.

‘Should there not be seven doors?’ I asked, for the seventh porthole of the Amenti system was the one that would lead to the Sphere of Amenti and home to Tara.

‘Only once you have traversed the first six halls will the seventh door be revealed to you,’ my guide clarified. He escorted me past the pool inset into the middle of the floor of the circular chamber, to the closest of the portholes. ‘Would you like me to explain the mechanics of the portholes before you begin your travels?’

‘I would be much obliged,’ I replied, fascinated by the advanced appearance of the Amenti system.

‘There is a pair of electromagnetic spirals inside each of these portholes, which counter-rotate and
merge to form a passage where time continua pass through each other—’

‘On second thoughts,’ I interrupted, ‘a picture is worth a thousand words.’

I stepped up to the red-gold porthole, assuming that as this colour was at the lowest end of the spectrum it would relate to my root chakra and connect to the very earliest root races of mankind.

‘Know that you will not relive all your lives, past, present or future,’ Sinclair warned, ‘only those pivotal events that activated the frequency keys that allow you access through Amenti.’

‘I understand.’ I felt a rush of excitement and trepidation.

As I faced the liquid-light porthole, I took a moment to calm the expectation welling within my being, then I made my first step into a much larger world. As I stood upon the red-gold disk, I felt a great explosion of calmness and certainty welling within my lowest chakra. My root chakra began to vibrate with a sonic tone, and as this amplified the sound resonated up through my light centres and caught in my throat, where my larynx echoed the mighty note. I felt a deep shift take place within my subtle body as the oscillation of my atomic consciousness altered to match that of the porthole before me.

The red waterfall that cascaded down over the opening of the porthole began to swirl clockwise into the centre, like water rushing down a plughole. Then another spiral of water, this one rushing counter-clockwise, joined with the first and the centre of the swirling torrents opened wide. A great rush of red light erupted from within the vortex and
my conscious being was sucked forth to return to the very beginning of my human evolution on this Earth.

Before I had even parted my eyes from slumber, I knew Mathu was in my room; I sensed his exalted, otherworldly presence. ‘How long have you been returned from Amenti?’ I asked.

‘Many hours,’ he replied.

I rolled onto my back to see my Fey friend standing at the end of my bed, wearing his physical outer layer. I smiled and stretched, relishing the mutual attraction I felt between this being and myself. Since first meeting Mathu I had been infatuated with him, but as the Fey showed so little emotion I had imagined that my romantic fantasies about him were in vain. Yet in light of what the angelic warrior had told my mother about me, I had been given fresh hope.

‘You have watched me sleeping all that time?’

‘Yes, my lady.’ His tone implied this was a pleasure, not an obligation.

I was amused by his incorrect, formal address. ‘My name is Charlotte, for unless I marry a lord, the title of Lady is not for me.’

‘My mistake,’ Mathu granted winningly, ‘your Highness is far more fitting.’

I had to restrain myself from laughing out loud. ‘So you truly think I am a Mother Goddess of the Anunnaki?’

‘I would recognise your soul-mind anywhere,’ he assured, ‘for it is unique…like you.’ He seemed awkward, which I thought strange for a being supposedly lacking in emotion.

‘Why am I the only Anunnaki able to incarnate into human form?’ I asked, for this part of Mathu’s explanation to my mother baffled me.

‘In truth, I too have the ability to incarnate into human form, but I have not proved as adept as you at integration,’ he said. ‘Before I learned compassion from you as an Anunnaki, I was egotistical and self-absorbed, and after enlightenment I was too selfless and, due to my great intellect, had something of a god complex. The object of being human is to master emotion; instead, I became so engrossed in teaching humans that my true mission here was overlooked. I considered any relationship that was not a teacher–student interaction beneath me.’

‘I do not agree,’ I said and sat upright to argue. ‘I am no different from you. Humans have never interested me in a marital sense, and due to my extrasensory abilities, how could I fail to feel like an advanced alien intelligence amid herds of mindless cattle? But…’ I paused to gather my nerve ‘…I see how you look at me and I know that your true mission here has not been entirely overlooked.’

‘Lust is not one of the higher emotions,’ he said weakly, clearly relieved to have our emotional predicament out in the open.