Before Now and After.

The Dogbreaths Publishing

A fictional history
Of the
TETRAGRAMMATON

ISBN: 9781311502315

Copyright David William Kirby 2009

The Dogbreaths Publishing
Scribd Edition

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 The Final Draft
2013.3.33

Before Now and After

Copyright David William Kirby 2009
The Dogbreaths Publishing.weebly.com

Part 1

A visit to an island
There is, like hawk on fire, a sword
Curved; its blade rolling;
Stalking the seam.
A feather on a shield held high
in a rock or stone
Shimmering.
Like water falling
on a blue, empty pass,
True and high and rained.
Falling, curving down through this flower
This flower of fire
Blooded and fallen.
Its face and roots,
its clawed and hooded
stone fingers like poses
Of fire, of water, of magick.
Pond like, wide and deep, as the sea.
Deadly.

Utibia was beautiful, a lone star of an island situated in the middle ocean
just off the tropic of Capricorn. Although just a few miles wide, it was the
sanctuary of every fish and beast of this world and more; it was the other
Eden. Utibia seemed, to the inhabitants of that place, as if life had been
breathed into the world through the island by a god-like power and their
very presence was an indication of that power.

Dolphins swam in the tide and strange birds occupied the blue skies; the
place was blessed. Fertile and warm Utibia was a heavenly garden and no
less a place to start a story.

The people that made their life on this island had been there forever, so
their stories said. Throughout time they spent their lives in awe of the
beauty that surrounded them; humbled by it.

The Langa people were blue but not naturally so. Brown eyed and brown
skinned they shimmered like sapphires in the morning sun. They turned
their brown skin blue by rubbing on to it the blue clay that was harvested
from a marsh in the islands centre. The clay was rich and organic and so
protected their skin from the bright sun. It also reminded them that they
too were part of the ocean and the sky that surrounded them.

A naturally peaceful race that led slow and contented lives in small family
villages. Their lives were ordered so that no one did too much or too
little; no one had everything and no one had nothing. They shared the
chores and the labours of life for the benefit of all. The old were given
special attention for being the wise ones and the young were relished for
being new life. Their ambitions were to have rounded bellies and smiles
to wear.

Langa believed that they were spiritual manifestations of their mother

goddess; The Earth. They saw the earth as a womb from which they burst
forth. That it spun around the sun like the atoms of their bodies spun
around themselves and that if you looked closely enough into a persons
cells you would see another island like Utibia.

Likewise if you travelled far into the universe; so far all the stars and
planets and galaxies would merge into one. Then you would eventually
find yourself looking at another island like Utibia. The macro mirrored
the micro. All life was connected.

The villagers believed that reincarnation enabled souls to travel from

those very small places up through the plains of existence until each soul
had experienced them all. Life and death were part of the same journey;
the travel of the soul. They saw it in the birth and death of each day, the
ebb and flow of the tides and the wax and waning of the moon. Life
returned again.
A death in the village was not a time to be sad but a time of celebration
and joy. It was a transition from one small plain to the next. Through
traditional songs they educated the young and helped the old prepare for
their next transition; into the greater whole.

Stories were of great importance to the Langa. Story telling formed the
education of the young and entertainment for the old. One story told that
the island was formed to create order in chaos.

That all life, the soil, the flora and all living things were made of the same
substance from which they themselves were formed. It was the essence of
the spirit of life. With this idea in their hearts the Langa lived in peace,
with love and consideration for all that they found around them.

They tended the gardens and looked after the animals of their world with
love. Some would not eat meat or fish even saying it would be like eating
one of their own. Others; like the wise old men, loved to eat their meat
and fish but would talk to the animal before slaughter to ensure it was
ready for its transition.

All were equal in the village although when a person reached a certain
age he or she could choose to be one of the elder circle or die. The elders
carried a heavy burden; a responsibility. So, some chose to go. Go
through the transition and leave this world.

To be an elder meant to lose ones youth and teeth and hair and become
frail. But with this they also became wise and able to judge others if
disputes arose. They also had to look after the only thing the Langa
valued. The book.

But more of that later.

Another story told of a man who spent his time wondering if there was
more to life than just the island and the village. Rufus was his name. He
was born greedy and cunning and was able to misbehave without a
conscious. From an early age Rufus exploited helplessness; used People.

He wanted more, proof that death was not the end and that life continued.
The story told that he left the island and travelled to a far off place where
he stole powerful relics. Relics that he hoped would enable his army to
become invincible. Relics like the book.
The book was the repository on Earth, stitched with gold thread upon
each of its leather pages, of the secret and most powerful name of God.

This act changed him. He returned many years later and told the elders
that the name he had stolen was destined to be theirs. It was so powerful
this word could not be spoken and had been written in the book for the
benefit of mankind; but never uttered again. Those that did risked being
burned alive if the ritual, the ceremony that accompanied its
pronunciation, was not enacted.

Rufus told that with this name on a mans lips enemies could be
slaughtered, cities destroyed and people controlled. He said that the book
was his and was never to be opened by any other. That he had brought it
to the island because he knew the elders could be trusted to keep it safe
for him and never use its power. After his death it passed to the Elder of
the Elder circle; down through the generations.

The story, which was enacted on long mid summer nights around the
blazing village hearths, said that this man had conjured fire from the
skies. That the spirit of the trees had spoken to him. He had learned the
power that governed all life and, with this power, looked through the veils
of time.

Rufus could see the past fading away like the last embers in a cool fire
and into the future, where terror reared up in the childrens eyes; like the
bucking hoofs of a fierce stallion.

Far away from the island, in the West, a huge tribe evolved where Rufus
became just a fading legend. The Langas story said that lust for power
was infectious and these others had become diseased by it.

They kept but One Ruler; as Rufus had ruled over them in their
prehistory. He was a Blueblood who gained his Right to Rule by blood.
These new rulers were His bloodline and through the centuries they
became the Kings and aristocracy of those Western Isles.

These dangerous and deluded men spelt the end of life for the villagers
and the destruction of the world. Across the sea a cancer was spreading;
everyday getting closer on an almost shrinking Earth.Kings became
Emperors and down the centuries the legend of Rufus and The Word of
God faded into folk law.
Although one family kept Rufus alive, with yearly rituals dedicated to
Him and wild stories of their own. These descendants owned secret relics
that brought them closer to Him. In isolation from the rest of mankind,
this dynasty had kept his legend alive.

The sacking of the great temple in Israel had given them a faded map
which was now kept as a relic. Copies had been made as the relic
disintegrated into fragments over the years and generations; far across the
sea to the west.

Although these stories disturbed the people on the island they also knew
that change was inevitable. Death must follow Life. The elders dreamt on
moonless nights, when stormy waves beat against the great rocks in the
bay, omens of things to come bothered them.

Over the passing of time the cancer from the Western Isle became an
army no other could conquer. Their story ended with a premonition. The
villagers were told that he would return again. The people from the West
were expected to return to the island to fulfil this prophecy.

When the villagers performed the story of Rufus around those blazing
midsummer night fires it would always end with Rufus rising up, like a
demon, from the ocean. With death in his eyes, blood on his hands and
fearlessness in his heart he would stand victorious upon the ruins of the
past. He was heralding the end of the beginning and the beginning of the
end of Rufus.

Contemplation of a mother God, and her divine wisdom,

is the secret of simple order.
Strife for her power
strikes with chaos at the root
that governs our being

These were the last words of Abras Watermountain, eldest of the elder
circle. With these soft words he closed his eyes upon the world and
clasped a small box to his breast. It was the only important thing he
possessed and he was sorry to leave it in the hands of men who did not
appreciate its power.

Where it would not receive the respect and quality of care it had received
from his father and from his father and his father before him.
The box, which held the book, had been carved by his great grandfather
from cedar and inlaid with mother of pearl by grandfather and precious
stones by father. Kissing the book gently he laid it in the box and planned
swiftly to leave this life.

He had known today was to be the day just after he awoke that morning.
It may have been the shape of the first cloud he saw through his open
doorway. Or it may have been the distant shouts of children playing.
Their soft voices rising on the wind telling him that today was the day.

It may have been the way the sun shone on the houses or the way the
breeze travelled through the trees, the texture of the warm soil; the
buzzing of a distant insect. All the signs were there, today he was to
depart this life and move on. He squeezed the box tightly.

He was not scared to go only sorry to leave this possession. In fact he was
proud that the legends of the past should now be crashing into his present.
He was about to walk with ancestral kings and hold court with them;
exalted in those darker lands. With the passing of his life he was forced to
evaluate his deeds, muse upon his misgivings; all in all, he was happy
with what he saw.

Although this was true he felt the world had changed recently. Either that
or his memory was failing, for the summers seemed bleaker then those he
remembered as a boy. He thought that the air had grown stale or poisoned
by a menace from beyond the horizon.

That far across the ocean fires burned like beacons upon every hilltop
carrying their filthy smoke in the clouds. It seemed that the world was
dyeing with him. As his life filtered away, Abras Watermountain slowly
perceived the order that had created him. Felt it flowing throughout his
being, burning within and without him.

He allowed himself to drift into the feeling allowing it to permeate his

body; he was transparent to it. It was time, the old man thought, and time
to die. The boats had moored, there were visitors to the island.

Slaves dragged the longboats up onto the sands so that their masters
might land without wetting their leather sandals. A small army alighted
and formed a neat regiment on the beach. They were addressed by a
heavily built man, finely turned out in silver armour, a bright breastplate
inlaid with gold shimmered in the sun. Black feathered plumes rose like
smoke from the silver helmet that covered his head. The man clasped the
sword attached to a belt at his side and addressed his troops.

Men. He shouted beating his chest with his other fist. Before we
journey into these peoples land you must prepare yourselves. All manner
of trickery awaits you here.

If you see a beautiful maiden, stab hard because she could be a devil
bewitching you. If you see a beautiful youth, strike firmly in case his
beauty entrances you. If you see an innocent child, strike hard for the
devil takes many forms and we are here to kill him; him and all his
followers.

He pulled a dusty map from his belt and unfurled it so that his men could
inspect the document.
See where we are? He spat on the sand. Men, you see here, in the
centre of the world, only beasts and savages lurk. The magic they practice
is opposed to all the things we stand for.

It is rumoured that they have the secret of Abraham the Magi that they
practice the witchcraft of the Essenes and possess power greater than
Mars and Mercury. That they bewitch you with their eyes.

He could see his words were having the desired effect, the men looked
worried, thin beads of sweat gathered on their brows and some whispered
silent prayers. Good, he thought, he wanted them anxious.
The only way to protect yourselves from these monsters is to slay them
quickly. We take no prisoners from this place, Augustus has decreed this.

What about the women? Someone asked from the rear.

They are not women, they are witches. The man replied. Put your
sword where you might put your prick and slay them.

It was at that point that a small blue boy stepped from between the
coconut trees. His red lips quivered and brown eyes widened seeing the
strangers in his midst. The ribbons in his hair and the brightly coloured
shells around his neck glittered in the midday sun. His expression was
one of innocence and interest.

He pointed at the men in their strange and cumbersome costumes, their

plumes and breastplates, their swords and spears. These things reminded
him of a story he had been told but he could not remember when.
General? One of the party stuttered. Look, theres a savage amongst
us.

He pointed to the boy and gasped.

Although he is naked like the savages you have described; surely this
child is not a devil?

You are allowing the childs innocence to bewitch you. The general
replied. Let the archers do their work; destroy this beast.

With this command arrows streamed through the air. Silent death with a
hundred barbed teeth; each one aimed to penetrate. A bird chirped and
fled its nest as blood soaked into the white sand.

A leather sandal trod the body of the boy in to the sand and the soldier
with the black plumes reached for his sword. The blade sparkled in the
sun as it swooped down severing the boys head.

Onward. He cried. Victory awaits; have neither fear in your hearts or

mercy in your minds today. Go forth and civilise this island, in the name
of the Emperor, for the glory of the Empire and the honour of Rome. Hail
Augustus.

Abras Watermountain was found dead and cold by the man with the black
plumes. He was still clutching in his frail fingers the small box, a smile
on his lips. The mans digits clasped so hard that even in death it was
difficult to prise them apart. They cracked as the box was taken.

The soldier opened the box slowly and peered within as the screams of
other villagers filled the afternoon air. In the midst of the death and
destruction he could see only beauty in his view as a magical light
streamed from the box almost blinding him. Within was just a simple blue
cloth that covered a small insignificant looking book. Made from old kid
leather, which had faded with time, it did not appear to be the prize he
had been sent to find; but he could feel its power.

This truly was a great treasure, he thought, worth more than its weight in
gold or silver, worthy of the greatest emperor the world had ever known.

The reality of war awaited him as the Marcus Agrippa left the longhouse.
The soil was red with blood and the sky black with acrid smoke as he
tucked the box into his map bag.
Agrippa? A voice shouted from behind him. Come, all the forest is
ablaze and soon this island will sink beneath the waves. We are preparing
to leave.
Did you see me carrying anything? Agrippa asked the soldier as he
joined him.
The box Sir. I only saw the small box. The man replied hesitantly.

I thought so. Agrippa said as he stuck the blade of his sword into the
mans belly. That was unfortunate, my brother.

The soldier fell as the long house began to smoke fiercely. He looked up
at his executioner and heard faint words upon the wind. Agrippa was
saying a small prayer for the fallen man; giving the soldier as a sacrifice
to Mars in thanks for the prize. His Emperor will be pleased.

Some months later Agrippa was aboard a galley as it moored off the coast
of Ostia; only a short journey from the centre of imperial Rome. It had
been four years since he had last seen that wonder of cities; wandered
through its bustling streets and surrounded himself with familiarity. He
wondered if it had changed much in the preceding years.

He was aware that Augustus was still the emperor. That fact was obvious
by the size of the welcoming party put on for him and his men. For it
seemed through Agrippas eyes that all Rome had turned out to welcome
him home.

The bay was full as far as the eye could see with all manner of small
boats crowded with waving people. The docks were also crowded with
people dressed in the soft fabric that was the fashion of the day. The
people seemed to flap like flags in the small breeze as their voices
cheered him.

Soon Agrippa was riding a chariot through the crowd following a band of
horn blowers and drummers. The fanfare led all the way from the coast to
the city walls. It was a hot day and Agrippa felt small beads of sweat
gather on his brow as his chariot entered the city through the gate by
Circus Maximus.

It was empty that day, no shouts rang from its tiers; no horses thrashed
around its track. The whole of Rome had emptied to welcome him back.
Then through the centre of the crowd a trail of dust rose as two speeding
chariots approached. Agrippa steadied his horses as the chariots came to a
halt in his path; they were being driven by two of Augustus bodyguard.
One shouted to him across the noise of the drummers.
General Agrippa. The man screamed. We are here to escort you
directly to the Palatine; the Emperor waits.

Yes, I thought this would happen. Agrippa replied. He looked behind at

the line of men who had disembarked with him and asked.
But what about my men?
The baths await their pleasure, Sir. Augustus expects you now.

Without haste Agrippa nodded to his men and with a flick of the horses
reigns he followed the two chariots toward the palatine hill and the
Emperors palace.

The palace stood on one of Romes seven hills completely encircled on

all sides by a thick wall. One side had a gate that gave access to all the
public buildings and temples, which consisted of the legal and political
heart of the empire.

While another gate gave a splendid view of the river Tiber and the city
itself which curled about it. The emperor also had access from the rear of
the palace to steps that led all the way down to the circus. The palace was
his own little empire and it mimicked the greater empire over which he
ruled.

Once atop of the hill and in the beautiful palace garden Agrippa was
surrounded on all sides by luxury. Finely sculpted figures stood white and
static around bright crisp fountains. Nymphs blew spa water through the
air cooling it down for the visitors to this place.

He was led, by a valet down an open path that was inlaid with precious
gems and metals. Through a portico lined with red granite pillars and into
a great hall that smelt of violet and linseed.

The floors were made of fine marble laid to form squares, circles and
triangles all intertwined to form complicated patterns. Yes, Agrippa
mused, the emperor was truly a patron of the arts.

Soon he was approaching a huge gold door studied with the emperors
emblem, a circle of laurel held in the mouth of a swooping eagle.
Above the door Agrippa noticed an etched plate which depicted Romes
mythical past. Romulus and Reemus suckling the teats of a she-wolf were
depicted in all their glory.

The door was flung open to the sound of a gong and Agrippa found
himself faced by the emperor.

He was seated upon a guilt and marble throne at the far end of a long,
bright room. Behind him was a window that overlooked the city and the
snaking river below. Augustus gestured for the man to approach as a valet
shouted.
Hail Augustus.

The exaltation boomed around the room and was the cue for the emperor
to hold out a frail hand for Agrippa to kiss.

Agrippa? The emperor whispered as the man took his hand and kissed
the ring he was wearing. It is good to have you back after so long. We
feared the sea had got you.

Thank you master. Agrippa replied keeping his gaze firmly on the floor
not daring to look into the face of the emperor. I am glad to be back.

I speak for all Rome when I say you have been missed. Augustus
continued. The senate has made my life difficult with one of my greatest
generals away, I have felt truly vulnerable at times.

Surely not master.

I am glad you have returned. He gestured for Agrippa to rise and
clapped. This made the black plumed guards that had lined the walls
leave in single file closing the gold door behind them.

Agrippa was aware that he and the emperor were now very much alone.
Alone except for Augustus valet, a deaf mute, strong as an ox and as hard
as iron, he never left his masters side. The emperor looked quizzically at
Agrippa after the room emptied.

I seem to remember Agrippa, He said after a long pause. That we had

a wager before you left, can you remember what it was?

I shall never forget, Sir.

It was that you should find me a relic, a treasure from the past, a
mystery, a myth. That you should deliver to me that relic; that word.

I remember master. Agrippa replied looking the emperor in the eyes for
the first time.
Well, was the relic real or just a myth?

You remember your part in this bargain I hope?

To make you console, general of all my armies, of course I remember.
But were you able to find this relic or were you not?
I have kept my word master. Agrippa whispered feeling his mouth go
dry as the words left them.

You have? Augustus leaned forwards and his eyes lit up.
You have bought me a myth, a legend. The Word of Power that was
revealed to Abraham; I dont believe it.

Believe this, Sir. Agrippa smiled as he opened his map bag and
removed the box from it. He held the box in his palm and offered it to the
emperor.
Believe this.

Augustus took the box and sighed as he twisted it in his fingers. The light
seemed to dance on the inlaid mother of pearl and stones, a smile crossed
his pale old lips.
Where did you get this? He asked as his fingers clicked the box open.
Many months from here.
The Enochian islands? The old man asked.

I cannot tell you the islands real name. Agrippa replied. I had neither
the chance of inclination to ask. We followed the directions on the map
and eventually we found the island, just as the story said.

The map was charted long before the seas were conquered and so it was
not very accurate. All I can say is that we looked for an island and in the
end we found one; this was on it as the story said.

The emperor looked at the book still wrapped in its blue dust cover and
stroked it gently.
Even though the book is covered by this rag I can feel the power, the
energy flowing from it, through my fingertips.
Its too much of a coincidence Agrippa, The map, the island, the box and
now the book. I should never have doubted its existence.

They say every legend has a foundation in truth and if this really is the
sacred name of power, the name revealed to Abraham in a dream; the
word that Moses pronounced to part the Red Seas; Romes armies have a
weapon no other could match.

Isnt that a lot of rubbish put about by old Jews to scare their children;
this name of power?

Possibly. Augustus replied closing the box. But it is ours now. You
remember that these Hebrews and Enocians thought that peace could be
founded upon wisdom; upon wisdom and understanding?

Indeed, this name is nothing but an ode to peace if you like. Providing
that the name is used for wisdom and understanding. A sword hung on the
wall becomes a symbol, an icon that represents anything one chooses for
it. It could be the end of bloodshed, for instance, the laying down of arms.

But place that sword in your palm, grip the hilt strongly and thrust it
forwards purposely and it becomes a tool once more. It ceases to mean
anything.

Isnt this what the Greeks taught our forefathers, that people can be
conquered by war and politics? This is our charter, the Hellenistic way; it
is our way.

Am I to get my prize now? Agrippa asked gently wishing to bring the

emperors attention back to him again. Augustus tapped the box gently
deep in thought.

A lot has happened since you departed Marcus. I have only one man to
thank for my safety while you have been away.

Unfortunately I made him general in chief shortly before you returned. If

I now take this prize from him in the eyes of my people I may seem
indecisive or incompetent. This would never do.

Would any one dare call you incompetent if they knew the power you
now possessed?
THEY MUST NEVER KNOW! The emperor snapped. No one should
know about this; this Word of Power. It is to be our secret.

But the wager, Sir... Agrippa said softly. ...what about the wager?

You are right. I didnt believe that you could keep your end of it; I
should never have doubted you. What a fool I have been. Tell me Marcus,
surely there is something else I can do for you?

A stony silence fell between the two men. A silence that was filled with
tension and Agrippa was aware that the Emperor would not suffer this for
long.

There is one thing Principate. Agrippa said using the Emperors

favourite title. You wish to practice the ritual designed for this word. The
Enochian ritual, I believe it is called, I would very much like to be a
witness.

I have heard that the mere pronunciation of the word in this box can bring
fire from the sky; now, that is something I would like to see.

I could cut your head off and be done with you instead... The emperor
said smugly.
but no Marcus, I feel it would be unbecoming for an emperor to
practice this heresy.

If you are saying it is something that you would like to explore for me,
well then, build a temple for me here in Rome; a temple for the ritual; a
temple to Hellenism. Do so in secrecy, if its possible to do anything in
secret in a city as great as ours, and we shall see what can be done.

I will concoct a story if you like? Lets say we are building a temple to
Romulus and Reemus. Are there instructions for the ritual?

Somewhere among my things Marcus, I will find them for you. Can I
trust you to use this power for us, men of Rome; to share its secrets with
me only; your emperor. Can I trust you Marcus?
Of course my Lord.

Then you shall do it... The Emperor smiled. ...but it must remain our
secret if you are to be my general, my consol and my magician.
You shall be remembered for being the greatest emperor this world has
ever seen, even the gods of Abraham will kneel before you. Did you say
you wanted a Greek influence on the temple, not a Hebrew style?

The world must know that the ideology of peace through wisdom is
dead. Let them see that Hellenism; order maintained with politics and
war, is the true way. Hellenism is the true and only path to glory.

Here in the centre of our empire a temple will rise, shining like a jewel in
the mid-day sun, here in the centre of Rome. A temple entirely covered in
the fruits of bloodshed will rise. It must be as great as the Parthenon in
Greece.

Our shrine to power and heroism and all those things we hold dear will be
a monument to us; men of Rome. It will become a sword that we will
hold at the throat of mankind for a thousand years or more.

Thus the building was erected. Over ten years slaves rolled marble pillars
and stone blocks to the place of construction under the Palatine hill. Their
backs red from the whip and their foreheads black from the sun they
laboured; carving stone from rock.

As the structure rose from the landscape and the wooden supports were
removed from under its great concrete dome the tides of destiny turned
against the emperor.

Trouble that had loomed for months came to a head as the Egyptians
stopped supplying the Roman armies with grain for their bread. Their
queen wanted taxes raised in Rome to pay the higher price for the grain;
but the gold was needed for the temple.

When the lilac trees blossomed in the twinkling of spring the emperor
saw that the bread was made with Egyptian blood. General Agrippa saw
to that and when his name was carved above the great temples portico it
honoured his barbarity. Agrippa invited Augustus to view the building
and open it formally.

A fanfare of trumpets and a crash of cymbals announced the start of the

procession as it wove its way through the Palatine gates and on through
the great city.

At its helm African warriors leapt through the air shaking fists armed with
spears in a crazed dance. The citizens gasped in amazement as the
warriors twisted through the air and banged spears against skin covered
shields. Tigers on leashes at their side growled at the crowd.

Behind them followed a group of Spartan women, dressed in translucent

cloth and carrying great sheaths of reeds danced like trails of smoke.

Dripping lilac fronds which they carried in bags from their snake-like
hips; they danced as petals dripped on the street; a strange blizzard of
purple snow.

In their wake strode sixteen drummers beating a wild and exotic rhythm
which echoed through the rag-bag buildings and bounced off the wattle
walls until the beat was lost in a cacophony of sound.

To this reverberation twenty young Spartan boys marched with their

training swords clutched to their small chests and savage snarls on their
beautiful faces. They were followed by adult Spartan males wearing full
armour and holding the emperors colours high into the breeze.

Ten legions of gladiators followed who themselves held the colours of

Greece to acknowledge Augustus honour of that land. Then behind them
marched the emperors bodyguard dressed in their full armour and
palatine colours accompanied on each side by trumpeters and drummer
boys. Then held aloft upon a golden sleigh the emperor was carried and
the crowds loved to see him.

They screamed his name above the sound of the drums and trumpets as
his sleigh was paraded through the streets; carried by forty Arab slaves
dressed in gold thread. The sleigh was fixed to four elephant tusks, one
on each corner, by virtue of a golden disc and these were in turn
connected to golden rings that held his golden throne aloft.

Augustus, resplendent in his purple robe trimmed with gold, touched his
golden laurel crown and smiled benignly as the procession filed down the
hill to the temple.He could see, now that the wooden tresses had been
removed, that the concrete dome was by far the biggest ever free standing
structure in the world.

Covered in gilt it shone in the morning sun. Seeing it the emperor turned
to catch sight of Marcus Agrippa who rode beside him on a white Arabic
horse.
He smiled and Agrippa nodded back, pleased that his emperor was happy
with the construction. He touched the jewel encrusted sword that hung
from his hip, a gift from the emperor, and held the golden blade above his
head in salute. They arrived outside the building and the drums went
silent.

The crowd was held back by the emperors bodyguard as Augustus

sleigh was lowered to the ground.
Hail Augustus! Shouted Agrippa as his white horse cantering beside the
crowd and snorted.
Hail Augustus! The crowd shouted back.

Augustus was helped from the sleigh by a slave as Agrippa dismounted to

greet him upon the steps of the portico. He threw down his cloak and the
crowd saw that he was dressed in a simple smock of white linen, around
his waist was a glittering gold belt with a gold disc on the front.

The sight of this hushed the awe struck crowd. To see Agrippa dressed in
the symbols of the Egyptian sun god confused them but when he dropped
to his knee and Augustus blessed him they cheered as he anticipated they
would. As this cheer rang out the great doors to the temple opened and
the crowd saw the space within for the first time. The sight of the marbled
hall brought amazed coos from the crowd.

Seeing the great oculus in the ceiling, which let a beam of light through
the domed roof into the hall, amazed them and their emperor. Augustus
beckoned Agrippa to stand beside him and acknowledge the crowds
jubilation. Both men smiled as Augustus whispered through the side of
his mouth.
Remember Marcus, you are only a man.
Agrippa smiled and bowed slightly before inviting his master into the
temple.

Once inside Augustus was in awe of the temples construction. The dome
was spellbinding and seemed to rise higher than anything he had even
imagined.

He looked up to the centre of the dome seeing the oculus, a round hole
the same size as the midday sun, which allowed bright light to beam onto
the marble floor beneath them. He knew secretly this was designed for
the pillar of fire that the ritual promised.
This, Master Agrippa is surely one of the worlds wonders. He patted
Agrippa on the back.
You are now a master mason as well as a great general.

Will it be suitable for the ritual? Agrippa asked.

Who knows, Augustus replied. You followed the design as laid out in
the Hebrew doctrine?
I did.
Then it will be suitable.

Where did the ritual come from? Agrippa asked casually. I am aware
that the Jew Moses was a great magi but I understand that the words
contained in the ark from the temple in Jerusalem were incomplete.
Thats true, they thought that the name of their god was so powerful that
they could not write it down, hence only the consonants were found in the
temple.

But we heard that a tribe of Israelites had themselves a sacred book

containing details of the ritual and after a search of many small temples
we found the location of that tribe. The rest, you know, is history my
friend.
I have heard they call my secret book, the Tettragrammaton... Augustus
said as the two men walked through the temple.
...a poem of twenty-two syllables, I am impatient to see it used.

It was rumoured, as you know, that it was magical incantation that Moses
used to part the Sea of Reeds.

With it he brought fire from the sky and this enabled the Israelites to
escape Egyptian slavery. This power is now in Romes hands and it shall
ensure Romes power for all time.

You thought this was myth and superstition.

I was wrong. But they say this Name of Power is dangerous... Augustus
replied as they strolled around the great space under the dome.
... To ensure it does not kill the one who pronounces, this invocation,
you must follow a set of rules; Marcus.

The emperor walked with Agrippa in to the centre of the temple and
looked up at the oculus.
The ritual must be taken seriously if you are not to be burned by the
pillar of fire. Are you ready to practice this magic?
I am honoured, Sir. Agrippa replied, knowing in his heart that once he
had used this power, his heirs would inherit the golden laurel crown of
the empire.

There could be no other way, especially as Augustus was now aged and
weak, having the knowledge of Heaven and Hell would be Agrippas key
to the empire. So it turned out, after the death of Augustus Agrippas sons
took the throne of Rome.

Time marched on and, eventually Tiberius (a descendent of Agrippa, not

Augustus) became emperor, and lord of the palatine hill.

One hot summers day he was in the great Coliseum theatre watching two
gladiators fight in the midday sun. Blood strewn the sand and the crowd
roared for more. Nobody took any notice of the dusty messenger who
entered the rear of the coliseum and fought his way to the guards that
surrounded Tiberius
Balcony.

They fought to hold him back and a commotion broke out. Eventually the
emperor looked around and asked what all the noise was about.

The messenger held out a scroll which had the seal of Pilate upon it.
Here Sir... the messenger shouted. ...a message from your consulate in
Palestine.

Let him through. Tiberius said as in the sand before him a gladiator
threw a net over his opponent and used his trident to pierce the mans
heart.

A roar swept through the crowd as the man fell to his knees. The gladiator
took his sword from his belt and was about to chop the mans head off
when the gladiators trainer ran in to the circus and stood in front of the
injured man.
Very good, Tiberius shouted, clapping his approval.

He gestured that the man had fought well and that his life should be
spared, very much to the trainers approval.
The crowd roared their assent and the injured gladiator has helped out of
the ring. The triumphant gladiator raised his trident high and the crowd
screamed.

Sir... The man repeated. ...a message from Palestine.

Tiberius beckoned for the messenger to approach and looked closely at

his dusty clothes and face. He had obviously been travelling on horseback
for many day without a break.

Bring this man some water. Tiberius said casually taking the scroll
from the messenger and breaking its seal. After a few moments of
contemplation the emperor addressed his company of senators.

It appears Pilate has been asked to judge the Son of God. He laughed
causing a ripple of smiles among those around him as the senators
laughed with him.

This messenger has travelled from Hierosoluma to Acti, onward to

Athena, then to Ostia and then to us here; to this great convention. Just to
ask a question. What should Romes position be? Should we side with
the Israelites against this man, this so called messiah or should we stand
aside and hand him back to them to do as they wish.

Are we not the governors of Judea? One of the senators replied.

Charged with upholding the law of that land? If this is so then we should
act decisively and do what would be in Romes interest.

But what would be in Romes interest? Tiberius asked.

If this man claims to be the son of their god, not ours, then he is not
placing himself over me? It would be treason in any language otherwise.
If he says he is not their king and my loyal subject then no law has been
broken. If I order this mans death it may cause rebellion for years to
come.

Bring him to Rome for our entertainment. Another senator shouted with
a chuckle.
...a son of god would make good show in the circus.

Very good. Tiberius replied.

Let Pilate feed him to those Jew lions. Another shouted.
Perhaps... The Emperor smiled grasping his toga with both hands and
addressing his politicians.
...I feel there is an answer to this puzzle in the route this messenger took
to get here.

Tiberius placed his hands upon his hips and addressed his minister and
the crowd.

Our history shows that there has been a continuous war between two
factions, those that believe that man can change his destiny by submitting
himself to the will of his god; as represented by this man who claims to
be the son of a god.

The others believe that man can change his destiny through the politic of
warfare; the Greek notion of Hellenism; forcing the gods to prostrate
themselves to our will.

Has not history shown that Hellenism is the greater force? Is not the
might of Rome founded upon these principles. Our great empire stands as
a testament to this system. He placed a hand on the neckline of his toga
and looked up at the sun.

As this is the case I put it to you, the people of Rome, that we should
advise Pilate to rise above the petty squabbles of his slaves and serfs.

This prisoner, a son of Hebraism, can have no real power or he would not
be rotting in one of our jails. We should advise Pilate to take a political
stance and let the locals do as they wish with him. He must rise above
this local rivalry and if they decide, in the fullness of time, they have
acted rashly; it will be of no concern to us.

He turned to the messenger and announced. Go and sleep, tomorrow you

shall return to Hierosolyma with this message for Pilate. The people of
Rome have decided that he should not involve himself in the petty
wrangling of the local people when this man cannot pose any real threat.

Let it be know that if, and only if, he slanders my name or questions my
authority then he should die a traitors death. Otherwise it is in the hands
of the Israelites to decide what they should do with him. This is the word
of Rome.
Time marched onwards through the Julio-Claudia dynasty. The secret of
the black book passed on to another. His name was Nero and his practice
of the magical art was not so prudent.

Having not the patience to practice the ritual, in full, the fire from the sky
brought with it destruction to the city. Even a simple circle on the floor to
protect him from the great power unleashed was too much effort.

Madness seeped into his brain as the daemons, this magic sought to
control, cast their spell upon him. In the end the power worked against
him and all those he wanted to control. Neros last wish was to tell his
wife to hide the box. She was told to hide it in the ruins of Agrippas
temple.

Have you done it? Nero whispered, in his inner chamber, high on the
Palatine hill.
Yes, my lord. She said softly looking at his bare and dirty feet. You are
free of its influence at last.

That book, that word, that name he spat weakly.

..whatever possessed me to speak it. A name of power no less, isnt it
insanity to imagine such magic exists? Isnt the confusion that now racks
my brain just punishment for believing this heresy? No, the fires that rage
beyond this hill are its only consequence.

How was I to know that the fire from the heavens would set the temple
ablaze and that Rome would burn also?

It is over... His wife whispered as she reached out and stroked his damp
hair. The shadows of flames around their building crept up the walls like
greedy ghosts as smoke thickened the air.
...try not to bother your heart with such matters as its history now; it is
the end.

She listened and heard the trample of soldiers feet approaching.

No my sweet lover...Nero hissed as she plunged a dagger in his heart.
...it has only just begun.

The book was found of course, when Herod had the temple rebuilt and
the Empire grew strong again. The ritual practiced in its entirety gave to
the magi the fruits of the world and all the knowledge of heaven and hell.
In the cold arms of the dark arts Herod consolidated his power.
Time marched on like a legion of Soldiers and from the ashes of the
Julio-Claudia dynasty arose the Flavians. The people saw the empire
strong as a consequence and there was peace through war.

But somewhere in the empire there was always discord rising and during
the reign of Constantine this discord came in the shape of a cult.

The cult of the fisherman.

It had begun all those years back when Tiberius had told Pilate to do what
the locals wanted; this had led to the execution of a Prophet and the birth
of a martyr. They had tried to kill the followers of this cult but all this had
done was make them more numerous.

They appeared to shine in death and this light brought others into the cult.
Constantine wanted another way to end this rising alternative to his reign.
Late into the evening he had become accustomed to spending time with
his wife. They lived for one another being among the gods of Heaven and
earth.

They held dominion over everything they could see and feel and touch.
Only this cult threatened them. Of course the Empire was run by others
under their direct control but Constantine was wise enough to see ahead
and he knew that unless he could control the spread of the cult he would
lose everything. Practicing the ritual one hot summer evening he asked
what the answer should be.

The gods of the fire told him that the cult could be manipulated if he was
to embrace it. He should stop persecuting those in it and instead come as
a wolf in sheeps clothing.

He was a soldier of Mithras, he answered, and only Mithras would he

worship. Ah, the voice answered, then Mithras should be the wolf, dress
him in the clothes of the cult and then they will all blindly worship him;
with you at its head.

The magic had done more for him than anything else his empire could
offer and as he thought about this the answers became clear.

No more would he come among the people to be greeted by silence or

lips moving behind cupped hands. The wolf would be worshiped by its
prey.
Oh to be like Hadrian He whispered through the pale of opium
smoke that rose in a curl from the pipe he was holding.

It was a sparse room, a warm room, a room for all seasons. He had been
in that particular position for twelve hours thinking through his problem.

First on his stomach sprawled across several big cushions naked. His wife
had massaged his back with sweet oils while he had sampled exotic
chemicals from around the empire.

For the first two hours she had rubbed musk from the tip of his toes to the
top of his groin while he had sniffed powdered Phygaric mushroom.

For the next two hours she had rubbed his neck and back with sweet
patchouli while he had sucked the essence of hemp through a long water
pipe. Then she had rubbed his head with sandalwood while he smoked
the opium; slowly allowing her fingers to move, snake-like down his
body to the tip of his penis.
Oh to be like Hadrian... He whispered again to no one in particular.
What? his wife exclaimed with a sly,lizard-like smile.

You want me to strap on the horn of an elephant and sodomize you, dear
husband; is that it. You fancy the thrill of a young boy as Hadrian did?

You would as well, wouldnt you love? He replied dryly.

If you were the beast of duality, able to take me twice and once in return,
well, that would suit us both; alas such a beast does not exist.

No my dearest. I wish to be remembered, like Hadrian, as a great leader

and a builder of men. Instead I shall be remembered for giving over
Romes power to a sect. A cult.

Even as we speak our people give up the worship of Mithras; they ignore
the day of the Sun, the Sol Invictus and the other rituals that tie us
together. Our ways are to be forgotten in replacement of and favour to a
dead fish.

You only remember Hadrian his wife replied. Because he gave

you back that magical name of power. Think, what has the magic
instructed you to do, do you remember dear?

I have been told to welcome the cult and to go as a wolf in sheeps

clothing. Constantine replied sitting up and facing his wife wide eyed.
The magic has given us everything we could ask except the respect of
the people; but now I think I know how to get it.

You cannot turn your back upon Mithras, the sun god has given Roman
people something to believe in since Augustus.

I will give Mithras a new name and the people permission to worship
him. He will no longer be the bull-horned man re-born, He will become
the Christ, it really cant be that simple.

I will say I have embraced their religion while changing its rituals to
embrace my own, they will all worship Mithras as the fisher of men. That
will get them to love me; I will be adored and respected for all time.
If you want their love, husband, why not just stop feeding them to
lions?
Only two thousand a month, youd think that this would force them to
find something else to believe, wouldnt you?

So, if they want religion, I will give it to them. I will place myself at its
head and they will worship me.

Mithras was born on the winter equinox so shall they worship his birth.

Mithras died for three days before being reborn on the spring equinox; we
shall say this is when they should celebrate his death and resurrection.

Mithras was nailed to a tree, this will be their Christs end. They shall
have the Sabbath not on the day of Saturn like the Jews but on the day of
the Sun. This will be their holy day. I see it all now I was told to do these
things months ago but the angels talk in such riddles I did not understand.
Now I do. My statues will not be smashed after my death but revered.

My likeness from today onward will have the sun burning behind my
head and all will think it is a mark of their Christ; when in fact it will be
Mithras burning there. What a great plan, I am astonishing how simple it
is. Simplicity is always the key to make deception work, and we have the
magic to thank for it.

If you give them this my lord... She whispered hesitantly.

...they will want everything else, even our treasure; our magical secret
treasure.
Constantine reached out and touched the delicately carved wooden box
that lay near him.

The people will never know this secret, it is too powerful for anyone but
us. Let them practice their heresy in my name but nothing else. I will
grant a Christian amnesty and instruct my scribe to collate all their
writings.

We shall examine all and keep what is favourable to Rome. This will
make me a honourable man in their eyes, a man to be remembered.
I shall not leave buildings as my legacy, like Hadrian did, but I shall build
a church in my name and this will last longer than any brick of stone.

Yes, she said excitedly. Make the heresy complete, let them ignorantly
worship all the pagan gods of old while we laugh behind cupped hands.

Lets say he was born of a virgin and see them bow down to statues of
mother and child. What a thrill it would be to see them prostrating
themselves before Isis and Horus.

Yes, we will instruct them to end each prayer with the name of Amon;
the bringer of sunlight. Constantine replied giggling like a small child.
What treachery; it will be the greatest trick in history if we can pull it
off.
I cannot wait. How should we go about this? She whispered taking the
opium pipe from him and sucking in then fumes.

First I shall issue an edict permitting them to go freely in our realm.

Then I will instruct every province to send forth a representative with
their old writings for collation in a great book of the law. We shall call it
the codex.

Remember dear, whoever controls the present also controls the past.

You surely are a wolf in sheeps clothing.

Yes, he smiled before howling at the moon.

They flowed into the hall like a frightened flock of geese forming a
crescent audience around the central throne.
Dont be scared. A Roman centurion shouted as they entered.
Its true that you are protected here; the emperor has found your god.
They were cautious but became less so when they saw there was no
obvious guard preventing them from attacking him when he entered.
Perhaps it was true and he was going to honour the amnesty.

They had plenty to attack him for considering the previous years of
bloodshed. But their curiosity got the better of them and they took to their
seats and waited patiently. When the room filled a loud blast of trumpets
announced his entry; resplendent in purple and gold he swept into the
room and took his seat upon the dais.

Greetings, friends. He laughed, trying to keep his elevated mood

hidden, fearing theyd smell deceit if they saw it.

I have asked you here to Nicosia to announce to you all the end of
persecution. It is a new era; the end of aggression from Rome.

His wife touched him tenderly on the shoulder as she stood supportively
behind him and tried her very best to look sincere.

You have brought your written teachings as requested? He continued

smugly.
Yes. They replied.

I have the torah, our most holy scripture. Said one.

Yes, the law from Judea... Constantine smiled benignly.
...I am familiar with that. I have been reading particularly the story of
Moses and his flight from Amana. I know all about his heroic escape
from Egypt with the knowledge of the Atum, the divine SUN, secreted in
his writings. It was truly the birth of monotheism.

Well, the story differs from telling to telling. The man replied looking a
little confused.
I have the gospels as recorded by the witness to His divine Ministry.
Another bearded man shouted from the crowd, holding out some scrolls,
for the emperors inspection.

Good... Constantine said with a sly grin.

...for I have decided to unite the empire under one religion, with one
book of law.

I will collect your writings and instruct my scribe Jerome to collate this
information into one great volume which our religion will use forever
more.
And what has caused your transformation? A grizzled old man with a
flowing white beard asked.
Tell us, what has brought you to our Lord after so long?

I saw a sign, I heard the voice of god saying that I was to worship Him,
the voice came from out of Sun on a distant battlefield.

Its a miracle. They whispered.

You are to worship His Son?

Yes, Sol Invictus, the bringer of life, the lamb and the Shepherd.
Constantine smiled broadly. ...He that was born of a virgin and died for
our sins; to be reborn three days later.
It truly is a miracle. They announced.

The spirit of your god entered my body and directed me to lead you,
how about that? He said with a sniff.
Well, does this please you?
The crowd did not reply but whispered among themselves.
What battle was it? said one at the front.

What do you mean? Constantine answered.

The battle at which you saw the sign, heard the voice? the man asked
further.

Who cares, what battle it was. Constantine replied angrily. He held his
tongue as his snarl evaporated into a sickly smile.
I was at battle with my brother and after the sign the victory was mine.
I decided then that your god should also be Romes.

It really is the end of persecution? an old man asked.

You give us your word?
I decree it. Please leave your writings with me and within a year I shall
have created one great holy manuscript.

From today there will be but One Church, One Empire and One Gospel in
praise of one God, the father, The Virgin Mother and the Divine Sun.

565 A.D

In the course of time Constantine became what he sought; the first Holy
Roman Emperor. From that day artists were instructed to depict him as a
saint with a golden halo encircling his head. It was the representation of
Constantine as Mithras, the Sun God.

Cities were named after him and in the following years successive
emperors took residence in one of these, Constantinople. Emperor
Justinian built his magical palace there far from the eyes of greedy and
inquisitive politicians in Rome.

Constantines plan was perfect, on the site of an old temple to Mithras, a

huge cathedral had been built back in Rome. The people were told that
this was the place of Saint Peters death and so it was called St. Peters
basilica.

Placing the running of the basilica in the hands of flunkies the head of the
new order could please himself; Justinian did just that. The people knew
that he was the head of this church even if he did not reside in it on a
daily or yearly basis; they knew his power emanated from it.

The church became an international business promising deliverance with

the one hand and damnation with the other.

Rome, in the form of the church, decided who would speak and who
would be silent, what was right and what was wrong; what plans could
bare fruit and what would wither on the vine.

What belonged to the Gods and what belonged to Rome.

Whether it was land or water, silver of gold, blood or honey they gave it
freely; with the promise of eternal life in return.

All they needed was a leader, strong direction, and a living god to whom
they could supplicate themselves; they got this in the form of the
emperor.

Through his deeds and actions, in the working of his law, they saw he had
access to and a personal relationship with God; indeed he had, but not
quite in the way they thought.

Upon Justinians deathbed he called upon his family to hear his last
words. They entered a small room in silence seeing him lying upon a
large and comfortable bed; an old and weary man; who smelt of the tomb.
I am about to die... He said softly as oil lamps burned around the
darkened room. ...surrounded by the loves of my magical life. A dear
wife, who has comforted me, and three delightful daughters; what more
could a mortal man desire?

He coughed and the four women shook hoping that these would not be
his last words; they stepped closer and his wife sat upon the bed and
stroked his head gently.

Please father, one of the girls pleaded. Dont leave us, not now, we
need you so much.
Fear not Comito, the old man replied weakly. For, as you know, death
is just a door through which we must pass. I shall wait for you patiently
on the other side.

What shall become of us after you have left? another daughter asked
reaching for her fathers arm. Are we to be slaves of Mongolians or the
whores to Barbarians?
Never! the old man exclaimed breathlessly, clutching the girls arm
tightly. The magic will protect you as it has all these years.

But how? the girl wailed as tears gathered in her eyes. How can we
work this magic when even spiders frighten us; how can we summon
demons from that box and not be terrified?

No, Comito said firmly. We could never summon demons.

I agree with my sister. Replied Theodora simply. We have seen you
practice the ritual; seen the fire from heaven fill the room and heard the
voices of wisdom speak.

I have always thought that you would be there to carry on; I have never
considered being a necromancer myself; alone or with my sisters.

Necromancy, ha! Justinian sniffed. The voice is not that of the dead, it
is of the living. The practice of the ritual is not raising the dead. It is the
art of conversation; conversation and negotiation with our holy guardians;
they who forever look over us. For good and for evil it is the practice of a
great work.

Anastasia, his eldest daughter, stepped toward the bed and looked at her
father coldly. She drew a deep breath before speaking.
I shall take the box containing the book to Rome and hand it to your
pontiff. She said proudly.
If this is the wish of you all? He whispered weakly.

...Even if you know this will end our dynastic possession of the power
upon which this empire was built?

They know. His wife replied softly. I know.

Then take it. Justinian said. His eyes closed for a moment while he
thought about the book and the magical name contained in it. A name in
four sections and twenty-two syllables.

He remembered how that power had been shown to him and his initiation
into the mystery of the ritual and the great work.

Historically this secret had been passed to the male heir of the Roman
Empire but Justinian knew, having only daughters, this tradition would
end with him.

He had taken the precaution of teaching his deputy in Rome how the
ritual should be practiced and what it could achieve. It would mean that
he would be the last emperor to magically lead Rome but that the empire
would live on.

It meant his family would lose their control but the empire and the church
founded upon it would remain.

Take it to the Pontiff; he is well versed in its history and will use the
magical power well. Justinian whispered weakly.
It may mean the end of it all.

Perhaps for us? His wife answered as a cool breeze blew through the
window making the oil lamps flicker and the shadows of death dance
upon the walls. But it will be a beginning for the pontiff and for the
church.

It will seal forever the bond between the state and religion. Wasnt that
Constantines goal; a unified world under the thumb of a unified church?
he said softly.

Will he still protect us? Theodora asked. Once he has the power in his
hands or will we fall under the onslaught of arms?
As long as the church remains strong you shall be strong; as long as the
church remains prosperous so shall you. I made him swear this on the
book.
On the bible? she asked.
No, my dear child. he chuckled. On the book, our book, as long as the
great work continues the empire and our secret will remain strong

With these words on his frail lips the old man died clutching an ornate
box in his spindly hands.

Decorated with inlaid mother of pearl and gem stones the box threw
delicate colours around the walls and into the eyes of the women grieving
around the bed. His wife stroked the gray hair of her dead husband and
closed his eyes upon the world.

Somewhere off in the ether of time Abras Watermountain called to the

wild moon. His knotted dreadlocks were billowing in the wind and his
blue eyes blazed like the fiercest sun.
This is the death of Rufus...He thundered across the heavens.
...Long live Rufus.

TWO:

For what price a city is born

Waves of pale smoke, like shy ghosts, rose from copper incense burners
that marked the four cardinal points in the room. A dark room, small but
airy, it was painted red and gold; the colours of war and finance.

The room had no windows and the only source of light was the single
candle that burned brightly on a golden altar situated in the centre of the
room. The altar stood grandly in the swirling mists thrown down from
the incense burners like a mystical castle rising from a lake of veil-like
vapours.

To inquisitive eyes the room seemed no more than a host to the altar,
protecting it like a cloak from gaping eyes. Protecting it from those who
did not and never could understand its purpose. Without the altar the
room would be nothing.

When the sulphur mist cleared here and thee one could see under it a
royal floor of fine marble; white with a black, green and vermilion inset.
Two concentric circles were marked out; they encircled the altar and
almost touched the legs of the incense burners as they towered from the
floor. Between the concentric circles, the outer in black and inner inlaid
green, contained letters and symbols cast in vermilion stone.

Strange and long forgotten the words glittered in the light of the candle;
some of the characters were English and some were in a long and
forgotten Hebrew script.

Some were in a symbolic language called Enochian; a language older

then history itself said to be the invention angels, and given to the seer
Enoch.

Almost touching the sides of the innermost circle was inlaid a five
pointed star and the altar was set in the centre of this. Upon the altar, next
to the candle holder, was a fine wooden box; set with semi-precious
stones; the box caught the light appeared to sparkle in the twilight.

It sat upon a cloth of red silk with a host of other expertly crafted tools
beside it. A sword beaten from steel and copper, inscribed along its blade
with the words Orbit, Apdosel and imo.

A goblet crafted from various metals, a short silver dagger with a black
ivory handle. There was a short whip or scourge, a bell on a chain and a
wand carved from hazel wood tipped at either end with magnetic iron.
These were craft-mens tools, handmade, with thought and with care.
They had been handed down over generations from one craftsman to
another.

Outside the room, down a grand hall and out through a window could be
seen a green and fertile estate of manicured lawns stretching out to a thick
forest that led down a quiet bluff to a small stream. Here sat a man, the
owner of the estate, upon a wooden bench.

He watched the water as it bubbled through the stream and played gently
with the infant child on his lap. The man and his heir were content to do
this from time to time; play by the stream and listen to the song birds in
the tree tops as fine white clouds floated above their heads.

Inside the Temple, the man thought, he was the lord of this world and the
next and yet outside he became just a man. To walk among the living and
vulnerable, was vulnerable himself; easily destroyed, like the child upon
his lap. The sooner the boy knew his destiny the better, the man thought.
David. The man said softly stroking the boys hair. One day all you
see will be yours, my son. Not just the rolling fields, not just our house
where you rest your head and take your food; but more than that. More
then you could imagine.

He looked into the boys eyes and saw reflected there his own continence,
so fragile at that age and yet his own noble blood rushed through the
boys veins. One day you will reign over the entire world, upon a throne
of gold and marble. The universe will be your dominion; you will walk
with Gods.

But Daddy? the boy replied, Am I a prince?

You will have kings and princes kneeling at your feet, Son. The man
replied.

With His word upon your lips, in His name, you shall be a king among
kings. You will know the history of our family and with it, the history of
the world.

All will become apparent. One day all will be clear to you. You will be
shown the path, with this sacred knowledge in your heart and his name on
your lips you will be a God among men.
Has God got a name father, has he, like mine? the boy asked simply.
One with which I can call him?

Everyone has a name my holy son; even God. Its a long and
complicated name but a name no less. One day you shall say it; I shall
teach it to you and you shall know its power. Some fools call it the
Tetragrammaton; but we are wiser.

What does it mean?

All in good time, my son. The man replied. It will take many years to
teach you properly but one day you shall understand this mystery. Lets
just say for now that its like a poem, a poem with four verses. In time
you will learn all of them.

A poem with four verses? the boy said softly.

Yes, my Son, four verses and twenty two syllables; with this knowledge
you will possess the key to the universe.
History, history! This is the most important thing! Davids father
shouted as he stamped upon the toy train set the boy had been playing
with.

It was a New Year and his father had given the boy the train set as a gift;
telling him not to play with it but to keep it in its box.

He was to look at it, appreciated its beauty and value rather than play
with it. It should have sat upon a shelf and be envied and marvelled at by
the boys friends. It was a conversation piece; something to treasure. The
boy burst into tears as the toy was crushed.

How many more times have I to tell you. The boys father continued.
History is everything, without history we are nothing. The day you learn
this lesson will be the day you become a man.

But father, I am only six years old the boy whined. Cant I be a
child and play. After all, I have no friends.

So you are bored. I will engage a private tutor so you can begin to learn
your alphabet and numbers. This fixation with childhood must end; your
destiny is waiting.

Ten years later

It has been some time since I saw you bathing?

Yes father, I am no longer the child you liked to bully. The boy replied
drying his body with a towel.

Good. I hope your mind has grown too because soon you will have to be
ready. His father replied with a fixed stern look.
Ready, for what?

Oh, in time my son. I did not really bully you as a child; did I? I was
trying to give you strength of character.

It seemed like bullying to me. I mean, this house is so big and lonely I
felt at times rather lost in it; our relationship was quite intense because of
that.

You forget the servants, how can you feel lonely with so many servants;
its not possible.
They could never be my friends, could they? I think my childhood was
rather sterile.
It had to be that way; although things are about to change; first answer
me three questions?

Oh daddy, do I have to do this now! the boy exclaimed having heard

this phrase so many times in the past and still not understanding why.

He saw his father tense up and watched as the grey haired mans
breathing quickened.
Answer me three questions and you will be a king among kings,
stamping nations underfoot. Three questions that is all.

You always do this and the answer is always the same. How can I
answer if I do not know the questions?

His father laughed and walked away from the shivering boy. He left the
bathroom and walked to a window and looked out at the grounds and in
the distance the setting sun. His eyes glassed over, just for a few seconds,
but then he pushed the emotion inside; pushing it all down.

Repressing it deep within by throwing back his shoulders proudly. He

didnt like to consider the future like that, face the truth of what was to
come; it troubled him greatly; knowing that his son, his beloved boy, was
going to witness in his lifetime the destruction of it all.

He felt a gently touch upon his arm and noticed the boy was beside him.
Dressed in a white towelling gown, his hair neatly combed upon one side.

Father? the boy asked gently. What are the three questions?
Not today, my Son. You must sleep and get your rest because tomorrow
you have a new tutor to meet.

A new tutor? the boy said sounding a little confused. Surely my

education has finished. Ive had ten years of languages, arithmetic,
English and Latin, what else is there to know?
The truth. The old man said wearily. It will all become clear; let me
tuck you in bed like I used too.

Will you read me a story as well? the boy chuckled.

Not tonight.
After setting the boy in his bed the man rubbed his tired eyes and turned
the rooms light off. Pulling the door closed he crept away hoping that
tonight the boy would sleep soundly. He walked down a great hall and to
the top of a sweeping staircase that led to the ground floor.

Before descending he stopped for a moment and checked that the boy had
not followed him and then continued. A valet was waiting at the bottom
of the stairs for him.

You have a visitor Sir. The valet whispered. A Mister Kiffer; I have
shown him the gold reception room.

Thank you, James. The old man said. He walked to the reception room
doors and steadied himself before entering.

The room was huge and imposing, with a thick royal blue carpet on the
floor and large golden tapestries on the walls. Mr Kiffer sat by a window
watching as the moon rose above the nearby hills into a starlit sky.

Mr Kiffer, I trust you have not waited long?

Not long Sir. Mr Kiffer replied standing. Your staff very kindly took
my coat and hat.
Would you like some tea?

Oh, that would be nice. He said letting a little Irish accent show. With
some cake and biscuits; I am very hungry after travelling so far.

Of course, James tell cook to prepare a late supper for us both.

Yes Sir. James replied before leaving.

I hope your journey was not too eventful?

No, not really. Kiffer replied taking his seat again. I did not realise
how remote your house was; one forgets that this country is so huge.

Has the maid taken your luggage?

I travel very light, Mr Stein. I have no cases, no excess baggage at all. I
am the epitome of the light traveller. Neither burdened by the weight of
my past or packed with dusty parcels ar
ound my neck.

Nor am I fearful of losing belongings in the future; what is owned can

only be lost. This is a lesson all of us learn in time.
A philosopher as well as a tutor; but you have books being sent to you?
Stein asked seriously. A tutor needs books surely?

Am I not employed to teach your son the tree of life? Kiffer snapped
pursing his lips.
Yes, but
There are no buts. He interjected. Life cannot be learnt in a book and
so goes for the mysteries of the tree. I was sure you would know this
lesson Mr Stein.

You come well recommended Mr Kiffer. Stein said. I am beginning to

see why.

You live in this grand old house alone, just you and your son? Kiffer
enquired
Yes, and the servants of course.
Of course. Is there no wife?

The boys mother died in childbirth. The old man coughed and looked
remote for a moment.
I am sorry. Kiffer said stonily. At least I will not have to cut any apron
strings.
Yes, there is that.

James entered the room with a trey of food and drinks which he placed
upon a small table by the fire. Kiffer stood and walked towards it and as
he reached Stein he watched the valet leave the room and close the door.

Both men looked intently at each other for a moment, eyes to eye. Cold
dead eyes meeting a inquiring expression, curved lashes and twisted
brows.

Suddenly a realisation dawned on Kiffer and he stepped forward and

dropped to one knee.
Master. He whispered. I did not greet you properly. Forgive me; I am
but a man.

It was early in the morning and a thin layer of frost covered the grass that
lay between the main building and a set of small, one story out-houses
which verged the forest beyond. One of these out-houses had been turned
into a habitable abode for the new tutor. He had specifically asked for
bare rooms painted white with only a red carpet upon the floor.
The rooms were always warm being centrally heated and the only piece
of furniture beside a bed and table was an incense burner that hung from
the ceiling and a large bronze gong. There was, of course, a good shower
and it was supplied daily with a selection of clean towels.

After his morning shave and shower the tutor knelt before the incense
burner; which had been loaded and lit with a sweet smelling root, he
banged the gong four times and mumbled a soft chant.

Lifting his left index finger to his lips and beginning the gestures Kiffer
whispered:
Ateth...
He then finished the chant with the motto of the cult. Love is the law,
love under will.

The tutor left his abode on the stroke of eight and stepped lightly across
the green towards the main house. After climbing the back stone steps he
entered and walked confidently through its great, imposing halls.

It had been three months since the boys magical education had started;
three months sharing the basis of a lifetimes work and knowledge; still
Kiffer pondered; he had a further five years to mould the boys interests.

He approached the boys quarters and tapped gently on the door to the
room they had decided would be the classroom. After a brief interval a
voice called from within and he was asked to enter.

Good Morning Mr Kiffer. David said as the tutor closed the door
behind him. The boy was sitting at a large desk having been washed and
dressed, fed and watered by the staff and he looked very studious except,
as Kiffer noted, for a comic open upon the desk.
Good, the man sniffed. Good for whom?

He walked across the room and took a piece of chalk that lay upon an
easel and started to scratch a word upon the board the easel held up.

After looking at the word for a moment the man turned to the child and
whispered softly.
Today we are going to talk about the Kabala. He paused and David
thought he saw a smile cross the mans face but looking closer it faded
into a snarl.
You have heard of this belief system? Kiffer enquired. I know you
father has a deep understanding of this system and I wonder if he has ever
told you about it?

My father has shown me the Tree of Life... David replied. ...when I

was a small child.

And what did he tell you?

He told me about the Onion Theory. The boy answered before pausing
awkwardly.

He never knew whether to continue or to give way to the tutors greater

knowledge at these moments.

Especially when talking about the Kabala, his father had always told him
that this was a secret known only to a few and that it should not be
discussed in public or to strangers.

Fear not child. Kiffer said seemingly to read the boys concerns. There
are no strangers here. I want you to tell me your understanding of this so
called Onion Theory. So that I can properly estimate your
understanding of the subject; pray continue.

My father told me to tell no-body.

Yes,
And that this knowledge should only be known to a few. The
initiated
Well Kiffer interrupted. The mysteries can be known by anyone
who seeks to find them, but only a few know how to use this knowledge.

This is one of the universal laws; seek and you shall find. Now tell me,
what have you found?

The universe, the boy said slowly, concentrating on each word as they
formed in his mouth.
The universe is constructed like an onion, a central core surrounded by
nine successive layers or emanations.

Earth, being the densest of these spheres, is situated in the very centre, the
core. We call it Malkuth. It is surrounded, like the core of an onion, as I
said, by nine consecutive spheres or skins. These are the emanations.
Each skin has its own density, name and character and the most external
one, the very last, the tenth, surrounding the whole onion is Keather, or
God Head. The other spheres are emanations of this supreme whole.

Good, continue.
Kabala is essentially Gnostic. The boy said confidently.
Unlike Christianity which is based on the relationship between god, his
son and his revelation to man, Kabala does not rely on the esoteric for
truth. We can find truth in gods word through the secrets of the Torah;
the Kabalistic doctrine.

Truth is encrypted in this great work and the Zohar is the key to this
truth.

It sounds like you have been reading a press release. Now, tell me what
you have found yourself, what it the truth as you understand it to be?

Well. The boy continued. Most people think that they can talk to god
by going through his son, Christ or his other prophets, but we learn from
the Zohar that we can talk directly to god by understanding the route.

The route as defined by the tree of life. That there is a path between
Malkuth, earth and Keither, godhead; knowing the correspondence
between these things makes it possible.

Keither, yes. The tutor said with a smile. Rather a nice sounding name
dont you think?
Its a little like your own the boy smiled. Keither and Kiffer; it is
pronounced the same.

True. So do you trust me now?

Yes, the boy replied with a wide grin.
You see, there are no strangers here. Kiffer smiled. Now, have you
learned the names of the other spheres?

Malkuth, the earth. The boy replied. ...it is our material realm, our
earthly kingdom.
Kingdom? Kiffer sniffed quizzically, leaning towards the boy
expectantly.

My father explained about the correspondences as I grew. The boy

continued.
The correspondences between each sphere, or Sephira as they are
traditionally known, and the twenty-two trump cards of the tarot for
instance.

Malkuth corresponds with the Kingdom card because we are children of

the kingdom, children of the earth; in a garden looking at a tree of
knowledge, aspiring to climb to its apex and sit with the godhead.

Your father is a great man and he taught you well. Kiffer mused.
I know. The boy replied

Kiffer wondered what he was expected to do, being invited to share the
house with a master, expected to teach a true masters son; a child who
had high magic, the great work, born within his being.

Kiffer knew that the next step would be to take the child and teach him
the practical arts of ritual magic.

Surely not, Kiffer thought, he must try to speak to Stein about what was
expected of him; where the childs education should go. He looked at the
boy and smiled.

Well boy, dont daydream, the other names of the Sephira and their
correspondences.

Yesod the boy continued. The skin, sphere or emanation after

Malkuth; It corresponds with the Foundation, for it is the foundation of
our dream world. It is otherwise known as the astral plane. It is where we
go in our dreams.

Hod, this corresponds with Majesty, being the source of all creativity

That afternoon Kiffer left word with a member of staff that he would like
to have an audience with Mr Stein. Soon after telling the valet his request
Kiffer found the same servant summoning him to the masters office.

Kiffer followed his guide in silence carefully calculating what he would

say to Stein once they were alone together. Then before he had composed
anything of any worth in his head the valet was tapping upon a huge set
of mahogany doors and waiting to be asked to enter.

Come! Steins voice rang out from within. The valet pushed the doors
open and Kiffer entered respectfully.
Ah, Mr Kiffer? Stein said as the doors were silently closed behind his
guest. You requested to see me?

Yes Sir. Kiffer replied keeping his gaze on the floor. I have found that
your son possesses great knowledge.

Of course? Stein replied.

Yes Sir. Kiffer said humbly. He raised his gaze and looked his employer
in the eyes and saw there burning, like beacons in the night, ruthless
understanding. I say so because I am at a loss as to where to begin.

He appears to be well versed in all the basics and these were what I
imagined I would have to teach. Today he told me that Keither was the
initial emanation which produced the whole of creation; the Godhead.

I asked if he knew that man could travel from Malkuth to Keither and
return again and he told me that this was possible upon the pronunciation
of certain passwords; one for each consecutive sphere.

He told me that he knew all these passwords although he had never

climbed the tree, is all this true?

It is. Stein replied. I have taught the child our traditional knowledge
since his conception.
He is familiar with all ten Names of Power?
He is?

He said that he is waiting to be taught the one great word that unlocks all
the spheres; The tetragrammaton?

He is. You seemed shocked. Stein smiled. He walked toward the tutor
and whispered in his ear. I am the keeper of this word.

It is the supreme crown. That which allows man to be One with God?
Kiffer said softly. I understood the Tetragrammaton was lost in time; that
it does not exist today.

But why do you seem shocked! Stein repeated through clenched teeth
looking perturbed by the mans ignorance.
I had no idea that I was in the employment of such a great master. I
knew you were the head of our temple but not that you possessed this
power. If true then this boy could be my tutor, could he not?

Unfortunately not, Mr Kiffer. Stein said straightening himself up and

walking to the other side of the room.
You see the boy needs direction, he need to be led through the practice
of the minor arts and rituals. He needs to be rigorous and tempered by
instruction; it is dangerous otherwise.

I could provide this direction of course but I am too close to the boy and I
may rush him. All fathers expect their children to learn at their pace rather
than going at the pace of the child.

You are an outsider, you could be a better tutor then myself. In time,
when he is ready I shall take him to the final step and then he shall
receive the supreme crown of knowledge.

You will pass the tetragrammaton on to your son?Kiffer asked excitedly

aware that his jaw had dropped almost upon his chest.

As my father passed it on to me. Stein replied coyly.

Master, could I not be told this great secret. I have dreamed of finding
this lost knowledge all my life. Kiffer said rubbing his hands together.

You will receive your prize. Stein replied looking out a window
towards the rolling pastures beyond.
When the work is done.

Tell me Master? Kiffer said as he began to leave. How far do you want
me to take your son?

To the limit, of course. Stein replied. To the limit.

Davids personal valet thought about the boys relationship with the tutor.
It was a relationship that was encouraged by the master of the house and
appeared to exclude everybody else.

He had seen the tutor walk across the green every morning, always at the
same time and always in the same clothing. It suddenly struck him that he
hadnt seen the tutor that morning; in fact, when he thought about it, he
hadnt seen him for some time.
He registered his dislike of the funny little man with a small sneer;
wondering what on earth possessed the master to employ him.

He remembered how angry he had been when, a few weeks previously,

the boy had expressed an interest in buggery. When questioned further he
had remarked casually that Kiffer has told him it was a way to perceive
god.

Then the boy gave him a lecture about Tantric Magick, whatever that
was. He recalled being quite sickened by this remark. When he asked the
master if he could talk to him about the tutor he had received a curt
response and told to leave the boys education with the tutor.

He had become so concerned that he had followed the boy into his study
one morning hoping to join them for the day. The experience had not
gone to plan as the tutor had made it obvious that he was not welcome.

While in the study the valet had been amazed to find that it was arranged
not like a classroom but like a temple; smelling of sweet perfumes and
oils. There was a large circle on the floor and David was lying in the
centre of it seemingly unconscious; dressed in what looked like a roman
toga.

He had run to the boy and tried to rouse him only to be verbally abused
by Kiffer. He had left the study vowing to leave the house as soon as his
affairs could be put in order.

The master had then summoned him to his office and had shouted at him
at the top of his voice. He told him to pack his bags at once and to leave
the building and reminding him that he had signed a legal document at
the commencement of service promising confidentiality.

The master had said that the tutor was teaching the boy a Greek mystery
play as part of his history lesson. To which the valet replied that it was
strange the boy should be learning Greek when he was dressed as a
Roman.

Dreams warm dreams, flowing dreams like a soft stream or creek,

flowing past the eyes; the cold eyes, closed eyes, eyes that flow. It was
morning in the room but behind Davids eyes it was evening time.
The time when all is quiet and soft and all is flowing; the time when
hearts stop still, in the twinkling of his eye, he was there watching.

He saw a Roman centurion lying dead at the foot of his master, Agrippa,
who was laughing like a madman; jealously caressing his treasure.
Holding it tightly, kissing it, knowing that the world was his oyster;
prizing it open. He had gained power to rule over all the men of the
world; over the elementals; Now HE was a God.

Agrippa realised that the ancient tribe that had possessed this power
before him had not possessed all the puzzle; just part of it. It took a
Roman to put the pieces together.

First the four letters were taken from the Jews, what they call Jehovah;
Yod He Vau He. These and their own correspondences to the elements of
Earth, Air, Fire and Water had been known since time began. What was
lost were the missing constantans of the word; the other 18 syllables that
made up the whole poem.

He had dreamed of this moment ever since being told about it; this power
that could lead any army to victory.

He was told that an old man had possessed this knowledge before him
and Agrippa had seen this man in his dreams. He was a supposed prophet
who had walked among men; and he, Marcus Agrippa, had slain him.

He had sought to destroy them all, the ones who knew about the power of
this word. Every single one of them had to die before Rome remained
alone, in control. In possession of this word, the divine name for the rest
of time.

Davids dream shifted again, he was there, watching another scene

unfold.

What of the man they call the Christos? They had asked in the marbled
halls of power. Their voices hanging in the air like a chemical smell,
acrid, pointed almost sharp on his nostril.

He looked at them knowing they had the solution on their lips. For indeed
that man, the Christ was just a man, an insignificant insect of a man when
confronted by the might of Rome.
He had no power behind his Words, Rome had plundered it all before he
was born. From Abrahams Book of Law and all the way down; Roman
armies had marched to every corner of the known world collecting the
power.

It was a magical power which men could not comprehend. They were
using it for one reason; one purpose, the Glory of Rome; a glory with
which his clothes were now fashioned.

Your morning shower has been arranged, Sir Said a new valet, waking
David from his dreams, he was about to stroke the boys head but
refrained when the boy opened his eyes and fixed him with a steely look.

One day I shall let you touch my hair. The boy said sitting up in bed
and smiling. The smile made the valet distinctly ill at ease.
Then I will have to kill you. The boy laughed.

Very droll, Im sure. The valet replied turning to leave the boy. He
paused at the door and looked back. How will you kill me, surely not
with your wit?

Oh come on, dont you find me amusing? the boy countered as he got
out of bed and walked across the room naked. Even if I am being
serious. He said under his breath.

He walked to the open bathroom door and pissed in the toilet sniggering
to himself. The valet huffed and closed the door.

I should shout it from the rooftops, the boy said aloud as he climbed
into the shower. The staff do not find me amusing; what a fucking joke
that is. Youd think the bastards would laugh at my jokes; after all, what
are they being paid for.

The valet returned with a batch of fresh clothes and walked to the
bathroom to lay them on a table by the shower.

What do you say to that? the boy shouted.

Ive not the foggiest idea what you are talking about sir?

He looked briefly at the boy sniggering behind the shower screen and said
dryly. I suggest you finish your morning ablutions and get ready for your
days tuition instead of asking foolhardy questions.
Oh, you do, do you? David replied sarcastically looking around the
shower screen in disgust. Well I propose you keep your fucking
suggestions to yourself and know your place; you fucking shit.

Yes Sir. The valet replied sarcastically, quite used to the teenage boys
language, and not frightened by it any longer.

Tell me? The boy said as he turned off the shower and reached out a
hand for a towel.
Do you believe in God?

God Sir? the valet replied watching the boy dry his hair with the towel.
Yha, God? Do you read the bible, church on Sundays and all that stuff?

Your father requires us to be here at work on Sunday mornings. The

valet replied. As thats the case I do try to read the bible when I can.

So you believe that God has a name, right, one which you can use to call
him?

I believe the name is Jehovah, Sir. Although whether you can call him
with it is debatable.

Jehovah? David repeated turning upon his heels and handing the towel
to the valet so that he may dry his back and legs. Where does that name
come from?

Jehovah Sir? the valet replied standing to look the boy in the eye and
finding there, in the valets opinion, a look that would frighten a horse.

Ive discussed this very subject with the cook. She and I spend some of
our free time together and the bible is never far from her thoughts.

I have read in the front of King James bible, in the preface, that when
the book was first written all that remained of the great name of god were
the letters Y.H.V.H. The name being so sacred that it was passed down
word of mouth and over the course of time only these letters remain.

They were compared by the writers of the bible with similar words and
they decided the actual name was Jehovah. Simple really.
But the bible was written by a Roman Emperor, surely you know that?
Lets say you were that emperor, wouldnt you keep the name for yourself
so that the book had little or no meaning?

I dont know about that, Sir the valet replied. Its an interesting theory.
Not one I would care to trouble myself with, I believe faith is just that, a
matter of blind faith.

But what about truth... The boy replied getting agitated. ...because the
truth is the modern bible was translated from a Roman compilation.

This was the end of a well thought out plan by Emperor Constantine. It is
a plan that still echoes today and is responsible for my power over you.

A plan sir. The valet asked, not really expecting a reply. What plan
would that be?

The plan? The boy replied suddenly thoughtful. Oh, just world
domination; nothing more.

Why would Constantine want world domination, the Romans had

dominated the world since the Greeks?

Thats another story. The boy said softly.

Well, if you dont mind me saying so the valet sniffed. It sounds a
right load of rubbish.
Does it?

Yes, the man continued passing a set of underwear to the boy and
readying his shirt. You say Constantine kept the word, the real name of
God from the bible, secret and that it today is responsible for your power
over me?

Thats right
But that was over two thousand years ago, surely it has no relevance
today?

Suppose, just suppose that I told you that this secret was given to a
pontiff on the last emperors deathbed; that since then successive pontiffs
have used its power to exploit the world in favour of the Roman Church;
to bring about the new Holy Roman Empire?

But its all ancient history, sir. It has no relevance today

You say that, but you are forgetting the Second World War. The boy
said wistfully. When the fascists got to be in power during the late 1930s
the Vatican shipped a lot of their most treasured artefacts here, to this
country. My family has had possession of them ever since, what do you
think of that?

A very interesting story Sir, the valet replied. ...Even if it does reek of
blasphemy.

He cleared his throat half expecting the boy to lash out at his honesty.

If you dont mind sir, Ill keep to ordinary rendition of the biblical
history; better the devil you know

Quite. The boy added. Then the god you dont, eh?

Five Years later.

Thanks everyone. The young man said confidently. Mr Kiffer, friends,

this is an amazing surprise.

He looked coy for a brief moment revealing his inexperience of public

speaking; but then the coyness was gone being replaced with a wide,
almost manic grin.
and a special thanks to my father. He said turning to face the elderly
man at his side. If it wasnt for him, none of this would be possible.

The elder Mr Stein held his shoulders back proudly and placed his right
hand upon the boys back. There only remains one thing Elder Mr
Stein announced to the small group of people assembled in front of the
dais upon which they stood.

A man reaches the age of twenty one only once in his life; a woman may
reach it many times... he quipped. but for a man it is a special age;
an age where dreams can come true.

He paused for a moment and looked around the room at all the familiar
faces staring back at him. They were like a big, happy family. None of
them were related, except in their traditions.
Reaching this very special age, Stein continued with a benign smile.
has a magic all of its own. Its a special magic that can open doors;
even doors which lead to other worlds. And
he added casually.
if you want to open a door, you need a key.

The small group sighed as the elder Stein placed his hand across the
younger Steins shoulder and thrust his other into the boys hand; shaking
it vigorously. The small group broke into applause.

As is customary in our small, tight family... Stein announced over the

clapping.
...Before my son, my only beloved son, can take the key all the ladies
must vacate this office. Youll find a handsome buffet in the adjoining
room.

A valet shepherded the women out the room and once the door had closed
behind them the men gathered closer around Stein and his son.

They hung their heads and clasped their hands at their groin as if in silent
prayer before a gong was struck four times.

Its shrill sound echoed around the room and announced the entry of a
man dressed in a gold and white tunic. The man stepped towards the
group with a clockwork motion stamping his leather-clad feet together
when he stood in front of the Steins.

He raised his hands and in his palms was a small red cushion upon which
lay a small brass key.

Splendid. The elder Stein whispered as the bells in the local church
tower started to ring out across the valley beyond.

As is traditional, in this family of ours... He said humbly.

...Reaching the age of twenty one has a duality about it that others fail to
recognise but is clear to us assembled here. Not only is this the day my
son gets his own house key, but it is also the day he gets the key to our
inner circle.

This day he rises from the grade of Adeptus Major and takes the grade of
Praticulus. Hail, our new Praticulus!
Hail Praticulus! the assembled me echoed. The old man looked in
silence at the boy and thought about his future.

He knew the boy was destined to kill him. As soon as the old mans office
was over the boy would have no more need of him and the great plot
would begin.

He knew this was to be his end because they had told him; the very
creatures the boy was about to become master over.

Before I give the key to my office to my beloved son the old man
sighed. Let us look back at my guardianship. Back over the years of
peace and success I have wrought for you and this great country of ours.

It really has become a place where dreams can come true, a place where
In Gods name we trust.

I praise Him for the secrets He has revealed to me. The assembled
groups prayed for a moment in silence.

Each one visualizing his own notion of what God meant. This was done
even though none had ever, of course, conversed with him like their host
apparently had.

Some pictured images of a wise and old man with long hair and white
beard sitting upon a throne of ivory; gold with stars in his hair.

Still others saw only gnashing of sharp teeth and savage bloodshed under
a blazing sun.

Sharp swords cutting imagined enemies in two.

Some saw visions of gold rise like semen from their groins; spurting as
Godhead over their panting chests; seeing within this divine action a
sense of well being incomparable to any other.

Then their host set His vision among them, visualising it filling the room
and each of those gathered within it. This caused them to shake and panic
and sweat and tremble as his thoughts entered their brains like poison.

Visions of cloven hooves stomping across the sky, mad horses their teeth
blazing with lightening and thunderous flashes. They were chomping on
the ashes of man, thrashing his remains into the earth. It was visions of
germs, bacterial assault; it was that heat wave deception.

That black cloud and fireball turning the heavens into a furnace. It was
the gnashing of sharp little teeth and long ripping nails tearing through
cold human flesh.

It was a vision of cloven hooves stomping on human faces for eternity;

this disturbed and delighted them.

David, My Beloved Son! the old man said at last turning to the boy.
Seeing the confident smile of a man reflected back at him, Just as he had
been led to believe it would happen, the final chapters were now
unfolding before his eyes.

Take this key and use it well; the key to my office. I have had advisers
over the passing years, these great gentlemen have been a source of
comfort to me in my lonely hours.

They have pledged their lives to you and the working of our law. Use
them well my Son, preserve the old traditions and have mercy on me;
please forgive my failings. Today I am just a man. Are you ready for
this?

I am, father. I am ready. The boy whispered, taking the key from the
shaking hand of the old man.
Then I am ready to die.

I wish I knew what they all got up to when theyre alone together? One
of the women said to another over the buffet. She stopped briefly to stuff
another caviar puff into her mouth then continued spraying puff pastry
over the food.

Men, cant live with then, cant live without them.

The other woman said nothing and moved on swiftly.

Damn the lot of them. The woman exclaimed stuffing a chicken leg
into her mouth exposing her loose dentures.

You shouldnt say such wicked things about our hosts. Another middle-
aged woman who was wearing too much foundation and rouge replied.

After all, its his birthday and he seems such a nice boy.
Hes the fucking devil. The woman spat sending a piece of chewed
chicken across the room into another womans drink.

She swigged back a large gin before placing her empty glass on a valets
trey and picking up another.
The kid gives me the creeps. She added with a hiccup.

Come now, said another old girl who was dripping with pearls.
Try not to be ungracious; we are ladies are we not?

Im a lady the woman replied. Youre an old crow. Why I let Teddy
drag me here to this mausoleum every year I do not know. Its like
visiting the Munsters house.

Dont you think youve drunk enough tonight, Mame. Said a uniformed
flunky as he took the woman by the hand and forcefully led her towards
the door. Perhaps a lay down is in order?

Get your fucking hands off me. She screamed as she was marched out
the room.
I cant stand them when they cant hold good liquor. The old girl in the
pearls remarked as she watched the woman being removed.

His father is a monster and the boy is a devil the woman shouted
from beyond the room.

Enough! boomed across the room as elder Mr Stein entered followed

by the other men. Whoever that woman came with needs to deal with
her, She is spoiling the ambiance...

The staff have put her in one of the spare rooms. A man whispered into
elder Steins ear.
Good. Stein replied in a hushed voice. This project is too near
completion. Whoever you are, you know what you have to do.
Yes, Sir. One of the men nodded before he left the party looking
agitated.

He walked down one of the great halls and into a small anti-chamber,
which led up a small flight of stairs, and into a darkened room.

She was there upon the bed in a rather undignified condition having been
hurriedly undressed by the maids.
His wife lay there sleeping in her silk stockings and kickers; her bra
hanging loosely at her chest. In the half-light of morning she slumbered
peacefully unaware that he had joined her.

He moved silently towards her like a cat. Finding nothing about her the
least bit endearing the man wondered why they had been together for so
long.

He realised that he hated her slouch, hated the way she carried herself. He
hated her nostrils and the air that was being sucked loudly through them;
he found it all, the whole sorry package, sickening.

He lifted his fingers to the dim stream of light that came through the
curtains and closed them. Held delicately in his other hand was a small
syringe.

He pressed the plunger and a stream of liquid spurt across the room. He
paused for a moment before pushing the thin needle into her goose flesh.

He watched a small mound appear just beneath the skin as the liquid
entered her body; then she stirred.

What the hell are you doing? the woman shrieked sitting up on the bed
clutching her neck.
Just watching you sleep dear. The man stuttered.

Dont give me that crap, whats that in your hand?

Nothing dear.

Whats going on Teddy? Tell me you fucking son of a bitch. Why are
you in this room?
Cant a husband visit a wife in her room?
Youve not done so for three years so why now?
I just wanted to say goodbye. The man said placing the syringe on the
bedside table.

What have you done to me? The woman said weakly as she tried to get
off the bed and reach the door.
She stumbled and fell to the floor dragging the bedclothes behind her.
Why, why, now?
Because... he answered softly as the breath left her lungs.
....Because you were never like her?
Like who? she said with her last gasp.

Like her, the great she-wolf, she who howled into the heavens, and
called down the crescent moon. Where is she now, the great beast of
Babylon, whose call could bring down the stars of the evening sky?
Where is she, with the flesh of the wild on her bloodied lips? Dressed in
Violet and purple she rode a beast and trod the innocent into the dry earth.

At the midnight scream of suckling teeth she reared young warriors; she,
the sacred mother of Romulus and Reemus? Our blessed Scarlet Woman
who roamed under a black sky hunting the warm flesh and tight sinus of
death.

Theres no blood upon those lips of yours, those blood red lips. A harlot
painted vermilion now cold like the hunted dead. I wanted a huntress, a
wolf, a mirror of Diana, but instead I married a fox.

Why were you not like her, Mystery, Babylonia the Great mother of
Whores? Why?

Instead of a tiger I woke to find a tart, instead of a warrior I woke and you
were a fat, bloated worm.

Because of you our children are waifs and vagabonds, destined to beg for
falling crumbs from our masters table. You have diseased my blood with
your familys cowardice and wanting. In your death throws I feel nothing
for you but hatred; nothing but vulgarity. Your vomit tinted breath
repelled my love and made it hard like stone. To kill you has been the
only honourable act of our marriage.

We find older Mr Stein and his son in a car with tinted windows. There is
a screen between them and the driver, which is closed. The old man is
reading the financial news while his son looks out the window perplexed.

What is it we are doing today? He asked his father.

Im going to introduce you to the staff at the office and give you a feel
for the job. Running an international company like ours takes a lot of
thought. Are you ready?

If Im not ready now, the boy answered thoughtfully. I guess I never

will be. Tell me father; whats your take on what we do?
Now let me see the old man replied lowering the newspaper and
composing himself.
We are information providers. In the old days, before you were born,
that was primarily with newsprint but today we are at the forefront of
information technology.

Our Web search engines provide information free at the point of use to
over a billion people worldwide.

So how does that free service generate cash?

Its to do with collating information as well as providing it. We have
over three hundred data storage units in thirty-five countries that do
nothing except collect information and store it. Information is power, my
son.

So we collect information and then give it away free, how does that
translate into dollars and cents?

We are the spiders in the web. The old man replied rubbing his eyes.
You see every time someone uses our search engine we send a cookie to
their P.C identifying its location and who is using it.

If they search our data base ten times or more we will know who they are,
their age, their religious beliefs, their hobbies, their friends, their
sexuality and all manner of other bits and pieces.

This information is then sold to other interested parties; mainly

advertisers. So if someone searches for cooking sites we may have a
producer of cookbooks who can then target that person for their product.
Thats the top side of what we do.
Oh yha?

We also collate information for government agencies like the D.E.A.

They want to know who is researching underground chemistry or
ordering the stuff needed to make precursors; the base chemical elements
used to make other, more lucrative chemicals.

We can give them that information. Thats just at home.

Overseas, some governments want to know who researching, say,

democratic change; we have that information too. In fact the more
sensitive and focussed the information they want the more we can charge
to give it. Its all done with mathematical algorithms.

Doesnt having all this stored information make us vulnerable to cyber

attack; how do we protect ourselves?

We do this by collating information about our users; if you know

everything, or everyone, you can usually nip things in the bud.
Remember, our service users are not just the general public, theyre
government departments, diplomatic embassies and even presidential
appointees. We have information on all of them.

Cool. No wonder we are making several hundred dollars a second. So,

as the man at the top of the company what would you say your most
important job is?

Well David The old man thought for a while then looked into his
sons eyes.
I would say its got to be hanging on to the position.

Theres a lot of hard bastards out there who want our revenue stream and
I pay some very bright people to make sure we hang onto it.

As long as you keep your eye on the ball youll be okay.

Thanks Dad.

One month later

David opened his eyes and looked around his bedroom. He looked at the
dresser, the chair, at the curtains and at the paintings. It all looked as it
had the previous evening; but in the twilight of that morning something
had changed.

The suns spiked fingers stretched through a crack in the drapes and
reached across the room towards him. He placed one hand between his
legs and felt warmth glowing; he rubbed gently, unable to resist the
growing monster down there.

A loud rap came from the door and attracted his attention, he stopped
what he was doing and looked as the door was flung back. A valet entered
carrying a telephone.

Sorry if I woke you Sir, the valet said softly. But the vice president is
on the line.
Really. David replied with an air of distaste. Why so early in the
morning?
He has phoned twice already, but I did not want to raise you too early,
Sir.

Quite right as well. David said taking the telephone from the man and
placing it to his ear. That will be all now. He sniffed at the valet who
quietly left the room.

Hello, David Stein here.

Its me. Replied a muffled voice at the end of the line.
Yes? David asked.

Our friends have done as you asked.

Good. David replied rubbing his crotch furtively.
You will keep your end of the bargain? the voice asked expectantly.

In time David replied sucking air through his nose.

...In time.

But how long? the voice asked. Your father would have done as
requested immediately; there are other interested parties waiting. You
dont realise, Im the only Dove, beside the president, left.

The Hawks are closing in.

They think its all been foretold somewhere and theyre crazy, I tell you,
crazy as hell.

I am not my father. David spat.

I will have to give them a timescale. The voice added hesitantly. Is
there any way you could hurry things up a little; please!

Why dont you try begging? David said with a small smile.
If that will help Ill fucking beg, just tell me how I can move this
along?

Who can move the stars? David replied. Who can hurry the planets?

Look Stein. The voice said angrily. Dont get fucking esoteric with me.
We are talking serious business here. You asked us to do that thing and
we did it on the basis that you would do our favour in return.
The whole game is in your hands now and you had better start playing
right or this could turn ugly. Ugliness unlike the world has ever known.
These people think God has ordained it. Please, do something; tell us
what to do, and fast

Or what? David shouted sitting up in his bed.

Dont you forget who you are dealing with. I am going to act but in my
own fucking time; now stop worrying.

Okay. The man said. Sorry, but Im worried about a leak.

Dont Stein said abruptly as he began to rub his crotch again with more
force. Just leave it to me. He added breathlessly.

Are you feeling okay? The voice asked as the telephone connection
was cut. Stein then threw the bedclothes back, as warm spurts came
across his belly, he dropped the phone on the bed. Never felt better. He
sighed.

As he wiped up with a tissue picked from a box on his bedside table the
telephone rang.
Hello? he whispered as he placed the telephone to his ear.

Good morning Mr Stein. The valet said on the other end of the
connection.
I have a state officer on the line. He would like to speak to you, Sir,

I understand the matter is important otherwise I would have directed him

to the office switchboard.
A State Officer David said. A State Police Officer?
Yes Sir.
Put him through.

The line clicked softly before a deep, gruff southern accent asked. Mr
Stein?
Yes? David replied hesitantly.

I have some bad news I am afraid. The voice said without any sign of
emotion.
You are about to tell me that my father is dead?
Yes Sir, the voice replied. I am.

David thought he could hear a slight curiosity in the mans tone before
the silence was broken by a question.
Was that a premonition? the officer asked.

No, the vice president has just called to offer his respects.
He did? the officer said with a surprised tone. News travels fast; how
did he find out?

As you say, officer David replied throwing the tissue into a nearby
waste paper bin. News travels fast.

Of course you will have to arrange for someone to do a formal

identification. The officer continued. Then give permission for an
autopsy. Would you like to know what happened?
Not really. My fathers solicitor will contact you later today...
At a smart reception in the banqueting hall of a five star hotel the guests
are clapping as a little, bearded man approached the rostrum.
Thank you all for being so generous this evening. He said with a smile.

Let me introduce a man, without whom, this would not have been
possible. The man whose generosity has enabled this mere group of
mortals to do what god found difficult this was followed by laughter.

Lets show this man what the Jewish people think of him, come a round
of applause, join us please, Mr David Stein!

Stein stood and was lit with a spotlight. He bowed his head modestly and
joined the man on the rostrum before hushing the audience with his open
palms.

Thank you friends. He said as the clapping died down. As you know,
my father followed the cause of Israel for many years and was happy to
put his money where it did the most good.

I know you were worried that this funding may stop following his tragic
death recently. But now it has been shown, beyond any doubt, that his
killers were acting under the Jihadist flag I have come forward to take up
the banner.

There is evil in this world, an evil force blackened by hatred and jealousy.
I understand that the dispossessed covet what we have, they may say they
hate our wealth, they hate our jobs, they hate our women, they hate our
way of life.

But its all lies.

Really they want all these things of ours, these freedoms, for themselves.

They eat dirt every day and the taste of blood on their lips makes them
full of resentment. Every moment of their lives they seethe with hatred
and jealousy, they say they hate our ways but they want it, they plot to
steal it from us.

This is what they want. Well, let me tell you this; our way of life cannot
be stolen or held to ransom, it cannot be bartered and it is not for sale, to
anyone!

The crowd stood on their feet and clapped hard.

Today Jerusalem is ours, as God intended; with his merciful guidance
our enemies will be eating dirt for another thousand years.

Their Prophet has led them to this, to starvation and beyond; until they
get on their knees and beg us, yes us, not some vague idea of Godhead;
but us. Until they prostrate themselves at our altar and beg for our mercy
we must make sure they continue to eat our dirt forever.

This brought another round of applause from the ecstatic crowd although
at the back of the room an elderly, white haired man smoked a cigarette
and smirked.

He was used to the rhetoric and made his own destiny. He played with a
ring on his wedding finger, a gold band with a gold cross set in a black
stone, thinking about his next move.

This conference was just a part in his bigger plan. He stubbed his
cigarette out on the carpet and pulled out his mobile phone. After pressing
a number and waiting for an answer he just said one word before
disconnecting the call.
Endgame!

Good morning Mr Stein. A uniformed security officer remarked as he

opened the rear door of the Rolls Royce. Stein stepped out of the vehicle
into the bright sunlight of a spring day.

Resplendent in a dark wool overcoat and navy blue suit, which was set
off by a white silk shirt and red silk tie, he purposely followed the
security guard across the pavement and held out a small plastic card.
The guard ran the card through a magnetic strip reader placed at the side
of an amour-plated door, which buzzed and then slid open.

Thank you Roberts. Stein said as he entered the building having taken
possession of the plastic card and placing it in a leather wallet. The door
closed silently behind him. A few seconds later the inner door, which
prevented Stein from going any further, clicked and opened.

Good morning Mr Stein. A pretty girl who sat behind a reception desk
at a computer terminal smiled.
Have you come to open your fathers safety deposit box?

Have you received the required paperwork? Stein asked slipping the
wallet into a breast pocket.
Yes Sir, your fathers solicitors office sent it over this morning, the girl
replied. Everything is ready for you.
Thank you. Stein said, feeling his palms sweat a little.

The girl noticed that he appeared anxious but put it down to the sudden
death of his father and the responsibility the man had acquired.

She had read about the death of the richest man in the world the previous
week and had thought at the time that someone was going to become very
rich, very quickly. Knowing how much pressure inheriting a vast amount
of money could bring; she didnt know if she envied or pitied him.

The fathers death was tragic, she though, having been the result of a
badly maintained Lear jet. It was ironic that the man would still be alive,
she considered, if he didnt have the wealth to own such a plaything.
Placing a gold coloured, plastic card, which hung from her neck on a
chain, into a card reader the girl looked at Stein.

Could you enter your sixteen digit security code please? She smiled.
Stein did as was asked.
Thank you, now would you go to the door over there and answer the
security question.

Stein looked to where she indicated and saw a small microphone that was
situated next to another door in the far wall.
Please speak slowly, Mr Stein. The girl said as he approached the
microphone. The voice reader is a little temperamental.
State your name for voice identification. An electric voice asked as he
slid up to the door.

David, Elohym Stein. he replied slowly. There was a brief pause before
the door buzzed and slid open. He entered a long, windowless room as
the door closed noisily behind him.

The room was grey in colour and bare except for two cubicles that sat
along one wall; above one of them flashed a small orange light. Stein
walked to this cubicle and stepped inside.

A glass door slid closed behind him and he became aware of the noise of
his own breathing.

In the wall was a small metal shelf, which had a keyboard and card reader
set into it. A red light above the card reader flashed and David removed
the card from his wallet again and placed it in the card reader. An electric
voice issued a command.

Enter your five digit P.I.N please. The voice buzzed. Stein tapped the
five digits into the keyboard and waited. Accepted. The voice said.

There seemed to be an endless wait before he heard a hum and the wall,
which had appeared to be solid, clicked and a square hole opened.

Through this a silver coloured, steel box slid onto the shelf. Stein felt his
anxiety fade as his bony fingers reached toward the box and click the
lock. He lifted the lid slowly, savouring the experience.

He now had it all, the house, the money, the business and now this; the
key to power; his treasure. He could feel light emanating from within the
box and it invisibly shone out like a beacon, filling his being and shining
out further beyond his gaze. He could feel the universe glowing in honour
of its power.

Stein carefully removed the treasure and placed it in his breast pocket
with a small conceited smile. He had no need to remove its dust cover to
check that it was really what he had been led to believe it was; this was
confirmed by the energy that flowed from it.

It numbed his fingers and hand and in his pocket he could feel it glowing,
warm and soothing. It was a sensation that gave the treasure authority and
immense potential.
Glancing momentarily inside the steel box before closing the lid Stein
was surprised to see an unexpected manila envelope. Upon closer
inspection he saw that it was embossed with the legend:

Three Questions, that is all

His mind went back to that day after his bath when his father had poked
him in the chest. He had poked him with those sharp nails and even
sharper tone of voice.

He remembered the confusion and realised that he still had no idea what
his father had been getting at.

He remembered his father saying that when he knew the answers to the
questions, that day, he would inherit his fathers office.

He removed the envelope and tore it open. It appeared to be empty and

Stein frowned for a moment before a small card slid from the envelope
and landed on the steel shelf.

He picked the card up and smelt the distinctive aroma of sandalwood.

The card was edged with gold and printed in the centre was three
sentences in black ink.

WHO WILL KILL

Said the first.

WHY WILL THEY KILL

Said the second sentence.

WHAT WILL THEY KILL, David?

Stein shuddered as he read his own name and realised that his father had
known all along. He had known that his life was to be ended by his own
son. That his mother had also been killed; albeit in childbirth, by the same
person and that they were to be the first of many.

He had the power to kill millions and Stein realised that this was his
destiny; the power and authority had been given to him by birth. It was
now in his pocket throbbing gently.
He remembered an old saying that Kiffer had repeated after lunch on day.

He had looked over his glass or wine and whispered softly:

If you kill one person you are a murderer.

If you kill hundreds of people you are a tyrant.

If you kill everyone, you are a GOD

Kiffer had laughed and David had thought the man was weird; now he
was beginning to understand what the saying meant.

Stein spoke slowly into the telephone receiver. It was morning and the
birds were singing loudly outside the bedroom window but this did not
interest him. His face was tense and focussed.
Did you get the payment?

It arrived today, thank you for your support.

Will you be able to move now? Stein asked softly.
Enshala, God willing.
Good, no one must know of my involvement.
My lips are sealed.

Stein hung the telephone up and thought for a moment. Then the
telephone rang again; he picked the receiver up.
Hello? he asked cautiously.

Do you have an answer for me yet? the voice on the line pleaded
urgently. It was a bright spring morning and David was sprawled across
the bed.

He had become tired of these persistent demands for action from those
that served him; especially when they called early in the morning. They
did not realise that he had to take some time before coming to a decision;
no matter how much they demanded. He had a plan.

His education had shown him the futility of impulsive behaviour. These
things could not be rushed and he needed time to prepare; he did not want
to risk causing injury to himself because it would only be safe when the
time was right.
Patience. Stein replied softly into the telephone. Patience is a virtue;
didnt your mother ever tell you that?

Look Stein the voice on the end of the line shouted. You and the old
man have just about murdered this administration and Im telling you, if
we go down then you and this whole set up will go down with us.

The President and I are fighting the Hawks just to stay in office; is that
what you want? .
Not really. Stein replied his voice cold as ice and as barbed as a rose
bush.

I am sorry for being emotional the voice continued. But, dont you
understand? You have been telling us that you will give an answer in
time. You said that youll honour your promise to help us. But we havent
got any more time; time has run out and now we are at a crisis.

If you cannot give us the answers we seek the administration will take
steps; it will be out of my control and you know what that will mean?

You are really beginning to annoy me. Stein replied.

But the economy is disappearing up your fucking arse-hole. How many
more times do I have to say this? Time has run out.

Let me correct you Stein interjected coldly. Its you and your
fucking lousy administration that is disappearing; time has run out for
you. It never ceases to amaze me how short sighted you and all those
other losers in government are. You and the other lot; youre all simpering
insects. I could stamp on the lot of you.

Mr Stein, please, Im begging you! the voice strained. Stein listened

and heard the distinct sound of a grown man weeping; he smiled.
Stein, how much time? The man whispered.

Mr Stein, if you dont mind. David snapped. There is no time like the
right time and patience, not panic, will help it materialize.

I see.

If that is all? I have business to attend too. He clicked off the

telephone and smiled broadly.
The telephone clicked across the other side of the city and a man holding
the other end cursed under his breath. He looked at the telephone as it
began to ring again; his knuckles turned white and he picked up and
slammed the receiver down.

Is there anything wrong? asked another man who was across the room
being fitted for a new suit. The tailor said nothing and pretended to be
deaf as he busied himself with chalk and pins.

Is that arsehole playing hardball with you?

No, Mr President. The man by the telephone lied. Everythings in
order.

Come on, Im not a fool. The man being fitted replied. Whats with
this guy; doesnt he know what he is risking?
Hes our best contributor. The man replied.

But a coffee dealer?

A rich coffee dealer; and thats not his main revenue source. He also has
the I.T businesses

Oh yes, The president replied. Id forgotten about that. Coffee, cocoa,

computers; its all the same in my book.

The president looked at his reflection and smiled.

Dont let the bastard get you down; we could just kill him. If its a
choice between us and him, if one of us has to go, well, theres no
choice.

Thats what Im afraid of.

Stein closed his eyes and thought deeply. His fingers massaged the sides
of his temples and a ray of sunlight sparkled behind his head; bathing him
in a warm glow.

On the other side of town the man in the blue suit cleared his throat and
left the room. He walked briskly down a hall and into a garden at the rear
of the building. He lit a cigarette and
sucked the smoke into his chest.

He noticed a small bird on the grass in the centre of the garden and spat;
he didnt like cute things and his ulcer was paying up.
The bird seemed to be looking at him and this made him uneasy; then he
noticed another bird. It was behind him near the door. Something didnt
feel right but he was having a cigarette and this was all that mattered until
another bird joined the one on the grass.

He sucked in another puff of smoke and looked up. It was just in time to
see the edge of a wing and the tip of a beak.
Mother fucker! he spat as the beak collided with his eye.
What the fuck was that?

He stumbled backward and tripped as another huge black bird, a raven,

struck his head. He gasped as its claws scrapped down the side of his face
and his head collided with the stone path.

The force knocked him out cold and the birds were free to do as they
wished. First the soft fleshy skin around his eyes was pecked and then the
beaks went deeper.

It flew into his eye socket and the brain beyond. He didnt flinch as the
blood oozed from the wound in his head; flying off with bits of his brain
to feed their young.

Back in the office the President was speaking to another man who was
holding a telephone.
How could the other administration allow this to happen? the President
said.
...Surely they could see this would eventually come about?

The future looked a long way off. The man replied holding a hand over
the telephone. They didnt realise that wed be fighting two wars on two
different continents; that our resources would become so critical.

Its common sense; God damn it! the president answered pushing the
tailor away from him and placing his suit jacket on. He stepped over to
the man holding the telephone.

If you allow one company to become so big and amass so many assets,
sooner or later it would start to effect every part of the economy.

Its basic maths one-O-one, for God sake. I dont understand why they
didnt put the brakes on his fathers finances as soon as a monopoly
developed. When this situation first became evident?
His fatherthe man replied.
Yes, what about his father? The President replied. I read somewhere
that hed agreed to put half the companies assets into the economy; that
would reduce the overall interest accrued into a manageable sum? This
whole crisis would have been averted.
His death has led to this situation.

Still, I thought the son would have agreed with his fathers wishes.

The president took the receiver from the man in the blue suit and placed it
to his ear asking.
Has he reneged on the agreement or is he stalling?
Sort of, hes playing games and...

...The balls in his court. The president sighed. The fucking shit.

I tell you. The voice on the phone said anxiously.

This bastard has my balls in his fingers and hes squeezing them hard.
When this shit is sorted heads are going to roll.

Rubin? Stein said into his intercom. Im going to my private suit for
the rest of the day to do some private work.

Yes Mr Stein. The voice on the intercom replied.

At around two am I would like you to bring me a light meal; do not

come in just place the tray outside the door and leave it.

I understand Mr Stein.
If anyone should call please take a message. Tell them I am unable to
take calls or receive visitors.

What if its Mr President?

I dont want to be disturbed by anyone; do I make myself clear?
Yes Sir.

Tomorrow morning at nine A.M I will want a hot bath and some more
food. Please have a full breakfast prepared and left outside my room. I
will collect the tray after Ive been to the bathroom; then I shall be busy
for the rest of the day. I am not to be interrupted by anyone.
I understand Sir. Rubin replied.
Thank you. Stein stood and went to the door of his study. He opened it
and walked into the long hall that swept away down the side of the house.

He stopped halfway down and looked out the window. There was a small
bird on the window ledge, a thrush. He smiled and the bird flew off. Stein
made his way to his private suit and unlocked the door.

He paused before he entered thinking back to his childhood and how he

wondered what his father did behind this door; now it was his domain and
in it he was the master of this house and the Universe. The feeling of
power made his heart beat faster.

A small suit of rooms lay beyond, somewhere safe and warm where he
could retreat to escape the pressures he felt in the rest of the house. Here
he was away from the snooping eyes of servants and cleaners, which exist
in every other part of the great estate.

He closed the door behind him and locked it before climbing a small
flight of stairs, which opened, into a lounge. It was comfortable with soft
furnishings and cushions. He turned left and went through another door
and into a room, which had a wardrobe and bed.

There he undressed and carefully folded his clothes upon the bed. When
he was naked he walked to the wardrobe and stared at the full-length
mirror that was in the door.

Looking closer at the reflection of his eyes he noted the changes.

Although clear and bright the lids looked heavier and there were faint
lines appearing in the corners.

He stepped from the bedroom back into the lounge and collected a small
silver snuffbox from a mahogany table along one wall. He carried the box
to the centre of the room and sat upon an Indian style cushion.

There was a remote control on the floor that he picked up. Music flooded
into the room from hidden speakers, the volume was low and he used the
device to turn it up a little.

He placed the remote control on the floor and opened the box. Inside was
a small piece of plastic tape about an inch square with a small blue/black
dot in the centre.
The blue of the dot contrasted with the clear plastic that surrounded it.
Closing the silver box and placing the clear plastic on its lid he rested on
his knees and touched his forehead.

Ateth he whispered visualizing a white beam of light entering the top of

his head and penetrating his skull. He lowered his fingers to his stomach
and touched his navel imagining the beam of intense white light shooting
from his scull to his groin.

Malkuth Then he touched his left shoulder and whispered. Ve

Gedulah. Touching his right shoulder he whispered. Ve Gebulla.
Before resting his folded hands in his lap and intoning the words. Le
Olhem.

Once this traditional prayer had been said Stein imagined the white light
spreading throughout his body; bathing it in strong iridescence. Through
the veins and capillaries the light vibrated; from the top of his head and
down to his toes.

He then took the small square of plastic from the box lid and placed it
upon his tongue.

He bit into the plastic and a bitter taste flooded his mouth. The light
pulsated now; he could feel it shining out through his pores and
illuminating the room with its power.

He imagined, visualized the room filling up with light and shining like a
blazing star. He could force the light through the walls and into the suit of
rooms outside. With every breath he sucked more light in through the top
of his head and whenever he exhaled it thrust out.

Onward he shone, until he could feel the bright, white light of

consciousness filling the estate. Then he visualised it filling the streets
beyond the estates walls. Filling the cities and byways and across the
night sky with its white, hot power.

It shone through the universe beyond and then the bitter taste in his
mouth tainted the whiteness, filtering out of his body, into the streets and
the skies above.

Tainting it all with a bitter blue chemical. The sky shuddered in chemical
bitterness and the blue, acid taste infected the universe and the stars and
the cosmos beyond; into infinity.
Stein exhaled a bitter chemical taste. He relaxed his body, slowly
focussing on specific areas from his toes up; soon he was instructing his
face muscles to relax, feeling the tension leave him. His breathing slowed
to a casual, gentle pace, soft and rhythmic.

He noticed that his mouth was dry; parched like a sandy lane.

A snake-like forked tongue darted between his parched lips; cracked but
rose red. Frozen petal lips in a forest of a face. Although he was alone he
was aware of something. Or was it someone; he could feel its presence in
the room; around him, alongside him.

Perhaps it was his loneliness, that thick, grey solitude he had known since
childhood. He opened one eye and spied the room; it was then that it
happened.

He could feel his pupils dilate, his breathing become more laboured. He
had to stand and stretch; oh, that felt good, he thought, as the tension left
his aching limbs.

He picked up the now sparkled silver box and walked to the side table
from which he had retrieved it earlier.

Placing the box upon the table he saw a candle in a silver holder and he
picked this up with a chuckle and took it back to the cushion.

There was a tune playing that he liked. He didnt know the name but the
melody seemed familiar; he smiled broadly as he lit the candle and sat
down again. He looked into the flickering flame and thought he could see
something. Something that intrigued him; it was a colourful something
that drew his attention.

The room was dark now and the flame lit his face with a dancing beam of
multi coloured light. It was a white light in a black sky; a star in a
universe of moons. There was something about the light, it flickered on
his skin like an oil; flickered on oil like his skin; his pupils dilated further.

There it was again, darting between the blue and the red; was it a colour,
he thought? Pinhead big and elephant small it sparkled like a star of
sapphire; a little world within the flame; so small it could be the
dominion of angels.
He laughed aloud.

Through letterbox eyes he saw the sapphire grow pulsing with radiant
energy. Small insects attracted to the light danced in and out of the flame
leaving translucent trails in their misty wake.

The insects were weaving in and out thin strands of fine silk or cotton. He
became transfixed to the image, curled by it into a lattice, a twisted
framework formed before his golden eyes. These were the eyes of a king.

He smelt the vibration before it actually hit him, a bitter, chemical smell
that was blue in intensity. The floor shook violently and he held the
cushion to keep him steady as a gust of cosmic wind blew over him
violently.

It was ear splitting and it made the carpet shine with intense lattice waves
and colours. His breath left his lungs and he became lost in the waves,
they were overwhelming him; Stein could only give into them, he
drowned in their textures.

Closed, the eye of the mind sees further, a voice whispered in his ear. It
was his fathers voice on the wind speaking to him softly.

Closed, the eye of the mind sees with more depth, more clarity and thus,
it understands what it sees.

He shuddered as the light brightened his face; his thick oily face, dirty
and colourful. It was intense, he shielded his eyes from it and hissed a
long slow breath.

I must remember to breath, he thought.

There in the centre again he saw it. What was that, he wondered, was it
gold, silver, bronze, iron, copper, lead, quicksilver, platinum or iodine?

It bends like a metal under heat, a tangle of multi texture fingers dancing
across the spiral of light. Like spiders in spacesuits. Glowing in spires
and distorting, sliding on oil, pools of slippery face oil.

It was screaming now but silently; he was silent now but screaming, not
wanting them to hear him. Not wanting them to know he was there; he
was where? Stein secretly shouted.
There was a sky above his head but it was not his sky, it belonged to
them; he was just visiting and would have to leave some time or another.
It was a grey sky, a blue sky, a bitter chemical sky of plastic.

He was only visiting them, those red-necked cockroaches. Like swollen

bloated fish the clouds burst and he was standing in a seafood shower; a
shrimp of a man in an ocean of a universe.

There it was again, a taste in his mouth that was bitter lemon, sour lemon
and powdered. Clear now the colour invaded those colourless places;
those stranger-less places. Those places where dreams are made and
constructs dissected.

He was a species of spider, leaving faint trails of web like silk; traces of
dew on the faces he knew, they burned in the flame of his mind. He was
losing his mind; or was it just poetry?

He remembered a funeral, the wreaths and remember-me flowers and

waters of weeping mourners. The gun, the blood splattered field of
daisies, gold pieces on a silver platter, paid in spaced out hogweed.

They were the diamond splinters that sparkled. That shone in the sky that
day. Shafts of light shine in silver, they shone his way, that day; the day
his father died.

Electric spasms in the womb, he remembered the womb of his mother, it

was warm there. It was acrid and bitter like blue lemon. It was like
Armageddon. The day they cut him from her bloodied belly was an image
fixed to his memory.

There were dazed images, blurred images, they spin and turn in a matrix;
spin and curl around the centre, he was fading in there, boy, he was fazing
into their boy; the boy who killed his mother.

A mirror cracked and crashed to the stone floor, the glass fragments cut
into his flesh and he saw ribbons of blood there, like her womb. It was his
mother, his long dead mother, that she-wolf mother of Rome.

He was transfixed to the image, transfixed to that burning icon, fixed and
yet unfixed. He was a shiny beast in fox fur and ermine, a wolf in sheeps
clothing. Someone spoke his name.
David? the creature hissed. Your time has arrived.
I got up at two in the morning to take him some food. Rubin said with a
sigh. Two in the morning, I tell you, then when I went to call on him at
nine the food was still there; exactly where Id left it the night before.

Was it? the cook replied looking intently at an open cookbook.

Yes it was. Rubin replied. The food Id taken to him at two in the
morning. I dont know why I bother sometimes.

He hadnt eaten any of it? cook exclaimed folding her arms across her
chest.
Not a single bite. Rubin continued. Then I ran a bath, as he asked me
to, this morning at nine
Yes?
I knocked.
Yes?
And no answer. I really dont know why I bother.

Shame on the boy. Cook sniffed looking back at her book. He didnt
say if anything was wrong with the food then?
I didnt speak to him, like I said.. Rubin answered. He didnt answer.

Shame on himCook said looking up briefly.

You get used to their strange ways. You should hear the noise sometimes
coming from his room.
What, all that screaming? Rubin asked.

Thats it. Cook replied looking at the valet intently. His father was the
same. In the middle of the night youd hear nothing but screaming. Sends
your blood cold, it does.

Ive heard it. Rubin replied looking at the floor. He thought of the walk
hed made to his masters suit at two in the morning. How dark the house
had seemed. How quiet too; how spooky.

He recalled turning down the very last corridor and walking slowly to the
door Mr Stein had wanted the food left outside. He remembered lowering
the food to the floor, as requested, and listening to the keyhole to see if he
could hear voices.

He heard something alright, it was a

soft muttering, like the sound of crickets in the evening air.
He heard the soft mumbling of a verse, over and over again, a familiar
verse. Perhaps even a rhythm like the sort of rhythm youd learn in
nursery school; over and over in one long monotonous tone.

Ive heard him. Cook said snapping the valet from his daydream. But
not like last night; it was really frightening hearing him screaming like
that.

I didnt hear him scream, just mumble. Rubin replied.

My room is just across the way, you see, I can hear it all from there.
Really, I only heard a mumble, when I left the food.

Well I heard it all. Cook said. It wasnt no mumble. It was screaming I

tell you; like he was trying to raise the dead.

Frightening. Rubin said softly.

Best not to say nothing. The cook continued. The last valet who said
something was kicked out. So, its best not to say anything. Still she
whispered in confidence. I always thought that boy would turn out
strange; not having a mother around. It isnt natural.

I dont know how youve stood it so long, if youre not happy?

You have to keep your nose clean and get on with your work. She
replied slamming the book shut.

Thats what we are paid to do, and thats exactly what I do. Look at the
time; I suppose you should go and see if hes eaten his breakfast.

No need to. Rubin said abruptly.

What do you mean?
He never came out for his bath.

Stein was awake and quiet, thinking deeply. The window was open and a
soft breeze was blowing into the room causing Goosebumps to raise on
his white flesh. He closed his eyes.

One the other side of town the President was in his motorcade on the way
to a reception at the Marriott hotel. He had an aide sitting beside him
clearly instructing him on the ethics of post war modernisation.

They were discussing getting the Arab Emirates to pay for this
reconstruction instead of dipping into their own depleted budget. To
enable them to do this he needed facts and statistics which would bolster
his argument without looking like they needed financial help.

The president nodded as the aide showed him graphs that outline the facts
in an easily digested fashion. He was used to getting hecklers shouting
out unscripted questions and wanted the information to rebuff any
criticism that may be thrown at him.

The car pulled up outside the hotel and the security man in the front seat
got out and stepped up to the rear door.
Are you ready? the aide asked.
As ready as Ill ever be.
Lets do this. He nodded at the security guard and the door was opened.

The aide stepped out and looked at the thin line of police that held back a
small crowd of well wishers.

They cheered and some held up cameras. The president slid across the
seat and pulled himself out of the car.

Hello, He smiled as people pushed forwards into the line of policemen

snapping photographs. A woman held up a baby and called to the
president.
Mr President, a photo with my son?

Youve got a minute or two. Said the aide. He stood behind the
president and they approached the woman as she handed the child over
the shoulders of the heaving policemen. The president took the child and
smiled as the woman held up a camera.

Smile she shouted. Smile for the dead children of Jerusalem. Allah
Akbar, Blessed be His Name!

The president felt the air pressure change and, as if in slow motion, a wall
of fire enveloped the whole scene. A huge force then vaporised him, the
child, the policemen, the crowd and the aide. It blew the bombproof car
into the air and across the street.

Then there was chaos.

Stein looked out the window and saw a small cloud of smoke rise in the
distance. He noticed the birds had stopped singing and that the gardens
around the house were strangely quiet. He knew that his plans were
working themselves out and that there was just one thing more to do.

He stepped into the bedroom and pulled open the wardrobe door. Inside,
behind the suits and ironed white shirts he found a large box, which he
dragged out and placed upon the bed.

He lifted the lid and looked at the costume the box contained, it was not a
dressing up box.

Instead it contained the ritualistic robes that belonged to his father.

Each piece had its own meaning and power. The pieces fitted together
like a jigsaw and created a representation of the Cabbalist tree of life on
the wearer.

There was a crown of gold which had a serpent entwined around it, in the
front were three pentangles and the centre one was fixed by a diamond
stud.

The crown represents attainment of perfection and the three pentagrams

represents the holy triad or tau, the beginning, middle and end. The
serpent represents godhead, eternity, and will channelling power from
above through the wearer.

Under the crown was a hooded robe made of silk it was blue on the
outside and lined with green. Along the hem was a curled serpent again
channelling power through the wearers body.

The robe represents silence and is a physical manifestation of the

wearers aura.

He realised that he was still hallucinating strongly looking at the flashes

of blue and green that crashed across the silken robe as he examined it in
its box. He pulled the soft costume out and laid it on the bed.

He hadnt realised just how beautiful it was, the gold thread along the
seams and at the neckline had small silver stars woven into it and they
glittered against the sky blue silk.

Dressing in the robe and placing the crown over the hood on top of his
head he examined himself in the mirror. He then made his way out of the
bedroom and through the lounge. He stumbled halfway along the room
and had to hold onto a small Chippendale chair that sat next to the table.

His mouth was dry and he realised that he was so wrecked he could
hardly walk. The walls were almost folding in on him; he managed to
straighten himself up and stumbled further to the far end of the lounge
towards a tall, dark timbered door. It was the door to his fathers secret
office.

Stein reached into the neckline of the robe and pulled out a gold chain
that hung from his neck, on it swung the key his father had given him on
his twenty first birthday.

He placed the key in the lock and turned. The door opened with a slight
squeak and he slid through the gap, into the room, across the marble
floor; slamming the door behind him.

The floor felt cold beneath his bare feet. It was like a mausoleum in there.
It was like a tomb of a monument; a relic from the past. He considered
the past and of the time that had elapsed from Augustus to today, all the
history he was about to conjure and repeat.

This ceremony had real history he thought, from Agrippa in his Greek
temple, to Constantine and Justinian.

He thought of the Pontiffs who had followed them, building up the

Roman Empire into the modern age. Knowing that beneath the sacred
walls of Saint Peters Basilica was a room that was bricked up for a
whole generation.

A room only opened once in a hundred years. The room where they
practiced The Sacred Ritual was designed exactly as his own.

This ritual was now his. He recollected how, as the fascists rose in power
in 1938 the Pontiff of the time, worried what would happen if the Nazis
got hold of this relic. He knew they were looking for it. They would have
been unstoppable.

He remembered how it had been shipped overseas in secret and that

Rome had expected it to be returned once the war was over.
How wrong they were, now that room in the basilica has been bricked up
forever and Stein stood in an exact replica that had been built by his
father.

He walked to the centre of the room and there on the altar was a small
broach made of gold and inset with white stone, diamonds and rubies.
The broach, a white cross on gold with a red rose in its centre, was pinned
on his robe.

He placed the index finger of his left hand to his lips and hushed himself,
hushing the room; creating a stillness in his mind that calmed his
thoughts. He knew from his education how important these gestures were.

They focused the mind, opened his subconscious and tuned in his astral
self. Then Stein mouthed the traditional prayer.
Ateth

After completing the prayer, the Cabbalistic Cross, Stein walked to each
of the four cardinal points marked out on the marble floor. He lit the huge
incense burners which stood at each of these next to a small table.

Closing his eyes he visualised each cardinal points guardian angel as

astral beings and summoned them.

Adonai! He shouted to the south.

Oriens! He shouted to the east.
Eh,ei,He! To the west and finally, with an almighty roar, Stein steeped
to the northern point and screamed AGLA!

The incense smoke floated from the burners and flowed down to the floor
like a thick mist. The smell of sulphur filled the room.

Then he entered the circle, set out in black and green marble on the floor.
This represents the infinite and affirmed his identity with such. He
walked solemnly and approached the altar.

Upon this sat a scourge, dagger and chain with a small bell on its end.
These implements represent the principles of fire, water and air or
sulphur, mercury and salt. Again they represent the holy triad or a state of
pain, death and bondage.

Next to them is a wand made of hazel, a great sword and cup. The wand
represents the will or the power of its owner to form his own destiny; or
his triumph over fate. It corresponds with the sephera of Chokmah on the
tree of life.

The sword represents reason and is made of the metals of Mars and
Venus, steel and copper. It corresponds to the sephera of Daath.

The cup is made of a fusion of seven metals and represents

understanding. It is imagined to be full of the seas and thus an ocean of
understanding overflows from it. It corresponds with the sephera of
Binah.

The bell or gong is made of silver and has the ability to stop time when it
rings out across the universe. Solemn and majestic the bell enables the
user to disturb the infinite.

Stein understood all these correspondences and hidden meanings from his
years of training in the ceremonial use of ritual.

Lifting the great sword, with inlaid rubies and sapphires, Stein raised it
above his head. He swept it too and fro, marking out the form of a star, a
pentagram and visualised it shining silver above his head. Tracing the star
in the air with the gilt point of the sword his imagination filled it shining
with bright, white light.

Then he gently placed the sword by his side and reached out for his
treasure. The possession that made all this possible. The two thousand
year old relic that had been passed from father to son, pontiff to pontiff,
emperor to emperor through generations past.

Now his, after collecting it from his fathers safety deposit box, unaware
if it had been used in his lifetime. Merely possessing it had ordained upon
him the power of Gods.

He sighed as his fingers caressed the soft blue velvet dust cover. He
opened the cover slowly and devoured the experience, before his eyes
saw the faded leather binding, swallowing hard. It was here, he thought
momentarily forgetting the ritual, here in his little world that God had
chose to reveal himself.

Huc per inane advoco angelos he chanted softly, remembering every

word of the Lower Ritual, taught him by Mr. Kiffer all those years ago.
Sanctos tererum, aerisque he continued placing his palm on the
unopened relic. Salve Raphael, Salve Gabriel, Salve Michael, Salve
Ariel nam tellus et omnia

Steins vision became blurred as the incense in the burners filled the room
with acrid mists. The vision became distorted, liquid; as with his audio
senses, fazing slightly and echoing about his eyes.

He was tearing through each syllable, his lips and mouth gaping, the
words came now at breakneck speed; bleeding like a wound in his palm.

Non accedet ad me malum cuiuscemondi quoiam angeli sanct cusodiunt

me.

The words filled the room like vapour, resounding from the marble floor
and into the arches of the ceiling. He visualised the waxing and waning
moon, the ebbing and flowing tides, the coming and going of the seasons;
the cycles of life. He saw himself fading into the picture, turning through
it and becoming part of the natural cycle.

ATETH! MALKUTH! VE GEDULAH! VE GEBURAH, LE OHEM!

AMON!

A silence worthy of the grave descended on the room; it was desperately

grieving a celebrated mystery; a secret hidden from the eyes of those who
celebrated.

Stein closed his eyes and it seemed as if the marble beneath his feet
shuddered. He imagined the root of power thrusting through his body and
crashing out of his head, his fingers and his toes; he was shining like a
torch at midnight.

EXCULATORES, He screamed. In nomine Gabriel,

Exculatores, in nomine Raphael. EXCULATORES, in nomine Michael,
EXCULATORES! In nomine Urial.

He picked up the leather bound book and clutched it to his heart before
ringing the great bell that sat upon the altar.

He rang it twenty four times in all, each chime ringing through the never
worlds; all the worlds that could be imagined, for he was the ringer of the
bell; having power over heaven and hell.
When the last chime had faded into the swirling darkness it seemed like
the gates of eternity had clicked back their locks. Stein opened the book
and prepared to meet the Architect of the Universe.

He gazed for the first time at the fist page; a page made itself from
leather; etched upon this was a gold seal, the seal of Abraham, woven into
the leather with gold thread.

Its beauty entranced him and he found it hard to concentrate on the deed
at hand. Each gold strand was woven to create a lattice of the finest
workmanship, and each lattice was constructed of finer gold threads into
infinity.

The symbol was a cross of gold crowned in the centre by a blazing red
rose. Each petal being a delicately woven shade of red, each one a
different shade to the next, arranged on ever decreasing concentric
circles. They got smaller and smaller into the centre, in ever decreasing
sizes into the infinite.

He was mesmerised by its shimmering beauty and the shape was burned
into his mind so that if he closed his eyes it was still visible, proud on the
back of his eye lids. Cautiously and curiously he lifted the page and
turned it over.

Then it was there, the first syllable of the word, woven into the leather
page in silver thread. He recognized the Enochian symbol immediately
having learned the language from his father when was still in his crib.

He knew its pronunciation and the syllable rolled from his lips slowly,
like a prayer, in a long quivering note. He turned the page and
pronounced the next syllable and the next in one vibrating tone.

Then the next page and the next until the word was vibrating around the
room in echoes. A vibrating rhythm began to form under the main tone
and a harmonic could be heard. Filling the room with a tempo and rhythm
the distinctive chant was weaving itself into a lattice.

He could feel the word forming on his lips and this vibrated around the
room and back upon itself in a resounding harmonic note. Like strands of
gold and red thread, weaving itself into a lattice; an infinite tangle of
harmonic intensity.
The first round ended and he swiftly began at the beginning again without
taking a breath. Back to the first syllable and onward building the
textures, the harmonic tones of sound, into a thick lattice of mesmerising
harmony.

The twenty-two syllables fitted together perfectly, they scanned like the
best piece of poetry ever written, sounding beautiful and perfect the
echoes rose with each reading.

The lattice of sound was filling the room with gold and red sounds of
infinite beauty and complexity. The lattice of noise they created formed
infinite harmonics that rose with the incense into a thick swirling
wholesomeness.

Blue flashed here, vermilion there, silver on the floor and pitched yellow.
He was spinning into the textures of sound and was swallowed by it.

Consequently he did not hear them at first; their goat hooves thrashing
across the sky, their tails flaying the air and their bat ears flapping.

Stein continued with the pronunciation of His name, demanding His

presence, summoning Him to appear in a form Stein could communicate
with. As his swollen and bloodied lips formed the last syllable, of the last
round of sound, he noticed a pillar of fire had stormed from the ceiling
and had filled the whole room with blazing ferocity.

The star he had traced over his head reached down like a glowing shroud
of glass and protected him from the licking flames. He looked and in the
flames he saw them.

Small creatures such as no mans eyes had ever seen. They walked
around the circle and tried to push their talloned fingers into it only to
snap their bony digits back sharply.

They were small, dark imps with red beady eyes and sharp cloven hooves
that knocked upon the marble floor. They appeared to be mocking him
although what was coming from their sharp lips could not be recognized
as a language, it was more like the sound animals made in the
slaughterhouse.

He heard mischievous taunts and jibes that filled the room with coldness.
He tried to ignore them knowing, from his education, that they were the
vanguard for their master.
Then a sharp judder shook the room and the imps darted in every
direction. Stein was amused to see that some sought safety by ducking
their sharp heads beneath the drapes; leaving their pointed tails sticking
into the air.

Then a creaking sound like splintering wood echoed out causing the
smoke rising from the incense burners to sway in soft ripples. A few
impish faces looked through the smoke and their red eyes darted to and
fro in fear and anticipation.

Then a roar rang out; it was like the roar of lions when they call one
another in the African darkness.

It was a throaty roar, dense and deep, echoing in the night. It seemed that
a thunderous flash of lightening shook the room and He was there; a
windswept boy naked upon a sandy beach. He had sweet droplets of
water hanging from his wet brown hair and his brow shivered slightly as
if caught by a chill.

With a vulnerable look the boy bit his lower lip and smiled.

Come, join me The youth whispered seductively. Come, join me

beyond the circle. The water is refreshing.

I have summoned you to serve me! Stein shouted. He could see storm
clouds rising on the horizon behind the boy; ominous black clouds that
bellowed and flashed with lightening.
Temptation will not draw me from the safety of my circle.

Come, The youth whispered again provocatively stroking a smooth

finger across his lips.
Let us bathe in the warm waters. Come join me.

I will not be manipulated. Stein shouted picking his sword up and

pointing the blade at the youth. Dispense with this frivolity, be done with
it and show your real face.

Thy will, be done. The youth whispered as the image faded to be

replaced by a loathsome creature bathed in shadows. It was breathing
heavily and in the darkness Stein could see saliva dripping from the
creatures lips. A nauseating smell filled the room and Stein felt himself
becoming intoxicated by it.
You called me name? the creature hissed as its face left the shadow
briefly and light caught its awful eyes. It had lizard skin, wolfs teeth and
great horns rising from the crown of his head. Stein looked down and saw
a pair of legs clad in thick black fur with brown hooves scratching the
marble floor.

Tell me, what should I do? Stein asked. What is the next move in this
game we are playing?

Do as time has ordered. The creature replied licking its black lips.

They say people are starving, governments are falling and that a
revolution will ensue.

There must be famine. The creature hissed changing into an old man
with a long white beard and sackcloth robe.

There must be bloodshed, governments will fall but you shall remain
strong. It is ordered by time.

What is ordered? Stein asked confused by the statement. What has

time ordered?

There was a ringing in his ears and the sword became heavy in his hands.
He looked at the black line that encircled him and it appeared to be fainter
in parts where the mist had become sand.

They are waiting for a prophet to lead them, he can be manipulated to

take them down the path time had ordained. The old man said wearily. I
have been working to make the time right and now you have to make it
happen.

Stein became dizzy as the sound in his head grew louder and seemed to
be spinning around his skull. The persistent whirling became ear
splittingly deafening.

I do not understand? Stein called out. Then he noticed the old man had
gone to be replaced by a young woman, her beautiful red hair hanging in
flaming braids around her shoulders.

Nana, is that you? He stuttered.

Come David, join me here. She smiled patting the wooden bench she
was sat upon. He remembered a far off vision.

It was a time when he was just a toddler and his Nanny was always with
him. She was the only significant woman he had ever known, again an
employee of his father.

They sat in the warm summer sun among the oak trees on the estate
watching spring lambs suckle their mothers. It was a time of joy and
warmth, a distant land that had faded with time in his mind.

He wanted to leave the safety of the circle and go to her, to let her brush
her slight fingers through his soft hair, to smell her again.

Come, my boy, join me.

Do not vex me so! He shouted. Playing these games with my
emotions. Tell me what time has ordered.

The vision faded into an old crone sitting on a three-legged stool. In her
hands were two silver shapes; a crescent moon and a star.

I can never get these things to stick together The old crone croaked.
Stein looked at them and saw a vision of a mosque in the midday sun, the
crescent moon sparkled on its apex and the star came from the sky to join
it there.

Can you get them to join? the crone asked. They are ordained by
time.
I dont understand. Stein said as the old crone turned back into the
horned creature.
Power, money, lies It hissed. Use these for the sake of time. I will
be here waiting for thee.

Then the vision was gone, he was alone and the room was empty and
void. He placed the sword upon the altar and repeated the Cabbalistic
Cross. The incense burners were full of cold ash and rays of sharp
daylight beamed through cracks in the drapes.

Stein closed the leather book and folded it up in its dust jacket. He then
left the circle and blew out the last piece of melted candle that he had lit
the previous evening.
Good morning Rubin. Stein said into the intercom on his desk. The
machine crackled for a second and a voice answered.

Good morning, Mr Stein Rubin replied. I hope you are well, we

were worried as we had not heard from you for so long.

Im here now. Stein said abruptly. You can bring my breakfast now
and tell cook that I wish to have fish for dinner tonight.

Very good, Mr Stein. The intercom crackled. I will bring a breakfast to

the dining room shortly.
Oh, and Rubin Stein added.
Yes, Mr Stein?
Would you get Mr Martin on the line.

Shortly after the telephone rang. Stein lifted the receiver and a voice on
the line said I have the White House for you, Sir.
Mr Stein? A voice asked. He did not recognize it.
Yes.
Im afraid Mr Martin is dead. He was killed in a freak accident last
week. I cant go into detail but it throws any plans you had with him into
confusion.

I see, its good that we had no plans.

Do you know about the assassination?

I have not been informed. Stein replied. Please continue.

The president and half his staff were blown to pieces a couple of days
ago. We have traced the explosives to a middle-eastern consortium. The
new administration is taking it as an act of War. I believe they were
waiting to get some guidance from you.

Is the new man in office? Stein enquired.

Hes right here, would you like a word?
Of course.

The line bumped and crackled before another voice came on. The man
sounded depressed and his voice was that of a heavy smoker, gruff and
course.

Mr Stein. He said clicking a ring against the receiver. It was a gold

band with a black stone set in the centre with a gold cross.
Congratulations. Stein replied. If thats the correct term.

Never mind about the formalities. The man replied coughing into the
receiver. You know, Mr Stein, all this has been foreseen.

Has it?
Yes, the man continued. Famine, earthquakes, bloodshed, it has all be
foretold in the Book of Revelations. The assassination was a direct
response to our funding the demolition of the Dome on the Rock. Our
Israel-development section said something like this would happen if we
helped Israel take Jerusalem.

It had to happen before the rest of the prophecy could come about. I know
you were funding that particular project; I saw your speech at the Israeli
American Lobbyist Group.

The last administration were too cowardly to make the tough decisions
that we feel HAVE to be made. Although I grieve their loss, particularly
Martin, he was a good man, but I know it is a matter of destiny that we
have reached this position today.

I agree. Stein said.

Mr Martin wanted a financial route out of the mess the economy was
facing and so I understand why you were stalling him.
Good, Im glad you understand.

Now, we know that the endgame is inevitable, that we have identified

the Prophet of war who comes in peace, the lamb slayer. Now we can see
the pieces falling into place; we can mobilize our forces against his
people. You know what Im saying here dont you?

Im familiar with the Book of Revelations; Im behind you all the way,
time has ordained it. Stein replied.
The act of aggression we saw this week is all we needed legally to go
ahead.
You are talking about Red Sun.

I am, even if Christ doesnt come down on a cloud and lift us all up,
even if this isnt the dawn of a new Heaven on Earth, I am going to fry
those bitch heathens if its the last fucking thing I do. I know there will be
collateral damage but change is always difficult particularly if its
unavoidable.
Stein thought about this for a moment and gently tapped the desk.
How long will it take for the bunkers to be ready? He asked softly.

A couple of days I suppose. The old voice croaked. I have family in

Europe, I would like to wait till I can get them back before it happens.

Red Sun can only be a success if we forgo any considerations; dont you
believe that all will be raised up when the lord returns. Stein replied with
a wry smile.

Youre a man after my own heart. The voice crackled at the end of the
line. I will give instructions for the clock to start ticking. God bless
you.

God; I believe he led me to this decision, Stein added. He helped me

see this is the only way; collateral damage or no.

It is written, this future was foretold long ago. The old man stuttered,
holding back a tear. I feel blessed that it will unfold in my lifetime; with
my help.

He hung up the telephone and the old man looked across his desk at the
ten men who faced him. Some wore military uniforms and others smart
suits. The nearest suit to him shook with disbelief.
You have got to be fucking joking. He said abruptly.
Have some balls man. A uniform replied sharply.
But we thought we had a future with this administration. The man
sobbed.

We do, just not one you anticipated. The uniform spat. Ill get the
troops primed. We can go to Def-Con four in under an hour!

So this is it... Another suit said looking about the room at the others
who passively accepted the situation. He reached inside his shirt and
pulled out a crucifix.
...armageddon?

Fucking madness, youre all fucking mad! the sobbing man cried.
Was it Dante? The old man with the crucifix ring said as he stood and
leant forwards on the table to address them properly.
Was it Dante, quoting Virgil, who said through me youll find the city of
despair?
Please, the crying man pleaded.
What about my children? My sister in Brittany, shes expecting her first
child.

Through me youll reach the region of the lost... the old man continue.

...justice was moved by my high architect,

divine omnipotence created me,
transcendent wisdom and primordial love,
before me only endless things were made
and I shall endure without an end.
Think of the children. The man whispered into his hands.
...You that enter here. The old man replied. ...Abandon Hope!

The network of tunnels that made up the bunker was prepared for the
guests. It had taken twenty years to build them and they were capable of
sustaining life underground for an indefinite period.

There were stores that ran for miles and contained every conceivable
consumable from tins of Cape tomatoes to electrical fuses and cable.

The bunker had been specifically designed to contain, sustain and aid
human life. There was a hospital wing and schools as well as churches
and places designed to look like parks. There were communal halls,
television networks and radio stations. Places were set aside for lectures,
social meetings and information dissemination.

There were halls of residence, which were furnished in the style of the
most expensive hotels. Air was provided, having been pumped in from
the outside and cleaned with filters, so that the ambient temperature was
comfortable.

Water was delivered by means of underground spas and springs and was
tested regularly for cleanliness and mineral content, Everything was
recycled, from the piss in the lavatories to the paper people wiped their
noses with. Nothing was wasted and even sewage was used to generate
gas, which powered the heating manifolds.

Some wastewater was directed to the underground gardens to feed the

plants and trees, which grew, under sodium lights, as well as they did on
the surface. There were at least ten of these underground cities spread
around the globe and their existence was kept secret until the time they
were needed.

Now that time had arrived those with tickets were called to assembly
points and taken to their allotted bunker. Those who were not invited saw
the groups and vehicles leave but never guessed that a party was being
thrown and they were going to be served up as desert.

The people came in droves, long processions in shiny black cars and
limousines, their boots packed with fine cigars and liquor, cases stashed
with family heirlooms and gold bars.

Bankers, bishops, business men and industrious men of fortune, the most
important of them took their whole families from the eldest old Grandma
to the youngest babe in arms; all chosen to continue the human race and
contribute to the genome.

Many had no idea why they were being called to assembly but knew it
was important and that if they didnt go to the drill their places may be
lost forever.

The only instructions they were given was that they would meet at dawn
and bring with them only what they would need if stranded on a desert
island. Therefore some brought gramophone records and compact discs
others high heel shoes and bathing costumes.

Even paintings were unframed and rolled into neat tubes to be transported
into the unknown future.

Some women were dressed as if going to a ball, their stretched faces clad
in thick make-up and gems strung from ears and necks flamboyantly.

Others wore comfortable house clothes as if they were expecting a long

flight and decided that comfort was better than fashion on this occasion.

The children wore school uniforms and hung from parental hands like
bewildered monkeys. Some ran through the halls and rooms of the
bunkers wildly excited by the adventure.

Then there were the men in dark suits, some had expensive cashmere
coats and talked in hushed voices on small mobile telephones. They
guessed something was afoot and only the strained look of concern
flashed in their eyes to give the game away. They could feel it in their
bones but did not want to believe.

The arrivals, once their identification had been checked and names ticked,
were ushered into elevators and taken deep below the surface; reassuring
themselves that no executive order would have been given and they were
only taking part in a drill.

Some were surprised to discover friends they had previously lost touch
with and conversations broke out intermittently.

Hay Joe, said a middle-aged man to another in the elevator as his wife
held a baby to her chest. Fancy seeing you here?

Bob, Id like to know where they got the money from to build all this.

Once underground the people were shown their living quarters, which
were private for the most important families and shared for the clerks and
secretaries. The quarters had items that would fill every need, somewhere
to sleep, somewhere to wash, somewhere to eat somewhere to feed the
kids somewhere to relax and, of course, somewhere to get information.

Televisions sat blank in every apartment waiting to spring into glorious

life and broadcast their first transmission; a transmission so they were
told, that would include a presidential speech which would explain
everything.

Excuse me? a fat Spanish-looking lady asked a steward as she was

shown into a shared apartment. When will we be allowed to go home?

At ten AM the presidential office will broadcast a speech on the internal

network; all your questions will be answered then.

Im hungry said a kid at her side.

Food will be served shortly in one of this levels canteens. Ive checked
your ticket and you have entry to service canteen two, down the hall and
to the left.

People ate and drank, talked and relaxed acting as if they were guests at a
garden party given by a distinguished host. Indeed, their invitation was at
the request of The President and this, in itself, was an honour.
The guests appeared unconcerned that the garden party was not in a
garden but in the belly of the earth; a thermally controlled bunker
specifically designed to protect them from Nuclear weapons.

They socialised politely in small groups around strategically placed

monitors, which were broadcasting music and cute pictures. The air-
conditioning made the people feel comfortable, as if they were enjoying a
late summer evening in the park with their families. Only the hiss from
the ventilation and the sodium lighting detracted from this image.

The television monitors suddenly burst into life as the same transmission
flashed across every screen. A postcard snap of the Whitehouse at night
was displayed to the sound of God Bless America droning in the
background.

At last! a woman said stroking her hair before adjusting her seat to see
the screen better.
Lets hope we can get this over with now. Said another anxiously
waiting to hear what was happening.

Anticipation swept through the bunker, down its miles of corridors,

passages and gardens. It crept through its canteens and restaurants, over
its crop-halls and living quarters. Silence replaced idle gossip and
thousands of inquisitive eyes looked towards the flashing screens.

The camera scanned the podium and a voice announced the president of
the United States. One person remarked that there hadnt been an election
so legally this person was not the President.

This remark was lost in the conditioned air as the old man walked to the
microphone and held it tightly with both hands. His gold ring flashed in
the spotlights.

Friends. The old man said as his craggy face filled the bright screens.
Friends.

He cleared his throat and peered intently into the camera before
continuing.

You have been called to these places tonight for what was called a drill.
He looked around the room he was standing in toward the director and
soundman before the auto cue was rolled on further.
Im sorry, he continued. This is not a drill.

A woman in a silk evening dress dropped her glass of wine and the red
wine splashed her white gown sending glass splinters across the floor.
She raised her hand to her mouth and gasped.

Not the gulf? she whispered to no-one in particular.

Its not the damned gulf a man said at her side. This is the fucking
deficit; you watch.

I am sorry to bring you this terrible news, the president continued. His
voice seemed weary and his craggy face appeared more miserable then
usual; whether this was real nor not, they couldnt decide; but this made
him more human.

For reasons of national Security I cannot go into detail. The president

said. But, we have the support the international community and every
other alternative was explored before a military option was looked at.
Sometimes there isnt any other choice to be taken except the military
option.

This country has tried hard to avoid conflict but it hasnt worked. We
cant just let these people attack our people, our way of life, our freedoms
and take it sitting. Sometimes you have to fight, especially when that
fight is the right thing to do.

It is the gulf. A man hissed looking away from the screen briefly and
remembering his children on holiday in Jordan. They were probably
already dead he thought.

I gave the executive order this morning under the code name Red Sun.
We anticipate Europe being the first to be affected and that the disorder
will spread across the globe from there. I have ordered us here now to be
in readiness in case the disorder spreads faster than anticipated.

After our first strike against Iran they will strike at Israel and then again
at European targets. China has pledged to support the Gulf States and so
we could come under attack across the Pacific or the Atlantic. We are
prepared for both possibilities He cleared his throat and drank a sip of
the water on the podium by his side.
In the captive audience a sense of shock spread like the disorder he was
talking about. Some people trembled thinking about their loved, ones
who were not there, with them.

Others wept softly wishing they had stayed at home with their pets while
yet others giggled nervously thinking that biblical prophecy was being
played out at last; just like the preachers had told them.

What about the people up top? a woman said aloud wondering about
her elderly relatives. Will they get medical attention and help?

Who gives a shit. Another man said loudly while swigging from a
champagne bottle.
War produces casualties and Im sick of this country taking it up the
arse.

Dont be so wicked. The woman replied as she turned towards the

screen again.
God bless America. A man shouted.

Tonight. The president went on. Let us pray for those caught up in the
conflict unfolding above our heads. Let us remember that they die for our
continuing freedoms and that once the ashes have cooled; we will
continue.

Everlasting Peace will be hewn from war. Death will enable life. Our
civilisation will go on, this is not the end; just a beginning of the new
paradigm.

As the great bells of Notre Dame tolled Eleven Oclock fire fell from the
sky. Sleeping babies opened their eyes just in time to see the world
destroyed; their tiny lives wasted.

People dancing in nightclubs along the Rhine wished the music would go
on forever unaware that it would go on for eternity.

A drunken German raised his glass and toasted the fireball as it burst
above his head, spreading fire and radio-active brimstone.

In the valleys of the Brittany a young couple grope one another through
their soft summer clothing; hot and alive with the first pangs of youth.
They hoped this feeling would last forever; never dreaming that it would.
In Antwerp a young lad lays still upon his bed clutching a crucifix to his
heart. The windows are flung wide to the warm evening air as he sees an
apparition on the horizon. The boy sits up as it creeps across the sky and
fills the room with light. He melts with joy.

FLASH WHITE FLASH

WHITE HOT HEAT

Burning, searing, roasted, toasted, flaming futures. Cracking splitting

bloated maggot-ridden features.

Death rides the vortex.

A thousand cloven hooves stamp across the sky, trampling the cities to
dust and dancing upon the destruction

Part 111
The road To Glory
Go prostrate yourself
at the knee of your master
be a plaything of men

and wander a painted harlot;

ravishing with sweet scent
and Chinese colouring in the streets.
Darken thou eye pits with kohl
thou hast tinted thou lips with vermilion;
Thou hast plastered thou cheeks with ivory enamels.

Thou hast played the wanton

in every gate and byway of the Great City.
The men have lusted after thee
to abuse and to beat.
They have mouthed golden spangles of fine dust
Wherewith thou did bedeck thine hair.
They have scourged the painted flesh of thee
with their whips
And you have suffered unspeakable things.
 But I have burned within you as a pure flame
without oil.
In the midnight I have been brighter than the Moon,
in the daytime I have
exceeded utterly the Sun.
In the byways of your being I flamed and dispelled any illusion.
Therefore
Thou art wholly pure before me,
therefore
thou art my virgin unto eternity.
(Kindly reproduced from: A.C The Holy Books:Liber 4)

The Planet looked pale and stormy as it spun on its axis in the twilight of
space, between the sparkling stars and other revolving planets. Nothing
had changed up there; it was still, dark, cold and empty; infinite. But
down there nothing would ever be the same again.

Earth had changed forever, now a twisted ball of radioactive dust, floating
like a human cell in the universal bloodstream.

She was a cell on the verge of cancerous malignancy, crashing through

the heavens in orbit of the Sun, a tumour of caustic blue. Trailing death in
her wake only the angels knew her true face.

Dense radioactive clouds battled through the deep valleys and open plains
leaving only stinking death and destruction behind.

The Suns rays were filtered by the clouds, so only the ultra violet broke
through, to the surface of the scarred planet.

The savage landscape, the murdered landscape held few living things, it
was the wasted time. It was a period where history died having no one to
record it properly; a second dark age. Only, it was, so much darker.

The bombs were followed by a cold period, short by the planets age but
lengthy, too lengthy if your ribs showed through your tight skin and your
mouth was dry and cracked.

Too lengthy if your parents were dead or dying and your childlike eyes
had never looked for food or warmth or water.
Ashen the ground iced over and the cold winds blew snow across the
frozen bodies. Fierce strokes of lightening shocked the skies and
announced the fall of acid rain. Yet, in all this chaos of rotting flesh and
disease, life hung on tenderly.

The desolate sphere, once gloriously blue and green, spinning among the
stars now ashen and grey; could still give birth to life.

Not just on the burned and scorched, cold and windy surface. Deep
beneath the scarred soil encased in steel and walls of stone, breathing
filtered air and smoking cigarettes; eating hamburgers with fries on the
side.

They were seen every now and then, these elusive creatures, emerging
from their underground lairs like rats in white plastic suits. They took
samples and tested the water before sneaking off, thieves in the night;
with their bounty tight in plastic containers.

They knew they were being spied upon, that behind rocks watched
crooked eyes in faces of stone. The red skins as they were called, those
who had not melted, or turned to vapour.

Those former humans, whose humanity was seared away, in a flash of

burnt-flesh-seconds. Their charred faces, hairless heads and septic sores,
festered with all manner of infection.
They watched and waited.

Yet these things managed to feed themselves by banding together in small

supportive groups; petty tribes. They scavenged for food, for clean water,
clothing and other necessities like insects have always done; as humanity
found a way.

Forever keeping watch for those underground mysteries, being vigilant in

case they should emerge to cause more violence. To bring more terror and
more pain into that scarred world.

Sometimes, as the months turned to years, the Under Grounders, as they

were called, would appear from their tombs in small raiding parties. They
were seen carrying strange weapons that would stun their redskin prey
into animal submission.

These redskins were taken underground to become slaves, or worse,

behind the silo doors. Never to be seen above ground again.
Some did escape, as the years passed and they told of their ordeal to
gasping crowds around starlit bonfires. How those who refused to work
were tortured and subjected to surgical experimentation. The under
grounders were fascinated by the mutations caused by years of
radioactive exposure.

They filled in long questionnaires about sources of water, food and

clothing. They researched and studied what illnesses radioactive
poisoning caused; or weather mutations produced immune responses?
Asked questions, probed and poked, prodded and pushed.

If they found a young child they were eager to dissect the sample redskin
to gauge internal mutations. They did not care that the sample was a
pitiful life, which was cherished and loved by other pitiful specimens.

The years became decades and the decades became centuries as the
march of time turned wood to dust and the Earth healed herself. The
burned and poisoned landscape slowly turned into fertile plains and
grasslands.

Great forests breathed new air into the atmosphere and around the silo
doors, as small animals inherited the earth, moss and ivy grew.

One day a redskin boy, while minding his own business left his village for
a walk in the cow pasture. He took off his shirt in the warm summer sun
and relaxed upon the moss covered stone that he had known since he was
an infant.

It was a big rectangular stone that looked at odds with its environment.
Among the moss and twine-weed was what appeared to be a hatch of
some sort although he had never seen it open and wasnt even sure if it
could.

As a child he was told the stone was the door which led to the bowls of
the Earth and from where demons and spirits could enter their world. He
was told it was a bad place and should be avoided. Curiosity had always
made him wonder why it was bad and what could be so wrong with a
stone, after all?

He liked to sit and look at it, particularly on hot summer days when the
village seemed crowded and noisy. There was something strange about
this stone that fascinated his enquiring little mind. It may have been its
shape, or the way it was made and the material that was used. It did not
appear to be made of the same stone every other rock around it.

It also appeared to be new although he was told rock was ageless; there
since the creation of the universe. He had been told that if he misbehaved
the creatures that inhabited the stone would come at night and drag him
away; never to be seen again.

He smiled remembering these stories and how the myths used to scare
him. There was a particular story his father used to tell.

It was about the night of fire. It was a terrible time when all the women of
the village were struck down with some sort of swamp fever. Struck
down in the night by a monstrous virus that did not affect the men.

A night when lives were wasted and great cries of grief rang out through
the village. Flashes of lightening cracked the heavens above and all the
world was gripped by chaos.

These people were nursed by family members who called their disease
Death Rot. It may have been another mutation but differed from the
others in that it stuck people suddenly and only affected girls and women.

The first symptoms were mild, a sudden headache, dry mouth and skin
complaints. Then a tremor began in the arms and legs. These progressed
into mad shaking and then the rot set in. The skin burst into sickening
sores which oozed slime and a foul smelling liquid.

If you dabbed the slime it pulled the skin away down to the bone and
eventually the whole body turned into a thick sludge while the person
slowly died. The disease had not been seen before and not been seen
since. It struck on the evening that he had been born.

The villagers were convinced that the fire and the Death Rot were caused
by the same thing, but his father had more to think about.

He had to bury his wife, the mother of his new born child before
worrying about unexplained phenomena. The child was unexpected but
would be loved; being born without any mutations or defects except for a
small mark upon its forehead.

As the fire burned, somewhere deep below the surface a man looked at a
small computer screen and sniffed.
What the fuck is happening up there? Another man, dressed in a crisp
white shirt asked as he leant over his companions shoulder and inspected
the screen.

Theres been some overheating around the ventilation ducts.

Oh, is that whats caused the conflagration?

Yes the man replied. The guys in the labs vented their fume
hoods and because they were venting genetic material they followed it
with a blast of heat. The foliage up there was too dry and it caused a fire.
Any collateral damage?

No. the man replied. Theres a village nearby the vent and they may
have experienced some damage but nothing too bad.
Good, keep up the good work. The man said walking away to a desk
and sitting behind his computer monitor.

The boy though about the story of that night and wondered what life
would have been like if his mother had not died. He was happy, the
village was pretty and clean, with good water and food. The river was
supplied by a spring and it ran into a lake which had good fish to eat.

They also grew crops of rye and wheat which his father made into flour
for bread or cakes. They hauled their ploughs with horses and collected
wood for the fires. Some people had resurrected the old metal furnaces
and so good iron tools were available for barter.

As he sat on the rock and thought about how beautiful the field and
pastures looked in that warm summer sun, the boy heard a sound.

He listened closely and realised that it appeared to be coming from where

he sat. Jumping up with a start and ran a little before curiosity took over
from the initial panic. He stopped and hid behind a small bush towards
the place he had been daydreaming.

The sound, a clicking, became more pronounced until it became a buzz

and this became a whir. Then among the moss and twine-weed a crack of
light appeared around the square in the rock. A door was opening and the
boy felt himself fill with dread.

He was unsure why, perhaps it was the stories hed been told about the
monsters that dwelt in these places; but he was overtaken with a panic
such like hed never felt before.
Then he saw them. Several ghosts emerged from the rock dressed from
head to toe in white plastic suits; they had no faces just blank black
squares where their eyes should have been. These were the monsters he
had been told about. Once again his curiosity overcame his fear and he
stood on tip-toes to get a better look.

The one in front held a rod in one hand and appeared to be looking at a
box held in the other. Another seemed to be collecting soil samples and
placing them in a strange looking contraption and taking note of the
readings it gave.

Then the one in front lowered his wand and started to unzip his head. The
others appeared to be studying him and, to the boys surprise the monster
pealed back the black square to reveal a face. These were not monsters,
they were men, men with masks on.

The face was deathly white with large grey eyes and a mop of dry grey
hair. He took a deep breath and exhaled with a smile.
Its okay, men. He said to the rest of the party. Im reading a pollution
level of 00.6, well below the level we expected.

The others took their hoods off and the boy saw that some were young
and others were women. They were all very white skinned and seemed
relieved that they could breath the air. The elder man looked at the group
and continued to address them.

At last he said. We can come out from our underground prisons and
live in the light of the Sun; today history is being made. Today we can
rise up from our pits and take our place in the new world order we have
created. Today we can become kings over the land and rule again, in the
name of our God.

Upon hearing this, the boy turned and crept away from the scene, hearing
the others clapping in the background. He crept through the trees like a
scared animal running from a predator; in fear of those white faces and
those grey steely eyes.

He ran as fast as he could back to the village. He did not understand quite
why but he knew he wanted to get away from them, to gather his
belonging and find some remote place he could hide away in. He ran and
as he did so a mighty roar filled the catacombs beneath his feat; a cheer
rang out among the steel and concrete, the Under grounders were coming
up.

A farmer was tending his crops in the field a short distance from the
village when he saw something strange coming toward him. In the
distance there was a line of people, he became stiff with fear seeing the
strange way they were dressed and their deathly expressions.

Some carried small boxes which they held in front of themselves. They
made noises or lit up and seemed to be giving the strangers indications of
what was around them; digital readings of air pressure and pollution
levels.

Then they were upon him, one gripped his hand tightly in a terrifying
grasp that made his fingers hurt; shaking it violently as the others formed
a circle around him.

Friends, the deathly white stranger said with a snarl to the assembled
group. I have led you triumphantly from the grave into the new dawn of
civilisation. We have spent too long amongst the rotting flesh of our
ancestors, too long in the cradle of warfare; forced to feed upon the scraps
we could harvest without benefit of sunlight.

Never seeing or hearing the birds flying above our heads in the sunlit
clouds; never to feel the chill of the wind on our faces. We were cursed to
live in the tunnels of our forefathers; but no more. Never again.

He looked at the man whose hand he was shaking and smiled.

Look at this savage. He and his people have waited patiently for us to
come and show them what can be done with this world.

How man can manipulate its bounties and reign over its dominions. We
have risen, like our Lord, and we are here to take our place on the throne
of this kingdom. Today the New World Order has arrived.

The assembled crowd was getting bigger and bigger as more people
joined him. They roared with approval and some clapped his words which
only made the farmer more nervous. When the white man had let his hand
go the farmer shirked and pushed his way through the crowd and ran back
to the village; frightened out of his wits.

There goes the real hero! the man continued. In the eyes of that savage
you can see the suffering his people have had to contend with. We must
be gentle with them; it will take them a while to get used to our ways but
in the end it will be worth it. Where are the armed men?

Here, Mr President. A soldier from the rear shouted. He pushed through

the crowd with several others and they cocked their weapons in readiness.

That savage and his ancestors, those that burned in the fire of our miss-
judgment, they will take time to come around. All we can do is promise
not to repeat the mistakes of our forefathers and add with that promise a
sincere wish to restore the world to its former glory.

We shall organise his people and bring civilisation. We shall restore our
empire and bring about a new Rome to this planet again; in the name of
our Father, Amen. Now

He added smugly while lighting up a cigar.

...Lets show these fuckers whose boss.

Four Years Later

Deep within a forest far away from any others a house stood. It was a
house built with love, single story, made of logs and shingle roof but with
a warm hearth and all that was needed for comfort.

The man who built it planned to farm the land in time but, for now, had
just catered for himself and the small boy he cared for. This was the boy
who had once hid behind a rock when the strangers emerged from their
deep underground military bases. He had gathered his things; including
his father, and they had run here to this place.

A well had been dug and a lone pair of hands had watered the small crop
which was sown. In the thick forest a farm now grew from the land; they
were happy there, the boy and his father.
Son! A voice echoed through the trees.
Neits, my boy, where are you?

Here father. Neits answered. He looked up from where he was sitting

towards the hut in the clearing beyond. Im here, with the goats.

He saw the top of his fathers head come over the small hill that separated
him from the hut. As his father approached he thought about the time that
had passed since they had arrived in this lonely, beautiful place.
He had been eight years old and his father had carried him on his
shoulders most of their journey to that place. He remembered how they
had lived in a tent until the logs for the hut had been cut and the well dug.

How great it had seemed to at last come in from the cold and light a fire
in the hearth, how safe he felt there. He remembered, in the mornings he
would open the hut door and find wild animals in the yard, visiting the
new residents of the great forest and was amazed at how tame they were.

The only thing that had disturbed his happiness was the memory of the
day he had seen them come from beneath the earth. Those white faced
monsters with their plastic suits and machines.

Now, the only time he saw them was in his dreams, he would wake up
frightened and his father would have to comfort him back to sleep. In his
mind he saw them amidst strange symbols and echoes of dreams which
he did not understand.

Sometimes, when he was daydreaming he would remember one of the

symbols and in his minds eye wonder what it was; he knew it was
familiar but from where confused him.

Neits, snap out of your day dream. His father said when he reached
him. There is wood to be collected and I have made you some food. Eat
and then do your chores, the goats will feed themselves.

The boy stood up and patted the nearest goat upon its head before
following his father back to the hut. He looked up at the giant of a man,
the man who had raised him since the night of the Death Rot, the night
his mother had died.

He followed trying to keep up with the large steps his father was able to
make but never being able too without tripping. They sat at the table his
father had crafted from four planks of wood and ate the food placed there.

It was a rabbit stew and it tasted good. His father had cooked it early that
day in the big pot they had brought with them from the village. The smell
seemed to fill the whole hut and it smelt as good as it tasted.

This is lovely. The boy said wolfing it back.

Its amazing what the forest provides, His father replied. If you know
what you are looking for. One day Im going to clean one of those goats
and make a real meal, a roast or something.
This made the boy stop eating. He knew by saying clean his father meant
to kill and butcher the animal. The thought of eating one of his pet goats
filled him with horror. His father smiled and laughed aloud.

Dont worry, I wont take any of your precious animals yet, but one day
we may have too. Get used to the idea.

Beside two beds and the table the hut had just a dresser with drawers for
their clothing and a comfortable chair his father snoozed in when the fire
was blazing.

Next to the table was a hole cut into the wall which served as a window.
It was secured in bad weather by means of two shutters that seldom
served their purpose; blowing open frequently and being no defence
against hard rain. Still it was comfortable and provided the pair with
security and a roof over their heads.

As they continued to eat, Niets looked over his fathers shoulders, and out
the window. He peered towards the row of trees in the distance and the
mountains beyond them.

The sky seemed huge, even through the square window, and was alive
with birds and clouds. He imagined himself there rising in the air, high
above the trees and looking at the hut far below.

He felt himself fly like a bird, or better still a spirit; restricted by no

mortal constraints. Unchained and flying far above the world into the
stratosphere beyond until he could wrap his arms around the universe.

Then, in the mist of this vision he saw a face staring back at him out of
the blackness. He saw a face that could destroy everything.

Snap yourself out of your dreams boy! his father snapped. Ive never
know anyone so dreamy before, the way you drift off into a trance every
time you sit still for a few minutes. Look how cold your food is getting;
Im sure all this vagueness cant be good for you.

I have nothing else to do, the boy replied. Except think and I like
thinking.
Your food has got cold again, His father said. Do you know that in the
village there are people who would murder for such a feast; and cold at
that. You have been spoilt.

Yes father. The boy replied trying to place that face in his mind; where
had he seen it before, was there a name that matched it?

Youve always been a daydreamer, ever since you were a child. Off you
would go and Id never be sure if youd come out the other side. Perhaps
if you had a mother

The man looked at the boy and smiled sadly. Niets looked back and
smiled too.
I hear they are rebuilding a city where the village used to be? He said
through a mouthful of food.
...One of the Great Cities from olden times.

Madness, he father replied. They said that the land was contaminated
and that no crops could grow there; although crops have grown there for
years. Good crops at that.

Then, when the farmer had been tufted out they decide the ground can be
built on. What, I ask, about the man and his family that depended on that
land. What about them?

The old man looked over at the boy and said.

Anyhow Son. How do you know about the cities from the past, surely
Ive not mentioned them?

No father. The boy replied. Before we came here Id heard people tell
stories about them.
What stories?

You know. The boy said collecting his thoughts.

A long time ago there was a great civilisation, where people had
machines which flew and others that replaced the horse.

They had great power but it was used to destroy them. There were ruins
near the village and we used to play in them. My friends and I.
They had power the old man said. But they were stupid and greedy.
Some people ate gold while others ate dirt. In time this gold poisoned
them. The man sighed and rubbed his chin.
All they left behind was stone and rusting steel...Neits interjected. ...
even that will turn to dust in time. Then there will be nothing left to
remind us of their stupid civilisation.

If only that were true. The old man said with a long sigh.
People make a civilisation and if they are building the cities again then
they are building the system that previously destroyed them. People never
learn.

Ive seen people. The boy said with a cheeky grin. Ive talked to
them..
What?

Ive seen them from time to time in the forest. Travelling people; I dont
think they liked what was going on and have moved away like we did.

Why didnt you mention this too me before. His father asked with a
note of concern.
I thought youd be angry that Id wandered off so far. I wanted to tell
you, really I did, especially the news Id heard.

What news is that? his father asked placing his spoon down on the table
and looking at the boy intently.
Ive heard them say the white people are forming an army of slaves.

So you have spoken to these people, these strangers?

Yes.
Didnt I tell you never to speak to strangers? his father bellowed. Its
dangerous.

Im sorry father but I was interested to know what was happening

outside this forest.
What did they say then, these people?

They talk about the whites having weapons and using them to enslave
the villagers. They call us redskins, they stop them growing food and
make them buy it with coins which you can only get if you work for
them.

They say their land has been taken and then they are charged to return to
it. It sounds
All too familiar. His father interjected. Please tell me if you see any
others, boy, the old man said thoughtfully. It could be important.

A few days later Neits was walking in the forest. It was another hot,
humid day and he was looking for a perfect place to sit and ponder the
beauty of the world.

There was so much to see, the moss creeping up the side of young oaks,
huge crab-apple mushrooms and green vines everywhere. In trees, over
the rocks and among the lush grass on which he stood, natures beauty
was everywhere.

He had travelled quite far and was thirsty when he came across a clear
fresh-water pond. It had a small water fall at one end and was surrounded
by a thick fringe of reeds. He stripped off his clothing and stepped into
the water to escape the high mid-day sun.

Diving forward he was swallowed up by the refreshing fluid. He felt it

caress his skin like a film as he held his breath and swam. All was silent
in that other world of fish and stone under the surface.

Then he was rising for air as his lungs could be held stiff no longer. He
shook the water from his hair and looked back towards the bank. His
clothes, which had been left folded were now strewn around in a mess
although he could not see anyone. He stood erect and looked more
closely but there was no-one there, not even an animal.

Stepping cautiously from the water he heard a sharp crack come from the
tree line and this made his stop suddenly.
Is anyone there? he shouted. His voice echoed in the clearing and died
out on the whistle of a soft breeze. Who is that, answer me?

He stepped from the water and quickly pulled on his pants and lifted a
rock to defend himself. Who is there?

There was a rustle in the nearby bushes and a shadow moved. Neits
looked closer as a small boy emerged. He was dressed in rags and had no
shoes on his feet but his eyes were clear and his skin red so Neits did not
feel frightened.

He noticed the boy had the same coloured hair and was about the same
height, he smiled gently, and walked to wards him while dropping the
rock to his feet.
Hello. Neits said.
Hello, the boy replied. My name is Adam, who are you?

Neits looked into the boys clear brown eyes and saw something that
indicated friendliness, a certain frailty, something in the sparkle of his
pupils that made him feel at ease.

My name is Neits. He replied.

What are you doing in the forest? The stranger asked excitedly. Are
you wanted by the cops?
The cops? Neits replied. Who are they?

You know, the boy laughed. The cops, the police. Surely you know
who the police are?

Neits looked blankly at the boy and shrugged.

Theyre after me, Im an enemy of the state, thats what they call people
like me, you know, thieves.
Thieves?

Yes, thieves. I stole an apple and that makes me a thief. The cops can
lock you up for stealing so I ran away. Did you run away?
Not really. Neits replied putting his shirt on. Me and my father came
here to live some time ago.

Your father, you have a father? The boy said eagerly. I had a father
once but the cops killed him.
Was he a thief too?
Yes, the boy replied wide eyed. But he didnt steal apples, he went
after their weapons. He thought the cops would leave us alone if we had
guns.

Did they? Niets asked softly. Did they leave you alone?

No, the boy said softly. They killed my father and tried to kill me.
The stranger looked about with a wide look in his eyes before asking.

Do you live in a tree house. If I lived in this forest I would live in a tree
house. That way you could catch birds and fry their eggs for breakfast.
Do you catch birds and fry their eggs?

No. Neits answered. We have chickens and we cook their eggs.

Can you keep chickens in a tree house then?
We dont live in a tree house, we have a proper house.

Really? the boy said excitedly. Youre lucky, I wish I had a proper
house. Is it near here?
Not far.

Me and my parents had a house once, when I was a baby. They pulled it
down and started to build Europa on the land.
What is Europa? Neits asked.

Youre funny. The boy smiled. He picked up a stone and tossed it into
the pond. Europa is the city they are building; its a long way from
here.

Is that where the cops are?

Yha, but I think they are following me. Wed better look out because I
dont want to be locked up. Thats what they do. My father told me before
they killed him, theyll lock you up and throw away the key.

You said you had parents, two parents?

Yes? Adam replied looking at Neits with a half smile.
Like, a mother as well as a father?

You are really funny. Of course I had a mother but I had to leave her
when my father was killed. She was taken by Whitey, thats what my
father called them. The men with the guns.

The cops?
Theyre white too but the others have guns as well and they are not cops.
They say theyre called da boss. If you speak to them you have to say yes
boss, no boss. Like that, understand?
I think so.
The whitey work with the cops.

Ive got a great idea. Adam exclaimed. Why dont we swap clothes,
then if I run into the cops or whitey they wont know if its me or not.
Theyll not know what Im wearing.

You want me to give you my clothes? Neits said nervously; knowing

that his father would not be happy if he gave his clothes away, especially
his shoes.
I couldnt do that, my father would
Tell him you gave your clothes to me. Adam said cutting Neits off in
mid sentence. If you tell him why we had to swap Im sure he would
understand.
I dont know.

Look, have this as well, its my only possession. Adam pulled back his
sleeve and on his wrist was a thick band made of twisted leather. A girl
gave it to me. Its a love token.

A love token?
Yes, that means she loved me. The boy took the band off and passed it
over. Neits looked at the band closely, it was frayed and stained and was
not very strong but the way it was weaved intrigued him.

Okay. He said simply.

I liked her but I didnt love her, she was a mutant. Have you got any
mutants around here?
No.

They started to undress and change clothes while Adam told him about
the mutants that lived in Europa. He said that there was a whole area that
only mutants could enter and even the cops wouldnt go there because
they were afraid.

He said that if he needed help he knew some who

would hide him for a while or feed him if he was hungry. Then with a
cheeky smile the boy whispered something.
My mother died too.
Really? Niets replied.
Yha, a long time ago, before I was born.
Oh.

The he was gone leaving nothing of him behind except his dirty rags and
the thin leather band.

Neits walked through the trees until he started to see things that he
recognized. As the hut came into view he thought back to his meeting
with Adam and wondered what the boy was doing now and where he had
gone.
It occurred to him that they were very similar, both without mothers, both
lost in the new world order that had been created since the under
grounders had come out of their lairs; both outsiders.

He felt as if the boy was closer then he should have been, like a brother of
sorts and this feeling made him happy.

His father was sitting in his old chair beside the glowing hearth. He
looked tired and old having probably been cutting wood and looking after
the animals since the sun rose. He opened a wary eye as the boy closed
the door to the hut.

Where have you been all day? the old man asked. Then he sat forwards
and looked at the rags Neits was wearing. Where are your clothes, and
your shoes?
I met a stranger in the forest and he needed by help.

His father stood suddenly and grabbed the boys shoulders.

Where are your shoes? It took me ages to make them from our leather.
What have you done with them?

He was being chased and needed to change his clothes so that he could
escape. He gave me this Neits held up his wrist and the leather band
that was tied loosely around it.

Bhaa! The old man spat. You have been conned. Look at these rags, I
cant believe you gave your shoes away having seen how long it took me
to make them. Now, where am I going to get more leather to make you
shoes?

He sat down and looked at the fire before saying gently. Youre too
good, people will use you.

Im sorry father.
The stranger. His father said with a sigh.
Yes?
You said he was escaping?
Yes?
From what, what was he escaping?

He was a boy like me. Neits replied. He said he came from the city
and his father had been killed. He said he was hungry and took an apple.
This made the cops angry and they were looking for him.
You foolish boy. The old man said wearily. It sounds like he spun you
a yarn to deprive you of your shoes.

Its true. Neits said. He told me that the cops have weapons and they
use these to make people work for them; that they kill you if you dont do
as they ask. Or throw away the key

And you let this boy con you? the old man replied grabbing the boys
arm. Tell me, did he ask where we lived. Did he see what direction you
left in?
I dont think so.
Its important, we dont want them to find us do we?
Who father? the boy asked.

His father let go of his arm and smiled gently.

Theres food over there, on the table. After you have eaten we will
He stopped in mid sentence and listened hard.
What is it father?

Hush your mouth boy. his father listened carefully and gazed towards
the window. Then he took the boy in his arms and walked to the bed. He
stooped down and pushed the bed up a little before stuffing the boy under
it.
Not one sound. He said holding his finger to his lips.

His father arranged the bedclothes into a curtain so that they covered the
space under it. Neits heard his father shuffle about in the room and
wondered what was going on, he closed his eyes and listened hard and
then behind the sound of his fathers movements he heard another sound.

At first he thought it was the wind blowing through the trees. Yet it
appeared to be a single note, like a pipe of something being blown. It was
a sound hed never heard before and it was getting louder.

Then the faint note became a hum, a clear deep hum in the distance. It
was the sound of a machine and it was getting louder and more intense.
He heard the sound of his father open the door and step into the twilight
beyond as the summer sun slowly left the sky; a sky blood red with omen.

As the door opened the hum became a loud buzzing and it reverberated
about the room like the sound of a banshee; splitting the warm air, rancid
and frightening. Neits lowered his face and pressed it into the floorboards
hoping they would swallow him up.

His father walked into the yard beyond the hut and knew in his heart that
their adventure was over. A could of dust was being thrown into the night
air over the hill and as it came closer his heart sank.

They were then upon him, a convoy of three motorcycles and outriders
followed by a large square truck. They spewed black exhaust gasses into
the clean air as they turned the last corner and the smell got into his
nostrils and made him feel sick.

When they had pulled to a halt by the hut their riders turned off the
deafening engines while the driver of the truck kept his running and
throttled the engine occasionally.

A cloud of dust settled around them as the first rider got off his engine
and approached the old man.

His hair was long and greasy, there was black engine oil on his face and
his breath smelt of dead fish. He smiled wickedly walking around the old
man before taking a long baton from his belt and smashing it against his
hand.
Identity papers? He spat.

I dont understand Neits father answered. What are identity

papers?
Are you a fool or something old man; give me your identity papers.

The others got off their bikes and approached them and he trembled more
seeing the large iron bars they carried menacingly.
Ive been in this forest for several years, I dont have any papers.

Dont lie Old man, the first rider said poking him in the gut with his
baton. There was a census last year, everyone was given identity papers,
a number and passbook. Only thieves and criminals didnt get registered.
What are you a thief or a criminal?

Ive been in this forest for well over a year, I havent seen anyone in that
time, I wasnt part of your census.
The lead cyclist looked at his fellow riders and turned slightly before
swinging round and smashing his baton in the old mans face. This sent
him sprawling across the floor.

You think youre clever, dont you old man?

He looked at his friends and one of them gave him a piece of paper.
Were looking for an absconder, a mutant boy, if I find you are hiding
him youll be in serious trouble.

Im just a simple farmer, Ive done no harm to you. No keep out of

there

It was no good, the group entered the hut and started to throw the
furniture about in a frenzy. Then one of them pulled back the bed and
Neits was left exposed to them.

As expected. The lead rider said pulling the boy to his feet by the scruff
of his neck. He dragged him outside. Give me the description?

Male, boy.
Check.
Fair hair. The other said.
Check.
Five two approx.
Check.
Brown eyes.
Check.
Utility suit No: 321.

The rider pulled back the boys neck line and read the number printed
within.
Check, this is the little bastard.
What about the scar? the other rider asked.
Where was it?
It dont say. Just see if he has any distinguishing marks.

The rider pulled back Neits fringe and looked at the scar he had on his
forehead.
Yha, this is the little cunt.

He threw the boy to another of the riders who clutched him tightly in a
hug. Then he walked to the old man still prostrate on the floor and spat.
I told you that youd be in trouble if you were harbouring a mutant.
What have you got to say before I pass sentence?

Believe me. The old man cried. He is my son, we have lived here
since he was a child. Please do not take him.
Hes your son?
Yes.

Then why were you hiding him? He gestured for the others to put the
boy into the truck.
Father. Neits cried out as he was dragged away.
The last thing he saw before the back of the truck was closed was the lead
rider lift his baton and bring it down in a mighty arch into his fathers
scull.

There was a loud crack and blood splattered up the baton. Then there was
blackness as the door was closed.
Father, what are they doing to you? he screamed.

Then a loud crack shot out in the night. It was as if a cannon had been
fired into the vehicle for the sound bounced from steel wall to steel wall
in an every decreasing echo.

Neits then realised that his life would never be the same again, it was the
end of his blissful childhood.

That single loud clap announced the dawning of a new era, a time for him
to feed himself, wash his own face and mourn the memories of old. Why,
he though, as the truck rattled into motion, throwing him against the steel
doors.

Why, does life have to be so hard, when all he wanted was to live in
peace? Why does life insist on being so difficult?

He thought about what the riders had said. Was he a mutant? Surely this
was not true, he had eight fingers and two thumbs, two eyes in his head,
two ears. His legs and arms worked properly.

The mutants he had seen in the distant past had problems with one or all
of these things. No, he thought, they were clearly speaking about Adam,
after all, it was he that they sought.
The truck rumbled on and on and on. Never ceasing its incessant
shaking, sometime lurching to the left, sometimes to the right, the van
occasionally appeared to stop suddenly throwing him across the floor.

It was on one such occasion that Neits heard the driver shout at the top of
his lungs that they were nearing their destination, Capitol City.

Here we come, the driver announced, as the van tumbled down a steep
incline and over a rocky path. He wondered what this could mean having
thought they were taking him to a place called Europa, wasnt that what
Adam had called it, all those bumpy hours ago?

Then with a further roll and creek the van shuddered to a halt and the
noisy engine was switched off. The motion had got into his bones and he
was left feeling quite sick having not been use to such reeling and rolling.
He sighed and lifted his frail body as far as his knees in silence, in
darkness, listening.

He could hear many voices outside the truck, like they had stopped in the
midst of a flock of geese. It was hot in there and he was thirsty, his lips
parched and dry cracked as they desperately sought saliva from his dry
mouth.

Then he heard a sharp clap on the side of the van that made him start with
fear. He looked towards the back of the truck and hearing a scraping lock
being pulled the doors swung open flooding the interior with light. Neits
looked up through squinting eyes and saw his fathers killer smiling back
at him.

You, in there. The man screamed. Stop acting like a baby and make
your way forward. Here, boy, here, quickly.

Neits did as he was told picking himself up and made his way towards the
light, shielding his eyes from its intense glow. Hiding the tears that had
collecting in them.

When he stepped down onto the greasy dirt he found himself in an

enclosure. There were people everywhere and most of them looked like
the man now holding his arm tightly.

With long greasy hair and weapons strung about their shoulders. Some
though were like him, dressed in the same rags and of a similar build and
age. This puzzled him.
He was led through a thick doorway which not only boasted a sturdy
wooden door but also an iron gate both of which were secured behind
them after he was pulled through.

He was dragged down a darkened hall and then led into a small room.
Several doors were set into the wall that faced them all notable by their
ugliness and apparent strength.

Each door being equipped with no less than four heavy bolts and two
solid looking padlocks. The boy wondered if these were intended to keep
people in or to lock would be thieves out; he realised that soon enough he
would find out.

One on, Governor. His guard called. Then, from an opposite door a
sound came. It was more of a sullen groan then a reply and was followed
by the rattle of keys on a chain.

The door opened and with a creaking of floorboards a huge beast of a

man entered the room. He was dressed like the others although his long
hair was tied back revealing a scarred and burned face and his costume
was covered in ageless stains.

Lets be having you. The monster croaked as he stepped across the

room to a bolted door.
323, for you. the boys guard stated. Its the absconder, you know the
one, his keeper will be collecting him soon enough.

Id better look after him then. The monster replied. I go^ a lovely little
room for youere, he spat.
It wi^ suit ye good. Step this way litt^un.

Neits did as he was asked and became a prisoner behind the huge door
that was slammed behind him. He listened as each of the four bolts were
swung back in place securing the door.

Neits cursed under his breath thinking that he would have howled out
loud if the situation hadnt been so desperately sad. It was slightly
amusing that the monster would think the boy could break even one of
the bolts.
After a while in the warm and stuffy room the boy felt sleep begin to
overtake him. A hard wooden bench was the only piece of furniture in the
room and even that felt comfortable after his long journey. He lay on it
and closed his eyes.

Waves of relaxation swept over him and he slipped down gently. Into the
night he slept, into the void of sleep and into the valley of dreams. Down
the valley beyond he flew and across the sweeping field of trees to his old
home. The one his father had wrought from the forest floor.

There was the old man sitting beside a glowing fire in his rocking chair.
The hut was washed in a soothing glow that made the boy heart feel
happy again. Neits peered into the hearth and saw within the flickering
embers another scene. A man stood within a circle of fire engulfed in
flames and shouting strange names to the wind. His dark hood and
flowing robes shone scarlet and blue in the light from the fire.

The man raised a sword above his head and cursed the clouds as they
rolled by. Then his eyes turned and the two faced each other across a
void; an abyss of flowing magma.

323. Rouse yourself!

Neits sat up upon hearing the voice cut through the thick air in his cell, he
found the door had been opened and his jailer towering over him.
Get up, littun, the monster spat. Youre leaving.

Where am I going? Neits asked softly.

Youll soon find out. The monster said before turning on his heels and
rattling the keys on his chain.

He followed the man outside and was led to another gate along a dingy
corridor. Here the monster took a set of chains and wrapped them around
the boys ankles.

He then led him by a further chain down another hall beyond. The only
sound to be heard as they made their way was the deep, asthmatic
wheezing of the monster and the clanking of the chains on the stone floor.

When, at last, they came to a huge wooden door encrusted with steel bolts
the monster directed Neits towards a three legged stool and told him to
sit.
Am I to be collected? The boy asked as the jailer sorted though his keys
looking for the one that fit.
Collected? the monster laughed as he tried another key in the lock only
to find it did not fit.

Not collected, littun he repeated looking for another key to try in

the lock. The lock at last clicked and the door swung open.
Youre to be sold.

The corridor filled with noise and light as the monster let out a huge
laugh pulling the door back to revel a courtyard crawling with activity.
The monster waved the boy through the door before locking it up
afterwards.

Neits found himself in a large round courtyard full of people walking in

an ever decreasing circle. Once they reached the centre they joined the
outside of the spiral and did the walk again.
What do you mean, the boy asked the jailer. What do you mean by
sold?

I mean littun, the monster replied leading the boy through the centre
of the spiral towards another gate on the other side of the yard.

That your previous master has been dune with yo. You been offered up
for auction.
That cant be. The boy said as he looked up at the ogre. Im not a
slave, Ive never been owned by anybody.

Save yo lies for the scum in the auction cellar. The jailer said as he
tugged the boy forward.

But its true. Neits screamed. I was living with my father, I met a boy
in the woods and we swapped clothing; it was him that was running away,
not me.
Oh, yes the jailer laughed. Yo got some front, no wonder the last
won waz fed up wi ye.

Neits was finally dragged through the far gate and into another small
dingy room. There was another door which faced the door he entered and
next to it sat a small wooden desk with another guard sitting studiously
behind it.
One on Sir. Said the monster to the other guard as he placed the boy in
front of the desk. An a right lil brat he is too.

Is this the absconder? the guard at the desk said as he lifted a clipboard
and attached a form to it.
That be right. Said the monster as the other guard put a small tick on
the form he held.
Right, he said sternly. I want you to empty your pockets and place
their contents on the table.

I havent got anything in my pockets. The boy replied.

Okay then, he said with a snarl. I want you to take off your clothing
and place everything in this box. He indicated a box too his left.
Start with your shoes.

I havent got any shoes. Neits said softly.

Oh, the man said ticking the box. Well start with your socks.
I havent got any socks.

What? the guard huffed.

I tol ye, he be a right one. The monster smiled.
Well, the guard behind the desk snapped. Put what you have got in the
box and stop messing me around.

The boy removed his utility suit which was his only piece of clothing and
put it in the box as directed.

Then he stood there waiting for the next order feeling the chilly air rattle
against his bones. He folded his arms in front of his chest in the vein hope
that it would stop his shivers. It didnt and so he stood there trembling.

He looks like a healthy lad? the guard said to no one in particular after
scribbling a note on his form. Ive seen plenty of you lot pass through
these doors but none so fit as thee.

Miserable wretches normally, each and every one of em; not you though.
Whos been feeding you?
I lived with my father in the hills. Neits replied shivering intensely.

You wait till ye here this. The monster laughed. Hes a one alright.
Its true. The boy pleaded through clattering teeth. I lived in the hills
with my father.
The thought of his father brought tears to his eyes and he stood there
thinking about the hut and the forest and the animals that he had loved.
He remembered the smell of pitch being boiled in the huge pot they had
to put on the roof in the winter. He remembered his fathers voice
comforting him in the mist of mid-winter snow- storms.

How strong hes father felt when he lain beside him sleeping. In the
middle of dark winter nights he was comforted, while the bats and wild
dogs called from beyond the window, he was safe there and felt wanted.

Hes a goodun at keeping a story. The monster laughed. Truth was,

somebody harboured him.
Just as I thought. The guard behind the desk said. These boys lose
weight when theyre on the run. This ones as strong as a dog; did they
shoot the pig that hid him?

Think so. The monster said with a shrug.

He wasnt a pig, Neits screamed through his tears. He was my father,
and I loved him.

Put this on. The guard said thrusting a dressing gown across the table at
the boy. And follow me. He led the boy through the door by his desk
and down a further darkened corridor which had secure doors set into
each side; each identical to the next.

When at last they reached the end of the corridor the guard took his keys
and unlocked the furthest door before pushing the boy into the cell and
slamming the door behind him.
Im thirsty. Neits shouted. I want to drink some water.

The words faded with the sound of the door slamming as he listened to
the sound of the guards footfalls echoing away from him.

He was in another small, hot room that was bare of all furniture except a
small chair that sat alone in a corner looking as uninviting as it could.
Neits needed to lay down, feeling tired still and so he stretched out on the
stone floor and rested his head on his folded arms.

It had been a long day, a long and miserable day. Why, he thought, did his
life continue to be so tough; he was concerned about his present situation
and worried about what the future might hold.
He stretched out on the cold floor and felt the chill in the stone bite into
his back, why, he thought, was it like this for all small boys?

He drifted into a light sleep and once again saw there, projected onto the
back of his eyelids, the figure of a man. A brown skinned man with blue
mud caked over his body with hair like the roots of a tree. The thick black
locks spread out from his head with fire burning in them. His eyes were
red, blood red but shone like the suns reflection on an ocean wave. The
man raised his left hand and placed the index finger to his lips.
Silence. He whispered. I will show you the mysteries of the stars; the
answers will then be yours.

Neits saw behind the mans right hand, which was raised to the heavens, a
bright moon glowing in beautiful glory. Behind the silver disc shone a
brilliant sun-burst which shot lines of blinding light through the heavens.

An eclipse occurred, the moon became a black circle and the boy felt like
he was being sucked into the centre of that dark hole. He was sucked
from the cold floor into the dark matter surrounded by radiance; through a
door and into another realm.

Once there he saw a bright green field and shocking blue sky; fluffy
white clouds bobbed on the horizon as a huge rainbow arched above
them.

Then he saw him, a man just like himself only older, inverted, but as
himself.

Wake up, you! Said a voice like thunder in the sky. He felt a sharp dig
in his ribs and opened his eyes to find it was now the following morning.

A guard towered over his prostrate body and his foot gave Neits leg a
sharp kick.
Get up boy. The guard shouted. Its your turn.

Neits stood and pulled his gown around his body in a vain attempt to get
warmth from the thin material. He wondered what the guard had meant
by it being his turn, perhaps, he thought, they were going to feed him.

He followed the guard back into the long corridor and back down to
where the other guard still sat behind his small wooden desk. He was
filling out another form attached to a clipboard.
One off, Sir! The boys escort said to the guard behind the desk who
proceeded to make a small mark on his form.
Get dressed. The guard said throwing him the box with the boys rags
in them.

Neits did as he was told and then followed his escort on through a further
gate and down another long corridor. The only other sound beside their
foot falls was the clinking of the guards key chain which rattled with
every step.

The boy noticed this place had a bad smell, a dark and unpleasant odour
which left an acrid taste in his mouth. Neits held his breath and hoped
that they would make it to the end of the hall without the need to breath in
case he choked on the stink.

The guard was unaffected by the odour has if hes become accustomed to
it over many years.

Eventually they went through another secured gate at the end of that dark
place and the boy let out a huge sigh, gasping for the fresh air that
permeated there.

They were in another room but this one was busy being populated by
several hundred people. They looked at his thin frame and rags with an
air of sullen disinterest before continuing in their previous activity.

Some looked at the floor, others chatted amongst themselves while others
paced back and forth furiously. A guard smoking a thick black cigar
looked at Neits and then towards the guard.
Is this 232? the man asked. The other guard nodded and pushed the boy
towards the fat cigar smoker.

Right, he said in a puff of smelly smoke. All you have to do is walk

through the door and stand where the cross is marked on the stage.
Will I get a drink of water Neits asked through cracked lips. If I do as
you want.

The fat guard clapped him across the ear sending a puff of cigar ash into
the air where it rained down like grey snow.
Cheeky cunt. The guard said. Get the fuck out there and stop pissing
about.
He pushed the boy through the door and he found himself on a thin stage
raised above the heads of a crowd of people who he could just see
through the glare of a spotlight.

Lot 232. An electric voice echoed out. This ones got plenty of years
of service left in him, no dental problems or scurvy, will make a good bed
warmer or vent scrubber, any bids please?

Neits looked into the blinding spotlight and cupped his hand over his eyes
to shield them from the intensity of the glare.

No history of mental illness the voice crackled. Eyesight good and

hardworking. Youll find this mutant boy loyal and we expect him to
grow into a strong man; wholl give me two hundred?

Two hundred for that scrap! a voice in the crowd laughed. The boy
became aware of a further group of people at his feet, they were looking
up at him with pale white faces and inquisitive eyes.

He was dizzy and thirsty, the light blinding his eyes made him feel sick
and weak. Faintness crept up on him and he wobbled slightly.
That boys ill. Another voice shouted. Hes not worth above ten
coins.

One hundred and fifty... The electric voice cracked. ...Come on

people, thats a bargain.
Has he ever used his Psych? another voice shouted.
No record of psychic terrorism, the electric voice replied. Come on
people, one hundred?
Seventy five. Another voice shouted.

Neits felt the faintness creep from his toes into his calves and up his legs
to his groin. He stumbled forwards.

Ill give you eighty another voice shouted before adding. Hes not
violent, is he?
Just an absconder. The electric voice replied. But keep him in a neck
chain and hell behave himself. Now, any higher then eighty?

Ninety. Said a soft female voice. It was a soothing voice and it left a
quiet void amongst the crowd.
Ninety-five.. a male voice shouted with a sniff.
One-hundred, and be damned. The woman returned.
Have him, then. The male voice spat. I could buy a horse for that
price.

The room erupted in laughter just as the boy fell to his knees.
You have a horse. The female voice said softly. And Ill have this
boy!

Sold. The electric voice said excitedly.

Can someone bring him to my coach? the woman added.

Neits was scooped up in the arms of the cigar-smoking man who took
him from the stage and into the room hes been in previously.

Very good price. The smoking guard said through a mouth full of cigar
smoke. Youre lucky boy, he added. Youre going to a good home.

Im thirsty. Neits whimpered and the guard sat him on a stool in the
crowded office. Someone handed him a metal cup which was full of
lukewarm water. He gulped if back before noticing that it had a film of
scum floating on its top. He was so thirsty that he didnt care, the water
filled his mouth with bliss and tasted like the best liquid hed ever drunk.
Where am I going? he asked softly to no-one in particular.

The guard with the clip board was taking notes and he looked up briefly
to say.
Ignorance is bliss. Before continuing to write on the form in front of
him.
232? another guard shouted as he entered the room.

Thats the bugger. Said the guard behind the desk.

The new guard was dressed in a similar uniform to the others although his
was clean and pressed. It had shiny buttons and metal studs on the collar.
He looked at the dishevelled boy and tutted loudly.

Boy? he said loudly. Neits looked up at him and tried to concentrate.

Your new mistress will collect you shortly. She is a good woman but she
wont take any crap, if you run away it will be the last thing you do,
understand?
Yes. The boy replied softly.
That dont mean the whip, boy. He added. Itll mean the chop, do you
understand, comprendi?
Neits nodded. There was a sharp tap on the door and another guard
walked into the room.

Madame Leigh Sophia! he announced as a beautiful woman entered the

room behind him. She was dressed in a floor length gown made of a
shining material that filled the room with light.
Her soft red hair hung on her shoulders like flaming embers and he saw
that she had clear green eyes that picked him out on the other side of the
room filling him with anticipation.
It that my boy? she asked pointing a delicate finger that was adorned
with fist sized jewels.
Sign this, madam. The guard at the desk said. And hes all yours.
For the first time since his father had been killed the boy did not feel
frightened.

He was led from the building into the morning air which, after all the
stuffy dark room seemed cold and bright. There was a dark vehicle
waiting which was being driven by a man whos sole purpose was to
drive Madame wherever her whim dictated.

She sat in a compartment behind the driver and placed the boy opposite
her so he was back to back with the driver. The vehicle began to move
and they started their journey; in silence.

Every time Neits looked at this woman he noted new things he hadnt
noticed before. Her smell, for instance, travelling along in that small
compartment he caught a sniff of her scent on the air. It was musky and
heavy, with a delicate touch of rose; flowery, it gave her an invisible aura.

Dont be shy, boy. She said smiling at him. Neits looked at her green
eyes and saw emeralds in snow, they glittered like beautiful beasts,
seductive yet mysterious.

Her fingers were long and smooth, with huge rings and gem stones on
each one, tipped with magnificent nails painted red and white.

He looked out the window and saw that they were driving down a mud
road, there were tents and shacks of every description imaginable pitched
on either side. Flags flapped in the wind above each one and he saw
groups of raggedy people standing beside open fires.
Black pillars of smoke rose into the sky turning it a foul grey and now
and then the smell of sewage filtered into the car. He saw a dead body
laying in the ditch which followed the road and noticed that death seemed
everywhere, dead dogs rotted in the fields, dead cats filled every turning,
there were dead horses and dead donkeys; death was all around them and
made the city stink. Yet inside the vehicle only the soft scent of flowers
lingered.

Have you always been so shy? she asked. The boy glanced back at her
coyly. He noticed that the wide brimmed bonnet she wore obscured her
eyes occasionally when she tilted her head.
Or are you just shy of me? she added with a smile.

You have nice hands. Neits said awkwardly.

So do you. She replied. Certainly not workmans hands; you have the
hands of a artist; tell me she smiled. Do you paint of play music?

This direct question made him feel even more awkward. He didnt know
what to say. Not wanting to say the wrong thing and upset her. He just
looked at her and bit his lip indicating his sense of comfort.

Ah, a boy who does not like to talk she said. Will not tell tales.
My secrets will be safe with you I think.

The vehicle rumbled on over the bumpy road towards its final destination.
Neits saw beyond the windows tents and shacks giving way to trees and
fields. Farm animals and crops appeared and he started to feel more
comfortable hoping that he might see something hed recognise.

Occasionally he saw small encampments along the side of the road that
sprouted out of no-where. Here, thin and dirty women greeted the car
with sickly looking children in their arms holding out thin hands begging
for food or money. Each camp appeared to have its own distinctive flag;
he noticed that although they all had differing designs they all bore a
small motif in their centres. It was an elliptical circle made up of two
concentric lines and centred by a white eagles feather.

He also noticed that sometimes the encampments had a mud wall built
around them which bore crudely dubbed slogans. In paint or in chalk,
even in mud. The slogans broadcast a message.

HE IS YOUR REDEEMER
The slogans yelled.

HE IS YOUR SAVIOUR

HE IS YOUR BROTHER

HE IS YOUR FATHER

Neits was intrigued by this and for a moment even considered asking his
host what she made of them. When he looked up at her she seemed to be
deep in thought and so he declined to do so. She looked at him and
smiled again, a fruity smile that was caressed by a smooth red tongue.

He looked back towards the passing landscape and secretly wished their
journey would come to an end in the hope that he might be fed. He had
not eaten for ages and his stomach felt small and tight.

Eventually his wishes were answered and the black vehicle rolled through
a sturdy set of iron gates set in a red brick wall and down a long gravelled
drive way. In the distance he could see a large white building looming
ahead of them.

It was the largest structure he had ever seen and it filled the boy with
wonder. It was four floors high and was topped with a huge dome that
was covered in copper sheeting. In front of the building was a large
portico with a sweeping flight of white stone steps. There, at the bottom
of the steps, was a man and a woman who waited patiently for the vehicle
to stop.

The man, wearing a stiff blue suit, opened the door for madam Leigh and
when she had left the car Neits followed her. The man looked at the boy
with an air of confused disgust.

Cook? Madame said to the woman who was wearing a white apron
over her blue suit.
Yes Madame?
Take this boy and give him a good scrub.
Yes, madam. The cook replied looking at the boy intently.

When he has been scrubbed dress him in a clean uniform, feed him then
bring him to the blue room.
Yes madam.
He is to be my valet.
The cook took the boys hand and led him away to a door beside the stone
steps, he noticed above the door was a stone motif carved into the door
frame. It was circle with a feather in its centre; shimmering in the late
afternoon sunlight.

Neits was tugged by the old maid into the basement staff rooms and
found his eyes bulging from their sockets to see the grandeur of it all. The
floors were marble and the walls covered in teak panelling, over his head
a vaulted ceiling stretched from wall to wall.

He was led up a wide oak staircase which had oil paintings on the walls
and here and there were pieces of finely made furniture inlaid with brass
fittings. After being led through another set of swing doors he found
himself walking past a bronze statue of a boy playing pan pipes, the
statue was larger than even him and the features were cast so lifelike that
you would have thought the boy alive.
Charity? the cook shouted as she pulled the boy into a room which he
recognized as a scullery.
Fix up a tub, we have a guest.

Neits saw, attending to some pots, a thin black girl at a large white sink,
her back was too him and when she turned he saw that she had only one
eye in the centre of her head. It glared at him menacingly making the boy
avert his gaze.

Although she was clearly not very old her face was lined with years of
worry and pain. She wiped her hands on the apron at her waist and tucked
her brown hair into the scarf tied around her head leaving long tuffs
hanging about her ears.

The one eyed girl took an iron tub off the wall and walked off with a
bucket towards a steaming copper on the other side of the room.

While she was doing this Neits felt the cooks thick fingers tugging at his
utility suit pulling it above his head until he was naked. He was not
embarrassed by his nakedness being too interested in the girl as she filled
the bucket with water and walked to the tub. The steam from the water
seemed to bother her eye as she poured it; he was fascinated with her.

Shes one of your kind. The cook said noticing the boys interest. Ugly
as sin and dumb as a duck.
The cook threw his suit at the girl before shouting.
Burn this before it infests the place.

The girl picked the suit up and on her next trip to the copper opened a
small door at its base and threw the suit into the flames that burned there.
She then collected more water and walked back to the tub which was
sitting next to an open fire.
Come on then. The cook said tugging him over to the steaming tub.
We got to wash that stink off you boy.

Twenty minutes later he had been scrubbed and soaked, soaped and dried.
His toes had been attacked with a small thick brush and his face and ears
rubbed red with what seemed like wire wool. Cook wasted no time in
smearing a thick layer of soap from the top of his head down to his ankles
and scrubbing it into his skin.

When she had done her best to make him sparkle she instructed the girl to
pour cold water over his head and then she lifted him from the tub
wrapped in a thick towel.

Both women then dried him off before a clean vest was pulled over his
head and crisp clean shorts pulled over his feet.
Where does she get them from? Cook asked no-one in particular as she
ran a comb through the boys hair. Dirty little urchins.

She bought me... The boy replied while a shirt was being pulled over
his shoulders and buttoned up.
...at the market, for a hundred or something.

You can talk then? the cook exclaimed as a shiver rippled through her
ample chest. Goodness, and there I was thinking you were mute like her.
Well, she huffed. If you can talk you might as well tell me your name if
you have one.

My name is Neits. The boy replied.

Newts, what, like a tadpole, what sort of name is that? The woman
asked pulling a pair of socks onto the boys feet.

I was named by my father, he was killed by the cops.

I see, she grumbled. Did he like tadpoles or something?
Its got nothing to do with tadpoles. Neits said sharply. I think it was
the last thing my mother said when she gave birth to me, then she died.

Oh, the woman nodded. Delirious was she? So your father

Yes.
was he a criminal; they dont kill you for nothing, not like some
sorts.
He was not a criminal, they killed him for nothing. The boy shouted.
But why should you believe me, no one else does. Ive told loads of
people and they all think Im a liar.

Well if thats true cook responded pulling up a pair of trousers.

Youd be best advised to keep it to yourself. You dont want them to
think that, do you?

She stepped back and put her hands on her hips, admiring his
transformation.
You wouldnt think it was the same boy. Hungry are you?

Yes, yes I am. He replied softly with a small smile. The cook smiled
back.
Get some cold meats and some bread for the boy. She shouted at the
girl. And a nice, hot cup of tea.

When you are hungry we will feed you. Madame Sophie said softly.
She was sitting behind a large desk and peering at him over a sheet of
paper upon which she had noted his name and the few other details he
had given her.

If you are thirsty you will be given water, tea or juice if its available.
She continued.
Your uniform will be cleaned once a week and you shall wear a clean
shirt every day, after you have bathed;

I must insist that you bath every day. The cook will be your superior in
the house and I want you to serve her without complaint; do you
understand what I have said to you?
Yes Madam. Neits replied, bowing his head respectfully.

I will not tolerate violence in this house and so you will not be beaten;
consequently I hope you will not run away. If you feel a need to do so
please come and speak to me. If you have a problem I will try to resolve
it for you.

If cook has a problem with you I will ask her to send you to me so that we
can discuss the matter; I will endeavour to be fare in my dealings with
you as I am with all the staff. For your bed and keep I expect you to
work.

This work will mainly be in my service although cook may wish to use
you elsewhere from time to time and she will direct you on those
occasions. Your hours will normally be from five in the morning until
nine in the evening, after which you will have free time.

During your free time you will tidy your room, bath and eat. You are not
allowed visitors and you will not leave the house unless you have
arranged this with cook or myself; do you understand?
Yes madam.

You will have your own room at present although this may change if we
get other staff. Finally, one day each month you will have free time
during which you shall learn to read and write; cook will speak to you in
more detail about this later. Have you any questions?
No madam.

She gave him a gentle smile and tapped her delicately manicured
fingernails on the desk momentarily.
That will be all, dismissed.

The boy looked at her awkwardly and shuffled on one foot and then the
other.
Thats code for you can go now.
Oh, he stuttered before turning on his heels and strutting quickly for the
door. The cook waited on the other side. The woman beaconed him to
follow her through the hall and up a flight of narrow stairs which
eventually led to a small room. She opened the door and Neits followed
he inside.

This is your room, good night. She nodded before leaving and closing
the door behind her. He wondered if he should ask how he was going to
wake in the morning but thought hed better not upset her as the cooks
mood had changed for the better.

The room was not unlike the last one he had slept in although better
furnished. It was small and cramped with a bare stone floor. A handsome
bed sat against one wall and it had a silk quilt draped over it neatly.

A mound of cushions were piled at one end of the bed looking as

comfortable as a soft summer cloud. Facing the bed was a small square
window which had dark curtains, through them he saw the moon drifting
lazily across the night sky and it made him realise how sleepy he was.

Resting his head on the soft cloud of cushions he felt the tension of the
day leave his body and he sank into the comfort. His mind wandered,
through the cloud of softness and he remembered a hot day somewhere
else.

It was a hot midsummer afternoon that lived somewhere in the dark

recesses of his memory. A hot day when he was younger, a humid hour
that smelt of wild flowers and honey, it felt like twigs and dry grass over
a sun scorched field. He was walking barefooted through the buzz of busy
bees amid the flirtatious calls of young sparrows; in unknown woodland,
into the trees and rising mist.

He came across a small brook that twisted its way like a golden chain
through the grasses; reflecting in its rippled mirror the tips of trees and
diamond splinters of sun light. Diamond glittering sparkles gently washed
the fish and lilies as the brook bubbled through the trees.

The boy jumped across to the other side landing with a soft bump. The
grass was higher over there and he rose on tip-toes to peer over it. He
held his breath as he peered over the swaying tops of greenery towards a
further clearing of sorts.

Being without trees it stretched into the distance as far as he could see; it
consisted of proud stone stumps that lay in neat rows to the horizon.
Stumps of white granite laying in neat white rows in a grid that crissd
and crossed white patterns in the sea of green.

Neits stepped from the rushes and tall grasses and walked to one of the
nearest stone stumps finding it flat and smooth on the face and back. He
rubbed the collected dust and moss which had made its home there and
saw beneath an inscription boldly carved.

DEATH IS NO END

It read simply. Hearing a twig snap in the distance made Neits drop to his
knees suddenly filled with terror. He hid himself behind the stone
monolith and peered cautiously back from where he had come. A lone
man was walking through the grasses at a brisk pace towards him.
The man peered straight ahead as he strutted forwards taking no notice of
potential dangers at his feet. He was heading towards the boy confidently
as if he knew the place well and followed a well worn path.

Neits stooped lower as the sound of foot falls became louder, holding his
breath and wishing the ground would open and swallow him up. His eyes
were tightly closed but he became aware of a tall shadow falling across
him.
Neits. A familiar voice said. My son!

The boy looked up into the bright sun light and saw a man towering over
him. His head was eclipsing the sun and this gave the appearance of a
bright golden halo around the mans head.

Neits was unsure if it was his father because the man was not old, not life
worn and hunched. His hair was not grey and his face was shaved. He
was looking up at a man in the prime and vitality of youth.

They killed you. Neits stuttered through quivering lips. Didnt they?

A body is perishable, it is raised imperishable, it is sown in dishonour, it

is raised in glory, it is slain in weakness and is raised in power.

The boy felt his fathers hand gently brush through his hair and within
that light stroke a great sensation washed over him. Like drunkenness the
sensation filled his body and mind with soothing rays of light.

They killed you the boy cried, unable to hold back the tears that
filled each eye and over spilled down his cheeks in faint droplets. I
saw it with my own eyes. Heard it with my own ears.
What did you see? the man whispered. What did you really hear?

The boy thought about that terrible moment and remembered something,
a sound, a word, a sentence that faded in and out of his consciousness. It
was a poem that he knew but did not, could not know. A lyric to a song
that someone had once sung to him, but who, but when; he could not
remember.

SON, YOU NEED NOT ASK WHY

WHAT WAS DONE, WHAT CAUSED ME TO DIE
IT IS A PLAN WHICH YOULL PLAY A PART

IF YOU PUSH WITH YOUR MIND AS WELL AS YOUR HEART

 SUFFERING IS YOURS, TEARS CLOUD YOUR EYES
BUT Youll ESCAPE AND CAUSE SUFFERINGS DEMISE
THERE IS A PLAN, A KING YOU SHALL RISE
TO CROWN ALL MEN KINGS IN THEIR EYES

ON FATES WINGS YOU BATTLE THEIR CRUEL DEEDS

I GUIDE YOUR HAND AND HELP IT WITH EASE
WHEN ALONE, YOUR BATTLE HYMN SUNG
ILL TEMPER YOUR SWORD, ILL AIM YOUR GUN

THE NIGHT IS BEHIND, IN LIGHT YOU WILL SHINE

IF YOU PUSH WITH YOUR HEART AS WELL AS YOUR MIND

A MESSAGE TELLS, PREPARE, COMES THE FIGHT

WEAR TRUTHS ARMOUR, DO WHAT IS RIGHT
THE LIGHT IS BEHIND YOU BEWARE OF THE NIGHT
THE SYMBOLS GUIDE YOUR DAGGER TO STRIKE
THE LAW IS YOUR WILL UNDER LOVE YOU MUST DO
IF YOU PUSH WITH YOUR MIND ILL PUSH WITH YOU

Come now boy! a voice shattered his dreams. Its time to get up and
have your breakfast.
Neits opened his eyes and saw the face of cook peering down at him. He
was warm and snug in the bed and it was awful having to get up; but he
did as he was told.

She seemed pretty determined to make sure he did so quickly. Tugging at

his quilt with her thick fingers the cook added. The bath is hot, if you get
in it now it will wake you up properly. Come on! she tugged again. You
havent got all day.

He roused himself and had a bath before dressing in a crisp white shirt
and new blue uniform. Looking at himself in a mirror in the hall as he
made his way to the scullery Neits couldnt believe how different he
looked.

The material that the uniform was made from was a tight weave of blue
cotton. The brass buttons shone and his white shirt was the colour of
freshly fallen snow. He looked and felt as bright as one of those buttons;
for the first time in a week he smiled.
Examining his eyes he noted lines around them that had not been there
the previous week. Lines that were the consequence of too much pain in
too short a period.

He thought that just because things were better, in that his clothes were
clean and new and he had a warm bed to lie in, it would never be as good
as when his father was there. He was still alone in this world.

He walked to the kitchen following the smell of cooked bacon that hung
in the air and found the girl and cook busy making toasted bread and
frying eggs. Sitting at the table were two people he hadnt met before,
they looked at him intently when he entered the room
Sit down boy. The cook said turning to look at him. Charity will give
you some cereal.

He sat at the table opposite the two strangers as the girl placed a bowl in
front of him and poured milk over Its contents. He looked across the table
at the two people sitting there eating fried bacon and eggs.

They both wore a uniform but different to his. Theirs were grey and had
wooden buttons. One was elder and one was a boy like himself. In fact he
looked like he could have been a brother, having the same coloured hair
and eyes and height. In fact they were both so similar Neits wondered if
he should know the boy. He reminded him of Adam; a strange feeling
came over him.

Havent you been told that its rude to stare? the boy said abruptly. He
looked over the table directly at him and Neits noticed that the boy had a
thick scar across one cheek that descended to the boys throat.
Sorry, he replied tucking into the cereal. I didnt mean to
leave the boy alone. The other stranger said. Cant you see hes
uncomfortable enough. He looks tired, if you ask me.

Thats the truth, cook said as she waddled her large frame to the table
and placed a cup of steaming tea at Neits side. This is Jed, she added
pointing at the man. He works in the house and does a bit of gardening.

Thats why Ive got my old gear on today. The man said as he munched
on some bacon. Dont want my new uniform getting dirty in the
garden.
And thats Isaac. Cook continued pointing at the boy. Hes in the
house too, but giving Jed a hand today.
This uniform is so itchy. Jed said pinching a piece of it between his
finders. They make us all look the same although this one isnt very
smart. I was wearing the other one when you arrived yesterday.
Were you on the steps when I got here? Neits asked. Only, I dont
remember seeing you.

I remember seeing you. He said with a soft smile. Any more meat?
You love your food. Isaac stated as cook brought a frying pan to the
table and deposited a couple of rashers on Jeds plate.
So would you if youd been as deprived of food as I had in my early
days.

Same here. Isaac interjected. Id not even tasted meat till I came here.
Yes, Jed mused. I guess we are all the same really.
Yes ! Isaac said softly. We are all exactly the same.

Neits thought about this statement for a moment wondering if they had
lost their father in a similar way and had been sold at auction.

Did they buy you too? he asked the elder man. Neits picked up the mug
of milky tea and tasted it. It was hot and sweet and fantastic. It had a
wonderful aroma and melted on his tongue before sliding down his throat.
He greedily sucked some more from the mug.

Why? Did they buy you? Jed asked looking surprised. I thought you
only got sold if you were a criminal or some sort of vagabond. A loose
and low down crim that didnt warrant shooting. What on earth had you
done to get in that mess?

Dont say another word. Cook snapped swapping Neits bowl for a
plate of eggs and bacon. Its none of his business. Lets just say that
youre here now and that it. Okay?

My parents were killed. replied Isaac looking suddenly very vulnerable.

My mother died when she was giving birth to me and my father died of
the water.

Your mother died giving birth? Neits said looking up from the delicious
plate of food.
Thats what happened to me

Theres a lot like you two. Cook said placing her hands on her wide
hips and staring at the table. Orphans I mean, a lot of orphans. Yes, they
called it the Death Rot or something. Apparently all the pregnant women
got it at the same time, a virus they said.

It affected the womb so that when the baby was born the mother just
rotted, terrible it was. Well, a lot of the men couldnt cope and they either
gave the kid up or killed it. Some hung on and brought the kid up, but not
many.
My father kept me. Neits said softly.

Funny thing is, cook continued. All those kids look the same, like they
all had the same father. I mean, look at you two. The three adults looked
up at the two boys, Charity from the kitchen, cook from the stove, Jed
from his bacon and stared.
You could both be brothers.

Have you got the mark? Isaac asked. Not like this one. He said
pointing his fork at the scar on his face. The birthmark. My ones on my
arm.

He rolled up his sleeve and there just above the elbow was a small round
mark.
On my forehead. Neits said excitedly. He lifted up his fringe and
showed the rounded mark he had had there since he was born. I thought
I was the only one.

No, we all got them. Isaac said.

Bless me. Cook exclaimed coming closer to inspect the mark, first on
Isaacs arm and then on Neits forehead. Isnt that strange?

They say we can Isaacs voice trailed off as the groups attention
was drawn to the kitchen door. It had just opened and in had walked a
huge man.

He lingered in the doorway in silence. Dressed in a thick woollen jacket

over a thick woollen shirt the man had a blur of frizzy hair and a scruffy
beard. His fists looked like brown leather balls as they hung limply at his
side. He tried to talk exposing a mouth void of teeth except one in the
front but instead of a word only a grunt emerged.

Mongols here Jed. Cook stated softly. Then she raised her voice
slightly and slowly asked if the man wanted food.
Are you hungry? she said. Food, belly? she pointed firstly at her
mouth and then her large belly before shrugging.

Ill get him going. Jed said as he stood rubbing his stomach. That was
a good breakfast Cook. He stated with a wink. Then he looked at Neits.
You got to know how to speak to a woman boy. He said with a cheeky
smile.

If you flatter them theyll always do a good breakfast.

He noticed that the boy was not listening and was looking intently at
Mongol.
Dont let Mongol scare you. Jed said warmly. Hes harmless.

Neits had only looked at the man they called Mongol for a second but
found himself transfixed by the sight of his big hands and thick neck.

Mongol had a wild, untamed look in his eyes that filled the boy with
dread and rooted him to the spot.
Well be off then. Jed said going to join Mongol by the door.

Bout time too Cook huffed rubbing a clean cloth over the spot where
Jed had been sitting. Charity she shouted. Come and take Jeds plate
and wash it up please.
Jed and Mongol left the room closing the door behind them.

You really stare a lot. Isaac smiled. He may seem frightening at first
but youll see the beauty in his eyes when you get to know him.
Where are they going? Neits asked as his empty plate was taken away
by the girl to be washed in the sink.

Theyre cutting a tree down. Cook said as she wiped the table in front
of him. Youre helping them Isaac, so off you go.
Why are they cutting it down? Neits asked to no one in particular. Is it
ill or something?

Dont be so stupid. Cook exclaimed. Is it ill? What a stupid question.

My father only cut dead trees down when we lived in the forest. Neits
said looking at the woman intently. Or if we needed to build something.
You lived with your father? Isaac asked enthusiastically.
No! Cook said with a clear loud voice. Madam Sophie wanted the tree
cut because it obscured her view of the moon at night. That tree had been
there for over a hundred years, a handsome tree which had rooks nesting
in it, blocked the view of the moon rising. The moons important to
Madame Sophie.

Isnt that the truth. Isaac nodded before burping loudly.

The room filled with laughter.

A soft bell rang and cook looked behind her towards the wall above the
door. There was a row of small bells and each one had a number marked
above it. The one marked six was tinkling.
Number six? cook said hesitantly. Thats madam. Do you know where
to go? she asked looking at Neits.
Who, me? the boy replied.

Thats right, the cook huffed wiping a bead of sweat from her brow.
Youre her valet.
Right. He said standing and pulling his uniform into place.
Get your boots in motion, she said. And do some valet ting. Number
six is her bedroom, dont knock just enter. Isaac?
Yes cook?

You go with him to make sure he dont get lost, Only, Jed Plank will
have to do with Mongol till you come back. Well, what are you waiting
for?

The two boys exited through the door under the bells and made their way
through the house.
Youll get to know the place, Isaac said on the way. It took me about a
week to find my way about alone.

Have you been here long?

A couple of years. Isaac replied.
You said your father died of the water, what did you mean?
Dont you know? The boy replied earnestly, stopping in his tracks and
looking at Neits.
Know what?

You really have led a sheltered life, havent you? Isaac said. When the
white people came back they did something to the sea, pollution I think
its called. Anyway, this meant that the rain became poison for a while
and this made the river undrinkable.
It was alright if you drank from a brook, because that water comes from
down below. It gets filtered by the rock and bubbles back up. But river
water; it killed thousands.
You know a lot about it.
Well, once they found out it was the river they told us not to drink it,
thats how I know that a bubbling brook would be okay.

They continued to walk through the house stopping occasionally to look

at the paintings hanging on the walls. Isaac seemed to know a lot about
them and the people they depicted.

Thats the old master. He said pointing to a picture of an old man

dressed in a smart blue suit with a red tie. He was looking sternly from
the frame and Neits found his stare unsettling.
He died before the war. His son is the old master now, this house
belongs to him and Madam, shes his sister.

Theres a lot of old masters.

These people treasure their heritage. They love their history, their old
house was destroyed during the war but they kept all the paintings and
stuff with them and after rebuilt the house and put all this stuff back into
it.

I thought it all looked old. Neits replied running his fingers along the
top of a marble side table that stood along the wall.
Really old, Isaac said. Of course, if I was rich, he continued. Id
have all new stuff.

They carried on down endless halls and through vast rooms seeing no one
on the long journey except the occasional cleaner on her knees scrubbing
here or there. Neits reached out and touched the boy on his arm gently
making him stop to face him.
When we were in the kitchen he said
Yes.

When we were in the kitchen, you were going to say something.

Something about the scar we both have, but you were interrupted. What
were you going to say?
Oh that? Isaac replied looking intently at his friend. Its just something
I found out when I met another mutant like us. Before I came to this
house, you see there are a lot of us, boys I mean, with the same thing.
Mutants, Neits repeated horrified. Were not mutants, are we?
Not like Charity, you know, deformed. Or like the Mongol, brain dead.
We have something else, all the boys born on that night do, I only found
out just before I came here. Its our scar see
What about our scar?
Its a
Boy! Bellowed a loud voice from across the room.

They turned and saw a Madam Sophie peering through the gap in her
bedroom door. She was so far away they could just see the top of her head
and her eyes peering at them.
Stop gossiping and get on your way boy. She shouted at Issac before
using her index finger to beckon Neits.

Yes Madam. Isaac replied standing to attention. The door closed and he
looked at Neits with a distressed expression.
Youd better go to her. Well talk later. Isaac said before running in the
direction from which theyd come.

The door shed called from was inlaid with brass fittings and stood ten
feet high, it seemed enormous to the boy as he stood nervously outside it.

Suddenly her voice emerged from the between the great doors.
Enter. she said.

Neits pulled down the brass door knob and pushed one of the doors open.
The room was in darkness even though it was a bright summer day.
Heavy curtains were drawn against the bright sun and the room was cast
in shadows.

As his eyes became accustomed to the lack of light Neits could make out
the shape of figure laying in a bed at the far end of the room.
Open the curtains, boy. The figure said in the darkness. Her affected
tone was unmistakable.

Neits did as he was instructed and walked to the massive window which
was draped in the black velvet curtain. A cord hung at one side of the
frame which when pulled flooded the room in light.

Not so suddenly. The woman shouted, shielding her eyes from the light
by pulling a pillow over her face. Her angry tone rooted Neits to the spot
unsure if he should close the curtains again or open them more slowly or
what.
Madame Leigh Sophie slowly moved the pillow to one side and exposed
her bright green eyes. Her hair was standing on end and smudged make-
up lay thick around her lashes. She was still beautiful, the most beautiful
creature he had ever seen; there was something sordid about her
appearance that attracted him.

A unwholesome attractiveness that appealed to the growing boy within.

Tell me boy, She said resting her arms on a pillow and supporting her
head with them. Look out that window and tell me what you see.
Theres a long, green field, Madam. The boy replied nervously.
Is there anything more? she asked seductively.
Theres a sky and birds and in the distance is a hill that has a wall
running across it.

Is there more? she asked again, urging him to inspect the view further,
more closely.
There is a tree madam. The boy replied. A tree which Mr Plank and
the other gentleman are working on; I think they are cutting it down.

Good. She said with a sniff. She then proceeded to push herself up and
sat across the bed with her toes dangling over the edge.
Bring me my slippers boy. She said. Theyre over there, under the
shelf.
She pointed to a shelf by the wall.

These? He asked pointing to a pair of soft gold silk slippers. She smiled
and nodded. He picked them up and brought them to her trying to avoid
looking at her thinly veiled body which was wrapped only in a sheet.

Put them on my feet, wont you. She asked lifting a delicate foot
towards him.

He did as instructed but glanced up furtively as he did so. Noticing that

her leg stretched up to a place he had never seen before. That part of a
womans anatomy that is usually hidden. He coughed and fixed his gaze
on her foot again.
Oh... She sighed. ...you do make me laugh.

When her slippers were fixed on her feet the woman stood and let the
white sheet slip from the rest of her body leaving her naked and towering
above his squatting figure.
He had never seen any woman naked and the sight filled him with
confusion. Part of him wanted to look and another felt he should look
away. He began to feel frightened.
Look at me! she demanded. You act like you have never seen a
woman naked before.

She stared down through the valley of her breasts and got a pleasure from
his discomfort.
I havent. he replied simply.
Not your sister, your mother? she asked.
I have no sister and my mother is dead.

Well, she smiled walking across the room to a long mirror that hung on
the opposite wall. Today is your lucky day.

The woman admired herself momentarily before walking to a small table

from which she picked up a silver box and removed a cigarette from it.
Looking at her breasts in the mirror she lit the cigarette and blew a puff of
smoke into the air.
I like to smoke in the morning. She hissed. Do you smoke?
Smoke? he replied keeping his gaze lowered.

Oh, never mind. She took another puff and walked to a coat stand
where she removed a dressing gown and pulled it over her shoulders.
Go and tell cook that I shall have breakfast at lunch time. She looked
over her shoulder and smiled.

Yes, that will confuse the old bitch. Tell her Ill have breakfast at lunch
time, lunch at dinner time and dinner at supper time... With this she let
out a loud rasp and coughed.
...Im feeling very rebellious today.

You want breakfast at lunch time? Neits replied backing towards the
door.
Yes, yes. She smiled looking back to the mirror. Go on, those are my
instructions. Dismissed.

He backed out of the room and still confused about what exactly he was
to tell the cook but glad hed got out in one piece. He closed the door
behind him and let out a sigh before fleeing to the kitchen.
Cook huffed and muttered under her breath as he relayed the message to
her back in the kitchen. She was boiling a pot of sweetly smelling fruits
over the hot stove and Neits noticed a bead of sweat collect on her brow,
flow down her nose and plop into the pan as she stirred.
Oh she does, does she? cook panted. Go put an apron on and help
Charity with the potatoes.

Outside the house Jed Plank and Mongol busied themselves about their
task. It was a big tree and took a great while to cut down. Such was the
effort required that both men had to take regular breaks so their energy
levels were not diminished too quickly.

It was during one of these short breaks that Plank felt a tug on the sleeve
of his jacket and turned to see Mongol smiling like a small child hopping
from one foot to the other.
What is it Boy? Plank asked wondering what was getting his
companion so worked up.

Mongol nodded towards the house and when Plank turned his eyes that
way he saw in an upper window the figure of a naked woman.
Oh, He sighed. Is she at it again?

The two looked on in amused silence as the shadow paraded behind the
glass performing an exotic dance.
Just look at her. Plank whispered to himself. Shes like a dog on heat;
wants it good and proper.

He looked at Mongol who stood bewitched beside him as the shadow

danced like Salome and thought. Yes boy, you get your eyeful before the
master comes back from his trip. That will put an end to her games.

He paused for a moment and rubbed his chin thinking about her and the
master, her brother. About how different it would be in that house if it
belonged to him and Cook.

Thered be no funny business, he thought, not unless Cook wanted it.

That thought made him cough and he turned back to the tree and his
work.

Have you worked here long? Neits asked the girl as Charity joined him
at the table which was cluttered with various vegetables and a few pounds
of potatoes.
She said nothing but placed a peeling knife in front of him and handed
him a potato to get started on.
Dont you feel like talking? He said picking up the knife and starting to
peel a thick piece of the peel away.

Theres no use in talking to her. Cook shouted from the stove. Dumb
as a brush, she is. She hasnt said a word since the day she was born.

Oh. The boy replied seeing a small smile creep across Charitys face.
She was smiling at the thickness of his peel and took the knife from him,
folded her fingers around his, and showed him a better way to peel.
You are always working, He continued. Dont you get the evenings
off?

Time off? Cook huffed. Didnt Madam explain your hours too you?
Yes. He replied.
Well there you are. There is always work to be done and if we finish
early we can go to bed early.

He peeled the potato like he was shown and in the time he took to do one
Charity had peeled three. Then, with a bang and a puff, Cook was placing
a huge pot on the table beside them.

Put them in that when youre done. She said. The woman then returned
to the stove and heaved over to the table the pot of fruit that she had been
boiling. With her sleeves rolled up she then busied herself stirring the pot.

Have you been here long? Neits asked with a jaunty smile.

Cook looked up and wiped the sweat from her brow with the back of her
hand and pointed the steaming spoon at him menacingly.

You really are a nosy person arent you? She snapped. And you know
what happens to nosy people dont you?

No. Neits replied wide-eyed. What happens?

They get their noses chopped off. Cook snarled before adding. So,
before you ask again Ive been here since just after the house was built.
Ive not been further then the front gate since.

I lived with my father before I came here. The boy said softly. He took
another potato and began to peel deep in thought wondering if they
believe him yet.
Yes. Cook replied leaving the table momentarily before returning with
a large pie dish. She scooped the fruit into the dish and mashed it in the
corners. Youre not like the other boy, Isaac. Hes a handful.

We went into the hills just after I was born. He continued. My father
took me there because he was worried about the people that were coming
from underground. He didnt like the look of them.

I dont blame him. Cook said sprinkling sugar over the fruit. It was
like an invasion. I remember it well. Wed all just got used to things like
they were and then bang, all change again.

While we were in the forest the world changed a lot. My father didnt
realise and that was partly why they killed him.
Killed him? Cook exclaimed. Who killed him?
The police... Neits replied looking at the potato in his hand and bowing
his head deep in thought.
...like I said yesterday. Its a long story.

You poor little mite. Cook said leaning her head to one side and biting
her lip before mumbling.
They said that they were going to make things just like they were;
before.

And they did she said bluntly. They made it all bloody shit.

Has she got any family? Neits asked nodding towards Charity. The
cook looked at the girl and flung her shoulders back before collecting her
thoughts.

Only her mother. She said with a mischievous smile.

Wheres she? He asked plopping a potato in the pot. Both women
laughed for a second before looking at him.
Youre looking at her. Cook said.
Oh.

Yes, oh. She walked to another table and collected a large wooden bowl
that had a ball of soft pastry in it. She returned, threw a dusting
of flour across the table, and started to roll out a pie lid.
Sorry. The boy said looking at his hands. He glanced up and looked
between both women trying to see if there was a resemblance. I would
never have guessed.

Why should you? Cook replied. She looks more like her father then
me anyway.
Is Jed her father? The boy asked with his eye brows lifted making his
expression both expectant and dozy at the same time. This comment
made Charity huff and cough and snigger and puff all at once; she almost
laughed in silence.

Bloody cheek. Cook shouted. Youll get this rolling pin wrapped
round your head if youre not careful.
Charity looked at him through the corner of her one beady eye smiled
widely and shaking her head.
As if Id do it with Old Plank. Cook huffed. I may be poor but Im not
bloody desperate.

Later that night, when the moon had risen above the tree stump, and bats
cried out. When the moons silvery light cast shadows across the empty
fields; when the stars appeared from their daytime bedding, to hang in the
sky like twinkling lights; glittering eternally.

The badgers came from their lairs and hooted in the dark. Within the still
scullery and kitchen all was cleared and cleansed; while a small group
huddled around a candle in the kitchen.

Jed Plank was sipping from a coffee mug while Mongol sat on the floor
by his side.
Charity bit her nails while Isaac rapped his fingers silently on the table
top as Cook polished a brass bowl.

They looked relaxed sitting quietly in the flickering light; although there
was a note of anxiety in their faces. It was a nervous anxiety that seemed
to affect all of them; all of them except Mongol.

He sat there expressionless; his eyes stark and staring. Neits wondered
what was going on behind that stare, if anything. He yawned slightly
before Cook, who had been polishing a tall brass jug, sat up and said.
Right, time for bed.

She stood placing the sparkling brass jug on the table and wiping her
hands on the apron that hung from her waist.
Come you lot. She said with a sniff. We all have a busy day
tomorrow.

Have we? Neits said casually to Isaac while the others busied
themselves around the table.
Yes. The boy replied. The masters coming back.

Dont remind me. Jed Plank sighed. I was just getting used to him
being away.
I was too. Cook responded. She lifted the candle and shooed the
younger members of the group into one corner of the room by the door.

I know Madam Leigh Sophie is round the bend but shes nothing like
her brother. Hes hard work.
Totally gone with the fairies. Jed nodded.
And... Cook interjected. ...dangerous with it.

Follow me. Isaac whispered to Neits as they were ushered from the
kitchen towards the stairs that led to their respective bedrooms. The boys
were just about to sneak off together when the whole group froze. One of
the bells above the door rang gently.

Talk of the devil. Cook said under her breath. She looked about the
room and caught sight of Neits. Youll have to see what she wants.
Will I? He said. The house is dark.

Be brave. The Cook said as she handed him the flickering candle.
Shell probably want you to close the curtains or something. Youll be
finished in no time.

Neits looked at Isaac and the boy mouthed the words, come after, silently.
He nodded his assent and left the group to pick his way through the
darkened halls and rooms toward the Mistress room.

He stepped lightly through the shadows and picked his way through the
house like a blind man. Touching a table here and a desk there, stroking a
handrail or a chair-back in a steady rhythm.

It was very strange and creepy to be in the house at that time of night, his
first night alone in the long, dark corridors. Even the statues appeared to
have different expressions to their daylight faces as their cold hard limbs
flickered in the candle light.
He hurried his pace and was soon at the top of the stairs which led to the
hallway he needed. He stumbled down the passage and past the
unfamiliar places he knew only in the light. Then he was outside her
room, the whole hall looked different in the light from his small,
flickering candle.

He paused and took a deep breath before knocking. As he raised his

knuckles to the door something caught his eyes; it was something hed
not noticed before, down the hall was another set of doors. They were
painted black.

Also, these doors were distinctive because all the others were painted
white and their panels looked unremarkable. But these doors, they were
looming at the far end of the hall like two centennials.

Guards, who were standing silently in the darkness beside a great set of
doors; protecting a great treasure hidden within.

They were secured with a chain and padlock and this looked very strange
indeed considering the doors were internal. Perhaps it was a strong room,
a place where the family kept their jewels or gold, he thought.

He realised the hall had become very cold and that he was beginning to
feel frightened. A voice called out, he hadnt even knocked.
Enter. It echoed across the hall.

He clicked the door handle and the door opened a little. The sound of
rhythmic music flowed into the dark hall and a faint scent filled the air.
He opened the door a little further and saw a shadow creep across the
wall on his left.

She was a dancing shadow, moving like a cobra, curling her arms above
her head and moving her hips gently from side to side. The shadow wore
a thin chiffon gown that looked translucent and was transparent in the
twilight.

The soft aroma of flowers and herbs filled the air as he opened the door
fully making him feel slightly intoxicated. There was a dreamlike quality
to the scene that met his eyes; as he walked into that room.

She, Madam, was moving slowly and cautiously through the mist that
was thrown down by an incense burner standing behind her.
Come. She slurred sensuously. Come join me.
Madam held out a delicate hand and he noticed each bony finger was
dressed in a large and interesting ring; these appeared larger and more
ornate than the ones he had seen previously.

Each ring was the receptacle of a large, flawless stone. The stones,
intense blue on her index finger, sparkling yellow in her middle finger
and intense green on her little finger appeared to catch the light and dance
with her.

Perhaps it was the music or perhaps it was the scent of the incense but
something was getting into his mind and taking him somewhere. He
could feel himself getting faint, fading with the pulsing rhythms. Her
curling fingers were calling him to join her. The glittering stones were
calling him and it felt good; hypnotic, mystifying and unreal.

Her eyes were dancing as she removed the candle from his shivering
fingers and blew it out. Her breath smelt of sweet honey and as it left her
mouth he saw the soft tissue of her tongue sweep across her ruby lips.

She reached for his hand and he felt himself being led towards a pile of
cushions that were scattered across the floor. She pushed him down
gently and he felt her soft fingers probe his groin, touching him gently,
stroking the boy into a frenzy of expectation and guilt.

Her tongue pushed into his mouth and he looked into the eyes now that
they were close to him. He looked deep into the pupils and beyond the
intensity of the sea-green that shone there.

He saw something that disturbed him. Her lips moved to the side of his
head and he felt her fingers rise up to his jaw as she whispered.
Lick me.
What? Neits gasped feeling frozen by her attentions.
LICK ME! she demanded.

Her hands pushed his face down and before he could react she was
thrusting her shaved groin into his mouth, each knee beside his ears. She
was rubbing thick stubble into his nose; forcefully, stifling his breath,
almost choking the boy.

Lick me you cunt. She screamed.

Youre hurting me. He said uncomfortably as she thrust her groin into
his mouth. Again and again without mercy, her aggression was totally
selfish. He caught a gasp of air and choked as she pushed her pierced
labia into his mouth.

You fucking shit. Lick my pussy. Lick it.

Please! The boy yelped, like a wounded animal, but it was no good.

She now had his hair in a tight grip and was thrusting so hard blood
began to trickle from his nose. Her knees gripped his head and he cried
out in pain.
Lick it, lick my cunt! Lick my fucking cunt! She moaned flaying
herself on his face. The blood smeared across his cheek and he couldnt
breathe. It clogged his nose and her jagged pubic hair blocked his mouth.

He was suffocating on her orgasm and she loved it. He felt his life
slipping away and, with one last desperate push, reached up to force her
from him.

Please! He eventually managed to whimper as his head pulled away.

Clumps of his hair were tangled in the stones of those rings and as her
vaginal spasm rocked through the root of her being she sighed loudly.

The sound of her satisfaction echoed through the darkened house, down
the long halls and among the frozen statues. Cook, in her bedroom nest,
heard the animal howl and bit her lip anxiously; remembering the last
time she heard that noise.

Madams fingers went limp and she slumped onto his chest. Neits pushed
himself away breathlessly. He didnt see the slap coming, his eyes were
already full of tears as the hand smashed into the side of his bloodied face
leaving an ugly red welt on his cheek.

The slap stunned him and he looked at her wide eyes.

Dont resist me. She shouted. Dont you ever resist me in future. You
worm, you fucking intolerable worm. If you want to eat in this house then
you will eat what I want you to eat. Understand?

Yes, Madam. He whispered as a tear left his eye and crawled down his
face like a broken dream.
That includes me.

Yes, Madam. He repeated. She stood and he scrambled to the door.

Neits looked back at her the blood drying on his raw face.
Dismissed.
She turned away from him and reached behind her for a cigarette. Finding
the silver box in which she kept them she lit one and blew smoke into the
air.
That means fuck off. She screamed. He did not need to be told twice.

He made his way back to his room without a candle but knowing
instinctively where he was going. Although he had been in the house a
short while the plan was becoming clear in his mind and he was getting
used to it. The blood in his nose had clotted by the time he reached the
hall where his room was. Only his tears felt wet.

He felt used and dirty and exhausted. He had been led to believe that
physical contact with a woman was a thing of beauty; of love and
tenderness. That was what his father had told him.

He was told the experience was to be treasured all through your life and
remembered in times of loneliness or isolation. But all it did was scare
him. It was something he wished he could forget.

He was gasping on the tears now, as his fingers wrapped around his door
handle, as he was about to enter Neits realised just how much he missed
his father.

This realisation opened floodgates and the tears became a river of sadness
flowing down his young face. Just as he opened his bedroom door he
heard a hiss on the night air.

Neits looked over his shoulder and saw Isaac peering from behind his
bedroom door just a little down the hall.
Neits, come here. He beaconed quietly.

The boy pulled his door closed again and ran lightly down the hall to
Isaacs room. The door there swung open and as he entered Isaac closed
the door gently behind him.

He locked it cautiously; not wanting the sound of the lock to disturbed

anyone else on the landing.
She got you then? Isaac remarked looking at Neits face. He lifted his
hand and turned the boys face toward the light.
Fuck, she got you good.
Am I bleeding? Neits asked reaching up to his nose and inspecting his
fingers.
No, Isaac replied handing him a clean, damp rag. Its dry now. I hope
the bitch didnt hurt you too bad.

You know what shes like? Neits asked somewhat surprised to find that
he wasnt the only victim of this woman.

No man! Isaac replied. That bitch fucks everyone, especially when her
brothers not around. She even got Mongol to fuck her. Did she punch
you, is that how you got your nose?
Not really, but she slapped me.
Fucking bitch. Isaac spat. Come over here and sit on my bed.

He led the boy to his bed and they both sat on it before Neits felt himself
unwind a little and he lifted his feet and lay down on the soft mattress.
Isaac lay to face him and in the moon light which streamed through the
window Neits examined his face.
You really look like me. He said after a while.

Isaac smiled and reached out and gently touched Neits hair. It was a
tender touch and it sent a slight shiver through the boys spine.
Thats nice. Neits whispered. I need some tenderness right now.
I know. Isaac replied.

Both boys looked at each other and before they could think about it they
leaned forwards slightly and brushed their lips together.

Sorry. Neits said awkwardly pulling away from his friend. I didnt
mean to
Its okay. Isaac replied. He stroked the other boys hair and pulled his
bloody shirt off.

They both climbed beneath the bedclothes and hugged one another. It was
a soft, sensual hug that made each of them feel needed and loved. Not
sexual but full of eroticism and intimacy.

It was the sort of hug that we all need from time to time if only to feel
human. This hug made Neits feel human again and he did not want to let
go.
Thank you. He wept smearing fresh tears on the pillow-case.

Dont cry. Isaac whispered. You are safe now.

Im so confused. He said softly.
Why?
Losing my father really hurt. The boy replied thinking briefly about the
scene that day.

The motorbikes, the clubs and batons, the sight of his father being hit; it
seemed so recent. Then he recalled being sold and how happy he felt
being at that house.

He thought that his problems were over and he could just spend time
grieving and coming to terms with his loss. It now seemed that dream
was shattered. Instead of being the solution to his pain and hurt the house
appeared to be. It seemed that his pain had just started.

I thought being here would help me get over it. Instead it has made
things worse.
He sobbed gently onto his friends shoulder.

Its not that bad. Isaac answered stroking a tear aside. Youre being
fed and clothed, youre warm in the winter and cool in the summer. You
have your own bed that doesnt have bugs or fleas in and of course, you
have me; a friend.

I didnt think of it like that. They were quiet for a moment and the only
sound in the room was the breathing of two lonely boys.
Has she ever? Neits asked hesitantly.
Yes, His friend replied.

She tries it on with everyone; like I said, even Mongols been up her.
Really?
Yes. Isaac said looking at his friend intently.

What you have to understand is that she gets off on hurting people. So if
you squirm and beg her to stop she does it more. You are giving her what
she wants.

I just pretended to enjoy it. Every slap, every punch, grope, kick and bite.
I just pretended to lap it up. Thats not what she wants so she has stopped
now. Ive not been called back for ages.
Thats incredible.

If you seem to be hurting she gets off on it. I bet you are called back
because you gave her what she wanted tonight? Isaac sniffed and wiped
his eyes. Next time just pretend to be enjoying it and she will stop,
seriously.

Even if it really hurts?

Whatever she does... His friend replied. ...dont let her think she is
getting to you because she wont stop. Youll see what I mean next time.

Ill try it. Neits replied thinking about the slap she gave him before he
left her. That had hurt, he didnt know if hed be able to pretend to enjoy
something like that but hed try.

The night air blew through the opened window and Neits saw there was a
full moon that night. It was shining so brightly that the room didnt need
a light on, they could see one another clearly. Isaac kissed his friend on
the forehead gently and looked at his scar.
Its moon shaped.

It is?
Yes, mine looks like a star.
Your what?
My scar, silly. Isaac smiled. He pulled his night shirt to one side and
there on his shoulder was a small star shaped scar.
Ive had it since birth, we all have one.
We do?
Dont you know? Isaac asked with a half smile.

All the boys born that night have one. He lay back and looked at the
ceiling while getting his thoughts in order.
What night?

The night of the rot, you know. He said. All the pregnant women got
it. They said it has something to do with the Under grounders somehow
but I dont know.

The night we were born, and thousands like us, our mothers gave their
life to earn our own. They gave theirs so we could have ours; our lives. It
just happens that we all look similar and we all have a mark, a birth mark
somewhere on our bodies.

I think it makes us all brothers. Have you ever done the psyche? He
asked with a cheeky smile.
The what? Neits asked. Hed never heard the word before, or had he,
somewhere in his memory he had heard it before but couldnt place
where.
The Psyche. Isaac repeated. We cant do it on our own but if there are
two of us or more we can do things.
Things? Neits smiled.
Yes, things.

Like what? He laughed. He reached out under the bedclothes and

tickled his friend on the belly.
Not that. Isaac smiled.
What then? Neits wondered if Isaac was joking. He had not realised
that there was anything special with his scar and it certainly didnt do
anything in particular except look ugly.
Tricks. Isaac said softly.

Tricks? Neits repeated. Party tricks?

No, Isaac whispered. Magick tricks.
What do you mean, magick? Its just a scar.
If you look at Mongol. Isaac explained slowly. He was trying to put
into words something that was very difficult to explain so he was trying
to remember how it was explained to him.
If you look at Mongol you can see he is different to us.

He was born like that. Neits said.

Thats right, he was born mutated, they call it, its a birth defect.
Hes a mutant.
That sounds horrible, Isaac replied. But yes, he has a mutated gene or
something, and thats what makes him look like he does.
Right?

If you look at others with mutated genes they may have one eye, Isaac
continued.
Or six fingers?
Or big feet?
Funny. Isaac laughed. But yes, you get what I mean. Well we have a
mutated gene too. Our one is invisible but its there.
How do we see it?

We cant see it. Isaac replied lifting a pillow from behind his head. We
can use it. Look see this pillow, imagine it is floating.
Floating? Neits looked at the pillow and pulled a puzzled expression.
He wasnt sure what his friend was trying to do but it seemed very
strange. You want me to imagine?

That its floating. Isaac said. Concentrate on your scar, imagine a

force, or a light, imagine a light coming from it that is holding up the
pillow.
Holding it up?

Concentrate. Isaac said. He closed his eyes and visualized a beam of

light leaving his scar and focusing on the pillow. Visualize a beam of
light, holding the pillow in the air.

He opened the corner of one eye and looked at Neits. The expression he
was making looked funny and he began to giggle. Then both boys fell
into fits of hysterical laughter.

The laughter cut through the boys pain and for a short while they were
somewhere else, somewhere safe, somewhere happy.

Later that night, in the early hours, when Neits was back in his own bed
and sleep descended on him. He had a dream, a strange dream but it was
familiar somehow. He was walking along a beach and it was hot, the wet
sand cooled his feet as crashing blue waves crept up and then away from
him. Someone touched his arm gently.

Looking around Neits saw an old man walking beside him. The man had
a dark, lined face but intense green eyes; he looked very friendly and his
smile seemed to light up the air like sunlight.

Its only me. The old man said. Neits noticed that the old mans hair
was in thick dread locks down to his shoulders and each lock had a ring
of gold around the bottom, the brown hair had flecks of grey in them
making them sparkle in the hot sunshine. Slow down boy, cant you see
Im too old to keep this pace up. Slow down. Enjoy the view for a
moment.

Neits did as he was told and stopped to look out towards the horizon
across the crashing waves and endless ocean.

You know what? The old man said with a bright smile. He lifted a hand
and gestured out to sea, lifting his soft, bejewelled fingers towards the
horizon.
What? Neits replied. The old man gestured towards a bird flying in the
haze of the sun.
Look, there it is. He said. Like a hawk on fire, a word.

A word? Neits replied confused. He looked at the great bird swooping

across the haze of summer sky and it appeared to be shimmering in the
light from the sun.

Its a sword. The man continued. Curved, its blade rolling, Stalking
the seam.

Stalking the seam? Neits repeated. A vision of a great sword swiping

through the air filled his small mind. It thrust forwards and sliced through
a bright blue robe. Cutting the head from a serpent that encircled it.

A feather on a shield held high, in a rock or stone, shimmering. Or like

water falling on a blue, empty pass. True and high and rained upon.

Rained? Neits looked across a great abyss that stretched out before him.
He used the power of his mind to rise above the depths below. A voice
echoed in his mind to make his mark on the world; to cross the abyss and
become a King.

Curving... The old man said swiping his palm through the air.
...through a flower on fire.
Neits saw in the distance a bright summer field speckled here and there
with vermillion coloured lilies.
bloodied... The old man shrieked, instantly snapping the boys
attention.
...and fallen. Its face
That face? Neits said vaguely, he remembered the face from his dream
as a child. He remembered it clearly, the mouth, the nose, the look in
those eyes.
Its roots the old man said pointing at his feet in the sand.
Roots?
Its clawed and hooded stone fingers. Like poses
Destroying everything they touch. Neits whispered.
Of fire the old man said abruptly smashing his fist into the palm of
his hand. Of water
He gestured towards the crashing waves and smiled.

Of magick. He sighed, looked at the boy before offering a wide smile.

It is pond like, Wide and murky as the sea. Deadly. This, boy... The old
man whispered. His voice was taken up by a breeze and it wafted around
them like a tornado.
...is the sea of politics.

A dark cloud crept over their heads and Neits felt a chill run up his spine
and freeze his blood ice cold.

Now son...The old man smiled. You have crossed the abyss, today you
are a man.

I dont know whats wrong with me today. Cook said with a sigh as she
laid a plate of toasted bread on the table in front of Jed Plank.

Is it your back again? he asked coating a piece of toast with a thick

layer of butter. He offered the other slices around the table giving the
plate to Mongol on his left.
No. Cook replied thoughtfully. Its my nerves.

Come on Old Girl, Plank said through a mouthful of toast. Things

arent that bad are they?
I couldnt sleep a wink last night. She said leaning against the table and
rubbing her eyes.
I just lay there all night worry about him coming back. I couldnt cope
with all that bother again.

Oh. Jed Plank replied. Isaac looked up at him and then at Neits. He was
about to say something and then thought the better of it.
He cant be that bad? Neits said with a breezy tone. The comment was
met with icy silence.

If you keep going on about how horrible its going to be Jed

remarked with a sniff.
Thats just what it will be, horrible. Do your work and perhaps hell
leave us alone.

I suppose youre right. She replied going back to the stove. I hope you
are anyway.

Is he like the mistress? Neits asked taking a slice of toast and buttering
it.
Hes the devil. Cook replied. Hes a malicious, sarcastic bully.
Stop winding yourself up woman. Jed said firmly. All youre doing is
getting the whole house tense. Then the young ones will make mistakes
cause theyre nervous and it will turn into a self-fulfilling prophecy.

Cook muttered something under her breath and turned to the stove as
Charity got up from the table and started to collect the plates. The only
person who did not appear to be on edge was the Mongol who sat there
looking at ease with the world. He chewed on a piece of toast blissfully
unaware of the tension in the room.

You can help us with the fire wood today. Plank said to Isaac changing
the subject quickly.
Me and Mr Mongol could do with a hand. Thats if you can get the sleep
from your eyes.

I thought he looked tired. Cook said removing the tea pot from the
table. Didnt you sleep either?

Er, no. Isaac smiled looking across the table at Neits. It was hot in my
room.

You look tired out too. She said looking intently at Neits. This caused
Jed Plank, Mongol and Charity to stop what they were doing and inspect
his general condition from head to toe.

He does look tired. Plank commented before gesturing to the bell on

the wall.
Did she have you up late last night? He asked.

Did she want you to close her curtains? Isaac said mischievously. Or
open her legs?
Isaac! Cook snapped. Leave that sort of gutter talk in the playground. I
dont want to hear it, especially at breakfast.

Well, its the truth isnt it? Isaac replied stubbornly. Why pretend that
its not happening. Everyone round this table has been a victim of her, er,
fingernails.

I havent! Cook replied.

Her fingernails... Plank said looking confused. Surely you mean
her
I dont want to know! Cook shouted slamming her fist on the table.
Now have you got work to do or what?
Yes. Plank replied trying to look businesslike. Isaac, Mongol follow
me.

He led them to the kitchen door and nodded at Cook who passed a cloth
to Charity and gestured towards the crockery waiting to be dried.
I think you should make yourself busy. She remarked to Neits.

Doing what? He asked feeling at a loss. The last thing he wanted to do

was visit the mistress even though he was aware that she may call for him
at some time.

Go and see if you can help Mr Plank. Cook said with a huff. She knew
that this was what he wanted to do anyway. Ill call you if she rings.

Neits put on an overall to cover his uniform and went into the garden to
find the others. He ran outside into the grounds of the house and saw the
three beside the old tree that was laying on its side like a dead giant.

Cook said I could help out. He said to Jed Plank as he joined them.
Isaac looked up and smiled. They were collecting the branches that Mr
Plank had chopped off the main trunk and placing them in piles.

Put the thick ones in that pile. Plank said indicating one pile. He was
using a large steel saw and as he used it Mongol held the trunk steady.
That pile is for the fire wood. He said.
That pile for tinder and all the small stuff over there is for the compost
heap.
Okay. Neits replied.

Neits joined Isaac and they both started to collect the thicker branches
that Mr Plank had sawed free. The sun was hiding behind thick white
fluffy clouds and although it was warm there was a stiff breeze blowing.
I was right to say it? Isaac said above the sound of the saw. You didnt
mind did you?

Neits was about to reply when he noticed that Jed Plank had stopped
sawing. He looked at both boys intently.
What did you say? He asked Isaac.
I just asked Neits if he minded that Id said about the mistress. He
placed a thick branch on the pile and stood erect expecting to be told off.
Why should Neits mind? Plank asked. Mongol turned to look at the two
boys and smiled.
Its just that she really frightened me last night. Neits said breathlessly.

He paused and glanced at the pile of branches at his feet and wondered if
he was able to stop himself crying.
I thought she was trying to kill me.

I know what shes like, Son. Plank remarked wiping a bead of sweat
from his forehead. He looked at the boy earnestly.
Theres not much we can do about her except do our work and hope she
loses interest.

Were lucky to be serving in a big house where theres food on the table
and clean beds to sleep in. We could be in the mines where you get
worked like dogs until you drop dead in your boots. Fancy that?

He adjusted his saw and did a couple of swipes before gesturing towards
Mongol.
Look at him. Plank sighed. This man would have been dead years ago
if it were not for his place in this house. What with his deformity and low
intelligence he wouldnt have stood a chance.

No one would have given him work, so he would have been picked up by
the police and given the chop. They call it social engineering, killing
people with his condition.

It happens every day, state sanctioned murder. The truth is if you are not
useful in the society they have created... He nodded towards the house.
...youre not wanted.

Is that true? Neits asked horrified.

Unfortunately, yes. Isaac replied picking up more branches.
So get on with your work and be thankful. Plank shouted. It could be
much worse.

Neits busied himself collecting branches and placing them in their

respective piles when something caught his attention. It was noise hes
not heard before coming from the other side of the estate.

He and Isaac looked over in the direction the sound was coming from and
they saw a flock of black birds rise into the air like a thick black cloud.
They had been disturbed from their nests and the birds soared above their
heads like a menacing black fog. They looked in the direction from where
the birds had risen and there, in the distance was a fleet of big, black cars.

The noise they could hear clearly was the sound of a loud siren that was
screaming from the leading vehicle as it raced through the grounds of the
estate closely followed by the others.

The next had its headlights flashing on and off and a blue light in the
centre which was also flashing.

The vehicle behind that had a flag on the bonnet and as the fleet came
closer Neits made out the symbol that was embossed on the flag.

It was a circle with a white feather in its centre. It was the same symbol
he had seen in stone over the door to the house.

He then remembered the dream hed had the previous evening.

A feather on a shield held high.

Thats right he thought looking intently at the flag as it flickered on the
wind. The motif was drawn in a gold coloured thread and in the sunlight
he saw it clearly, it was shimmering.

Now it begins. Plank said softly as his eyes followed the line of
vehicles to the front of the house.

The bell had summoned him later in the day and Neits had gone to
Madam Sophies room hesitantly. She was up and dressed elegantly in a
two-piece suit. Her makeup was done expertly and her hair was pulled
back from her face and tied with a ribbon behind her head.

Tonight I will introduce you to the Master of this house. She said
indifferently checking her ear-rings in the mirror as she spoke.
I will call for you after supper and, when you come, please wait outside
the room until I need you. Do you understand?

Consequently later that day he was standing in the shadows outside the
blue lounge, as it was called, waiting to be instructed. He could hear their
voices travelling through the door as he stood there like a mannequin or
statue.
It was uncomfortable listening to them talking and he wondered if she
had forgotten that he was there. Perhaps she liked to feel him nearby,
involved, but not so involved as to be part of anything.

Come and take the night air. She said as she opened the window. Its
fresh, much better than the smoke filled, stinking air of the city. All that
sewerage and sweat; it gets in your clothes and hair and you cant get rid
of it.

Must you have the windows open? He replied reclining on a large sofa
a cigarette burning in his fingers. You know how prone I am to colds.

He got up and walked towards her leaning over and pulling the window
closed tight.
Leave it open you spoil sport. She hissed. I want to feel the cold
breeze against my skin. I want to be touched by the frozen hand of nature;
it turns my blood to ice.

To match your heart. Her brother quipped. Have it your way but dont
expect me to sit here and freeze to satisfy your indulgencies. From
tonight I want a fire burning in every hearth, if you want to be cold, stand
outside.

Yes, I could stand on the driveway completely naked. She laughed and
joined him at the drinks table.

Youd love that, all the servants lusting after my body while you wank
yourself off at one of the windows; closed of course. You could peer at
me through a crack in the curtains.

I think youve drunk too much tonight sister. He replied coolly pouring
himself a large brandy.
Like the night air, your conversation has made me uncomfortable.

Come on brother. She slurred leaning on his shoulder. I know your

fantasies; your deepest thoughts. You know I would do whatever you
wanted me to do; you just have to ask. Particularly at this time of the
year; now the rites are upon us.

So, thats what you are getting at. He mused with a smile. You want to
be my altar virgin; well dearest, its a bit late for that.
Dont be unkind. She hissed. I will help you in other ways, look after
your interests.
I can look after myself. He replied tapping the side of his glass with a
delicate finger.

I know. She said sitting beside him and placing a hand on his thigh.
But the balance can swing the other way quickly. They say your policies
are unpopular, your economics unsound. They say all this could go in one
coup.

Not while I live. He hissed taking her hand and dropping it

unceremoniously in her lap. This equinox will see an end to strife. The
ritual will consolidate my power for now and for the rest of time.
Perhaps. She smiled.
Explain? he said softly. Whats going on in that perverted little brain
of yours?

My lips are sealed. She said walking to the mirror and examining
herself in the reflection.

But let me just say that the age of man is in the descendent and the age
of woman is in the ascendance. A new age is dawning, all hail the new
age.
Very funny... He said sternly. ...but you are forgetting one thing dear.
Oh yes?
Baphomet! he replied softly.

Yes? She turned and looked at him with a curled lip. What about
Baphomet?
You are too old, he prefers something younger. He knew this would
make her angry and he smiled wickedly. He needs a younger yoni, a
virgin, a maid. Something untouched by man; you definitely fail on that
point.

Ho, Ho bloody Bap-ho-Met. She said. Who have you got in mind?
Not that dumb bitch in the kitchen, give me a break!
Well see.
Well, she said going to the door. Let me introduce you to another
member of staff. I took him on while you were away. Boy, she shouted.
Come in here and meet your master.

Neits touched the door handle and was about to enter when he heard the
other voice reply.
Not tonight, I am too tired. He stopped in his tracks and listened.
You can make introductions at another time.

The door opened and Madam Sophie stood in the crack looking at him.
Dismissed. She said abruptly before closing the door again.

Neits shrugged and walked back to his room glad that the day was over
and not sorry for being told to go.

In the hall outside he glanced across to see if Isaac was there but tonight
he was alone. He was very tired and so the thought of getting into his own
bed appealed to him greatly. He went in and closed the door behind him.

The following day the master and his sister were in the oak panelled
dining room eating. It was a beautiful room with windows all along one
wall which took in the estates sweeping view. The green valley and thick
forest that fell away from the house went on until it reached the crashing
ocean.

Madam Sophie Leigh had descended the staircase from her private rooms
with all the dignity of a street drunk being still intoxicated from the night
previously. Each step had to be carefully negotiated to prevent her from
falling while her brother managed the task without difficulty.

When, eventually, she made it to the dining room she sat opposite her
brother at the other end of the huge black table that crossed the room.

Charity was standing in the corner beside a dumb waiter with a crisp
white apron wrapped around her black uniform.
If Id waited for you... The master said simply lowering his soup
spoon for a moment.
...I would have had to suffer the injustice of cold soup. That would never
do.

Dont let me hold you up. She replied with a snarl mimicking his
manner. After all, Im just your sister. We all know whose boss around
here. Im not even worth the injustice of cold soup.

He did not reply but his expression betrayed his inner resent. He knew
she was bitter about his comments the previous evening but he was not
prepared to apologise.
She was going to have to bow to tradition as he had always done; there
was nothing else for it. She sat erect staring at him as Charity poured a
ladle of soup into her bowl.
Careful. She snapped.
Youre splashing my dress, stupid girl.

Charity nervously stopped and stepped back into the shadows placing the
soup bowl back onto the dumb waiter. Sophie smelt the soup and sighed.

Ah, she smiled. That old bitch in the kitchen certainly knows how to
make a good soup. It must be all the practice she gets whisking Planks
wooden spoon.

Her brother looked at her intently and shook his head from side to side.
The thought of them fucking over the kitchen sink she started to say.
Stop this. He shouted splashing his soup over the clean tablecloth.
Keep your thoughts to yourself at least until weve eaten. Youre
embarrassing the girl. He nodded toward Charity.

She brushed a crease from her apron and hoped they would change the
subject. It was frightening enough being there alone with them both
without being the subject of conversation. Sophie pursed her lips and
looked at Charity through the corner of her one eye. She slurped a
spoonful of soup noisily.

Are you going to keep this up throughout the meal? Her brother asked
pushing his soup bowl away.
Ill behave as I see fit. Sophie replied finishing her soup.
No matter if it disturbs you or the staff.

Charity carefully took the soup bowl from the masters place and stepped
gingerly to the other end of the table. She reached out to take the other
bowl and her hand was visible shaking.

Get on with it. Sophie snapped as the girl took the bowl. Sophie stared
down the length of the table and asked softly:
So, are you going to let me join you tomorrow at the equinox or not?

Behaving like a child will not change our traditions. Her brother replied
as he watched Charity place the bowls upon the dumb waiter and collect
two plates.
There is a right way and there is a wrong way, I do things the right way.
Remember... He hissed.
...I am their redeemer, their saviour, their brother and their father. You
can be none of these things.

The girl walked to the table and placed a large white plate beside the
master and then walked to the other end of the table. She placed the other
plate next to Sophie and walked to the dumb waiter again. Several small
dishes had arrived there having been sent up from the kitchen.

Change is inevitable. Sophie said with a small smile. A new age is

dawning; a new feminine age.

Must we go on with this? He said raising his voice. Beside the

traditional paternalistic aspect of this ritual, there are other preparations
that you know nothing of.

What preparations? she asked watching the girl place a spread of

vegetables on her brothers plate. The girl then walked to her end and
placed a selection of green beans and potatoes on hers.

Magical ritual requires at least a basic knowledge of theory and practice.

This is something I know you are ignorant of. You know not the slightest
thing and there isnt the time for you to learn.

He huffed and waited while the girl placed a piece of cooked meat on his
plate, he waved her away before she could place more.

You are wrong again Brother. Sophie said watching the girl place meat
on her plate. Ive been reading your books. All of them.

Really? He sniffed pouring some sauce on his plate and eating; they
both at in stony silence for a while. Then, after a long tense pause, she
looked at him intently and continued.

I have been studying in secret for many months and I feel ready to get
involved.

He looked up at her and shook his head. There was a wine decanter in
front of his place and the master reached out for it.
Its not that easy. He replied pouring himself a glass of red wine.
Youre just being a snob. She smiled before indicating that the girl
should fill her glass. Charity stepped quickly to the decanter and rushed
to her mistress. She filled the glass that was being offered up to her and
returned the decanter before taking her position by the dumb waiter again.

Ive read everything and feel just as knowledgeable as you. I may have
even practiced the art in your absence.

Youre lying. He said laying his knife down with a clatter. The tension
in the room grew as the silence between them threatened to crush the
table. You had better be joking. That room is out of bounds.

If I was lying, she shouted. I wouldnt know about the ritual, would I?
She pushed her plate away from her and muttered to herself before
glaring at him.
When you are away from here theres very little to do and I am bored
stiff.

I thought you occupied yourself, erm... He sniggered like a schoolboy

and threw a glance toward Charity.
...in your own way.

The master looked across the room again and the one eyed girl froze on
the spot.
Do me a favour. His sister spat.
The staff have their uses but come on, theyre as dumb as donkeys. She
glanced at Charity and her lips twisted into a sickening snarl.

No, She continued. When you are away I have reign over the whole
house. Even the parts you forbid me from using.

My god, Ive got to do something in the evenings otherwise Id go mad.

What have you been doing in my room? he demanded to know. You

had better not have used my tools. They are mine, they are consecrated
and purged of bad energy. If you have so much as touched them I will...

Cool down brother. She replied drinking a huge gulp of wine. Dont
lose your cool. I know the rules. Didnt you ever wonder why I could talk
to you about the mysteries, about Baphomet? Did you think Id just woke
up one day with that knowledge? And, believe me, I truly have
knowledge.
She stood and walked to a cupboard that sat at the side of the room and
pulled open a mall door. Inside was a small box with switches and
buttons which she pressed.

The box lit up and from hidden speakers music slowly filtered into the
room. Sophie walked to a small dinner gong and picked it up.

The music was slow and rhythmic, a beating drum was set among the
lilting sound of violins. The rhythm marched steadily from the speakers
with a wilting and hypnotic stream of gentle notes accompanying it.
Sophie lifted the gong and banged it.

Listen, all you who have ears... She said raising her chin and dancing
slowly towards him.

...The seven sacred sonnets of BAP-HO-MET. She said with a

mischievous grin.
A little mathematical poem for you, my brother, something to show you
the depth of my understanding.

She moved towards him with the gong in one hand and the gabble in the
other. Dancing hypnotically as the sound from the speakers filled the air.
He raised his glass towards her and smiled.
A mathematical riddle... she continued. ...the nine degrees.

She squatted down on her haunches and looked up at him like a cat. A
candle burning behind her flickered through the soft green silk of her
dress and she banged the gong three times before whispering.

FIVE equals SEVEN.

Yes Sophie Leigh, he asked softly. What is Philosophus?

Standing she thrust her groin towards him and continued to dance slowly
like a serpent around the chair in which he sat, mouthing a verse for him
in tune with the music.

Each line of the verse was filled with a hidden symbolism that he was to
interpret; it was a game only they knew the rules too.

FIVE equals Seven. She repeated.

This is the word of the Hermit
the sacred name of fire
the secret word on Shus brow
a Virgin in the sky.

Her brother twisted a half smile towards her arching body as she moved
around him. The words echoed from the walls and ceiling in time with the
slow march of drums; he nodded for her to continue.

SIX equals SIX, she said banging on the gong.

This is the magick Herophant
the bull-horned man reborn
the Horus flower
a name of power
the bringer of fire-storms.

She banged the gong a further three times and sank to one knee.

SIX equals FIVE

In those dark storms they dwell
The Emperor and The Ram
The messenger called Jupiter
Will lead to their crown

Standing and giving a bow Sophie danced away from him moving her
hips from side to side seductively. He watched the performance with
interest the smile becoming wider with each sway of her hips.

SEVEN equals FOUR

When one becomes majestic NINE
Hermes longs for birth
The Empress flies in Vermilion skies
Far above the Earth

EIGHT equals THREE

The Priestess will devour you
Kneel to be her blessed
Bend low and take the Moons arrow
Call out here for Isis

NINE equals TWO

The pumping rod must be purged
Thrust forth the Mages staff
Do not hold back Mercurys attack
Call here the name of Mars.
The music beat frantically as she twisted around the room a flowing blur
of green silk. Her hair loose hung around her shoulders in wild tassels and
her skin was kissed with sweet droplets of moisture. She banged the gone
three more times.

TEN equals ONE

Hear O seed of Osiris
Its the Fool in search of TIME
A spurt of white
The stains of night
AIR in EQUALIBRIUM.

She fell to the floor with this call on her warm lips and lay there
quivering.
Bravo! he clapped over her panting breath. Bravo, bravo, bravo. He
said as the gong slipped from her fingers and rolled across the cold floor
spinning on its axis loudly.
Its true, you have been busy reading.

They both looked towards the gong laying at the feet of the young girl
who stood by the dumb waiter looking puzzled.

Charity was holding a cold pudding in her hands and was looking
towards the master and his sister for some instruction.
Sophie picked herself up from the floor and looked intently at the
awkward girl.

Just serve the fucking pudding will you. She spat eventually. Stupid
little bitch.

Charity stepped from the dumb waiter and towards the table cautiously.
Placing the trey that held the pudding on the table in front of her master
she reached for a bowl and placed a portion in it.

Then she took his dining plate and placed that on the tray where the bowl
had been. This was repeated at the far end of the table where
her mistress had been sitting.

She was about to take the tray to the dumb waiter when he said something
that made her blood freeze.
Wait, her master ordered. Come, stand here in the light.
Charity placed the tray on the dumb waiter and turned slowly. She could
feel Madam Sophies eyes burning into her and dared not look in case the
stare turned her to stone.

He lifted his delicate hand and beckoned with his finger for her to come
closer. His eyes were focused on her face although she was aware of them
dropping to her breasts momentarily. Darting over them, taking them soft
panting of her chest in with glee.

She stood next to him as his eyes swept from her chest to her hips and
then her legs. He reached out and touched her inner knee which made a
shock of electricity shoot over her.

She trembled slightly as his fingers rose to the hem of her skirt. Charity
closed her eye and gulped feeling the coldness of his knuckles on her
inner thigh.

Time seemed to stand still as she trembled in his gaze. Those fingers
explored a little higher as he wondered how far she would allow him to
go before pulling away.

He moved higher still and smiled wickedly feeling the tremble on the tips
of his exploring fingers and then, as the tips brushed the soft mound of
her panties, Charity stepped back. Her eye opened and it glared at him.
He smiled wickedly being amused by her fear.
You can go now.

Neits made his way to his room later that evening having made his way
there from the kitchen. He had helped undress Madam and hung her
clothes in the locker before being dismissed. From there he had gone to
the kitchen but it was late and all the lights were out and the stove was
cold.

Standing outside his room for a moment Neits wondered why he hadnt
seen Isaac that evening. He wondered if her was in his room and crept
down the darkened hall to his door.

He listened and thought he heard voices so he knocked gently and waited.

After a moment or two the door was pulled ajar slightly and Isaac stood
in the crack.
Hello! he whispered looking down the hall furtively.
Can I come in? Neits asked putting is hand upon the door.
Not, really. Isaac replied but it was too late, Neits had pushed the door
back and he saw inside.
Charity was in the bed covering her modesty.

Sorry. Isaac said remorsefully. Its complicated.

I understand. Neits replied lying. He didnt understand and yet didnt
know what to say or how to react. Ill see you in the morning.

Yes. Isaac said closing the door. In the morning.

Neits went to his room and closed the door. He sat on his bed and bit his
lip thinking about what he had seen. Then he curled up in a ball and went
to sleep.

You can help Isaac in the Pantry. Cook said as she took the breakfast
things from the table. It is dusty in there and the boxes need unpacking.

Wont Madam need me? Neits asked sipping on the last of his tea, he
placed the cup down and it was immediately taken by Cook. Charity then
wiped the table with a wet cloth.

She will probably sleep till eleven or so. Cook replied. You can be
busy down here till she rings for you.
Theres an apron over there. Jed Plank remarked pointing to a row of
hooks. Isaac?
Yes? The other boy replied coming into the kitchen.
Take Neits there and show him how we arrange the foodstuffs in the
pantry.
Okay.

Neits got up and pulled an apron around his waist and looked at his
friend. He gestured for him to follow and they entered a large dusty room
filled with boxes and lined with shelves.

We have to unpack the boxes. Isaac said pointing towards the pile.
The tins go on that wall, the bottles over there and the loose stuff on the
lower shelves.
Right.

Before we start its best to dust down the empty shelves. Isaac said
taking a cloth and throwing it over his shoulder.
Where does all this stuff come from? Neits asked. Ive never seen so
much food packaged like this. In the village we used to pickled
vegetables but never like this.

All this stuff has come from a central store. Isaac said pointing at one
box that had a date stamped on the side. This stuff is years old, it keeps
forever if its looked after properly.

They began to rip open the boxes and explore the contents. It was mainly
processed meats in one box and tins of tomatoes in another. After wiping
the shelves they placed the tins with the labels naming the contents facing
the front.

Im sorry about last night? Neits said after a while. He looked at his
friend and gave a half smile that indicated his obvious disappointment.
Sorry, Isaac replied. What for?
For interrupting I guess. I should have known.

What? Isaac replied stacking the tins with his back to his friend. He
turned to face him.
You couldnt have known about me and Charity.
Are you having an affair Neits asked softly.
No. Isaac laughed. Shes a friend. Look the girl cant talk so she needs
someone to give her a hug sometimes. Make her feel wanted. She takes a
lot of shit in this place, can you imagine what its like?

We all take shit. Neits replied coldly.

But we can talk about it. Isaac said.
Imagine, if you couldnt tell anyone how you were feeling, how angry
you were. Imagine if you couldnt say if you were depressed, imagine
that?
Yes, it must be hard for her. Neits replied feeling guilty that hed
brought the subject up.

Hard! Isaac said. You have no idea. The girl would go mad if she
couldnt get it off her chest. I mean, she cant talk so if shes sad I let her
cry, if shes angry I let her get mad. I give her permission to be herself.
Shed go off her head otherwise.

Do you have sex?

Are you jealous? Isaac replied with a wide smile. You are jealous. I
didnt know you cared.
Dont take the micky.
Look Neits, Isaac smiled. I have enough love for everyone, even you.

I just thought. Neits said turning to open another box. That we had a
special relationship, something private, just for us. I didnt realise it
wasnt that special.
It is special. Isaac replied. Its ours, its ours and no one else is
included. You are like my brother. Just remember that.
I will. Neits replied softly. He made a small smile and whispered:
Thanks.

Now thats out the way. Isaac replied throwing a tin of tomatoes across
the room. You can start to stack them up there.
Come here! The master said coldly. It was later that evening and the
two were sitting at the long black table again; alone with one nervous
servant.

Charity placed the bowl she was carrying on to the dumb waiter and
walked slowly toward the master.
What size do you think she is?
Do you have to? His sister replied looking across the table sternly.
These games are just too boring.
I thought a size 12, what do you think? He smiled.
Ha, Ha! she sneered. Who gives a shit.

Charity stood in front of him and looked awkward.

Turn around. He whispered. She did as she was asked and turned on her
heels, his eyes burning into her body, penetrating her clothing.

Beautiful. He said eventually. Come to my rooms tonight, after your

work in the kitchen has been done.

You cannot be serious? His sister shouted throwing down her cutlery.
She stood and walked towards the door. If you think Im going to be
party to this, you have another thing coming.

With that she stormed from the dining room and slammed the door
behind her. Her brother smiled and nodded to the girl to return to her
duties.

She was relieved to do so and scurried off to collect the mistress things
from the other end of the table.
Dont forget. He said as she walked away. Come after you have
finished your duties.
Later in the evening Charity was feeling nervous. She had no way of
telling anyone what he had said and it was worrying her. As she swept the
last of the kitchen floor and hung her apron on its familiar hook she felt
as if she was going to her execution. She climbed the stairs to the
Masters quarters with a sense of resignation. Once outside his door she
paused before knocking in the hope that something would happen that
would prevent her going in.

Then she heard a friendly voice. She turned and saw Isaac walking down
the hall towards her. He was carrying a box that the master had told him
to retrieve from a storage room.

What are you doing here? He asked knowing that she wasnt able to
reply. Did he ask you to come here?

She nodded and bit her lip. He looked at the door and then at her. He felt
helpless knowing that he had to let her do as she was asked.

Dont worry. He whispered. I have to go downstairs quickly but Ill

come back and wait here for you.

He looked at the box he was told to get and passed it to her.

He wanted this. You give it to him.

Charity smiled and then looked towards the door with reservation.
Go on. Isaac said softly. Ill make sure youre okay.
She knocked and a voice called from within for her to enter.

Once inside the door she saw the master waiting beside a blazing fire.
The room was cast in shadows and the only light was from the logs
burning in the hearth.
Whats that you have. He called out. Come bring it here.

She stepped towards him and held the box out. He looked at it and smiled
recognizing it at once.
Good. He smiled. You can help me dress.

He opened the box and the first thing they saw, sitting upon a green and
blue silk cowl, was the golden crown of his ancestors. The crown
gleamed in the twilight and shadows thrown down by the fire and looked
majestically beautiful sitting there. Charity had never seen anything so
ornate.
Do you like it? He asked taking the crown from the box. Its part of a
very important costume. A costume I get to wear only rarely. Tonight is
one of those occasions. Get that mirror from the corner.

He indicated a full length mirror that stood in the corner of the room
which was on casters. She wheeled it to him as he undressed. When he
was naked he asked her to bath him.

There was a bowl of steaming water on a nearby washstand and she

dipped a sponge into it and lathered it with sweet smelling soap.

His body was smooth and hard as she wiped the sponge over it. The water
and soap drained from his skin in long lines and collected in a small pool
at his feet. He turned and she noted his arousal. His hand caught hers and
her fingers were pushed down to his groin.
Wash there. He said softly.

As the sponge swept over his hard genitals he closed his eyes and enjoyed
the sense of power he had over this girl. She felt a sense of breathlessness
and fright that combined in her body making her tremble.

She knelt before him and swept the sponge down his legs and over his
thighs. Charity kept her gaze on the floor and behaved businesslike; she
tried her hardest not to appear frightened.

Dry me now. He said as she stood. There was a large towel by the fire
that she took and wiped over his body.

When she had finished he took the crown out the box and shook out the
garment beneath it. The serpent that encircled the hem shone in the light
from the fire as he pulled the garment over his head.

You can go now. He said firmly. She hesitated before giving a shallow
nod and leaving the room. Outside instead of the friendly face of Isaac
she met her mistress, Sophie.

You think youre clever dont you. The woman said as the girl closed
the door. Sophie stepped toward the girl and reached out. It was a sudden
thrusting movement that caught Charity by surprise.
The smile on her mistress face was un-natural, it was a wicked sneer, full
of hatred and loathsomeness. Charity felt a blow and looked down. She
saw a dagger sticking out of her chest.

Bitch. The woman snapped as the young girl fell forwards, You
thought youd take my place, take my birthright? That will never
happen.

Charity fell to her knees and looked up at the woman who towered over
her. She saw the blood on the tips of her fingers and felt warm moisture
trickle down her chest as her breathing became laboured. Then her vision
blurred and she fell forwards as if in slow motion.

Never! Sophie shouted at the corpse. She turned and walked towards
her room as if nothing had happened. She was mumbling to herself about
the bloodstains on her dress as she opened the door.

As it closed Isaac came up the stairs from the Staff quarters. He saw the
prostrate body of the girl and ran towards her.

Charity? He said quietly lifting her body up and then his face turned
white. He looked at the palm of his hand and it was covered in thick red
blood. She was lifeless and yet still warm.
No! he cried out in the darkness. No!

He pulled the dagger from her chest and opened the door to the Masters
room. Isaac saw the man standing with his back to him admiring himself
in the mirror. He was totally unaware of what had happened in the hall
outside. The master looked at the boy in the reflection and sniffed.

What do you want? He asked with an air of indifference. He was about

to turn as the boy crossed the room and the master caught sight of the
dagger in the boys hand.

What are you doing? He said as the knife punctured his lung. Isaac
pulled the blade out and struck again.
Its something I should have done years ago. He said pushing the blade
into the blue silk, again and again.

The master fell to his knees and held a hand up to stop the blows from the
dagger but the blade cut into his palm. He looked at Isaac one last time as
the blood poured from his body and saw the expression on the boys face
change from absolute anger to confusion.
His pupils turned into one another and he dropped pole axed. The
masters last sight was that of his sister standing behind the falling boy
with a hammer in her grip.

Im so sorry, my brother. She cried as Isaacs body shook in

convulsions on the floor beside them. She picked his head up and placed
it on her lap, stroking the blood from his face.

Dont worry. She said softy. I will complete the ritual and perhaps all
will be back as it was.

His empty eyes stared blankly back at her. She then proceeded to undress
him and to place the blood soaked ceremonial robe on her own body.

Neits stepped from his room and looked across the hall. It had been hours
since Isaac had told him that he was going up to make sure Charity was
safe.

He crossed the hall and tapped on his friends door, there was no answer.
He tapped again before trying the lock. The door swung open. He peered
cautiously inside and found the room empty.

The boy stepped back into the hall and walked along until he came to
Charitys room. He knocked gently.
Charity, he whispered. Its me, is Isaac in there?

There was only silence in return. He tried the lock and the door opened.
The room was empty too.
What are you doing? A voice asked making the boy jump. He turned
and saw the face of the cook looking out from behind her door.

Boys are not allowed in this part of the staff quarters.

I know. He replied. Its Isaac, hes not in his room and neither is
Charity. He went to get her from the Masters room hours ago. Im
worried that something may be wrong.

Go to your room and Ill call Jed Plank. She replied pulling her
dressing gown around her body. Hell know what to do.

Neits ignored her and ran down the hall towards the staircase that led to
the main part of the house. Climbing each step cautiously he peered
around each landing expecting to find either the master or his sister
standing there.

When he reached the final stair he looked down the hall and was
surprised to find it in darkness.

Normally this part of the house always had a light burning in the socket;
although tonight it was dark and silent. He could see the shape of
something half way along but couldnt make out what it was.

Ateth. She said softly raising a hand to her crowned forehead. Sophie
was dressed in the ceremonial costume her brother had been wearing only
a few moments earlier and now she was standing in the secret room
beside the altar, whispering the ancient prayer of their ancestors.

Malkuth, she whispered touching the purple cord that wrapped her
waistline. Ve Gedula, Ve Gebhula, Le Aleom.

Neits walked to the lifeless body of the young girl in the hall and knelt
beside her. He had never seen so much blood and it was sticky to the
touch.

He listened to see if she was breathing and when he realised that she was
dead it sent a shock wave through his body. He stood and looked down
unsure what he should do. It was then, through the open door to his left,
beside the crackling fire, he saw something else.

ADONAI! She screamed turning to face the blazing southern burner.

ORIENS! She screamed to the east.

The thick plumes of incense rose from the burners and started to fill the
room with an acrid smoke.

Eh-Ei-He! She screamed to the blazing west and then turning to the
northernmost burner she raised the bloodied dagger into the air and
screamed. AGLA!

Neits walked carefully into the masters room, he had never been in there
before and he was afraid. Then he saw the body of his friend laying
beside the mirror, blood was still leaking from a gaping head wound.
There was another body lying in the shadows. He peered closer and could
see that it was the naked body of the master.
Neits stepped over the masters body and bent over beside Isaacs prone
form sure that he too was dead.

Neits He looked down and saw Isaac had opened his eyes.
What has happened here? Neits asked kneeling beside his friend. He
reached out with tears streaming down his face as the realisation that his
life was about to change again, forever, dawned on him.

Its her. The boy whispered weakly. You have to stop her.
Who, stop who? Neits asked. He could see that Isaac was very weak
and didnt want to leave him there but the boy mustered all his strength
and pointed towards the door.
The mistress. He croaked. Shes there, shes over

His eyes closed and his arm fell limply to the floor.
Isaac. Neits screamed out in the darkness. The fire or hatred burned
behind him like the flames of hell and he felt a new energy fill his body.

It was a power that Neits had never felt before, an awesome feeling of
invincibility that filled him with anger.

Sanctus, Tererum, Aerisquo She whispered breathlessly. Salve

Raphael, Salve Gabriel, Salve Michael, Salve Urial, nam tellus et
Omnia

Neits stepped over Charitys cold body and looked down the hall. He
noticed the two black doors that had always been locked were now
slightly ajar.

He had previously wondered why they were always locked and had never
realised the circumstances through which he would find out.

Stepping closer he touched the handle of the first door and pulled it back.
Inside was a darkened stairwell.

Sophie opened the worn leather book and opened the cover. She stared
with marvel at the first page, the golden cross centred with a red rose,
each petal picked out in red metallic thread against a lattice of gold.

Beautiful. She said as the design drew her into its beauty. She could
feel the energy burning through the leather cover and into her fingers. The
more she looked the greater the detail she saw; finer and finer lattices
woven in gold and copper thread, fading away into infinity.
Beautiful. She repeated.

Then turning the page she saw the first symbol of the word. She started
the slow chant of the twenty-two syllables that was etched in each page of
the book.

Each syllable corresponded to each of the twenty two letters of the old
Hebrew alphabet. The twenty two trump cards of the tarot, the twenty two
rune-cards, the twenty two ages of man and the twenty two thousand year
cycle that made up the procession of the equinox.

Each utterance of this word was shrouded in mystery and echoed with
power.

Reaching the end and beginning again, her voice was creating a lattice of
echoing sound that bounced from the marble walls and ceiling.

Harmonics danced upon harmonics and the sound reverberated like a bell
through the mists of time and wonder. Ringing out through the ages,
down the centuries, she imagined it tolling in a new age of enlightenment
and wonder.

In her crazed mind she saw herself as the new messiah. The new Saviour
of mankind, the new redeemer of the age, it was the start of the age of
Sisterhood.

Neits climbed the stairwell and found himself on a landing containing

exquisite artworks. The whole house had been full of beautiful things but
none as superb as these.

There were gold fixtures and gold fittings everywhere, golden cherubims
and idols of fawns and fairies. The walls were hung with dark paintings
of horned gods and sacrificed bodies.

He could hear a murmur in the room ahead and he stepped gingerly

towards the door that separated him from the sound. A sound he had
never heard, like singing, it was a ringing chant and the harmonic layers
seemed full of endless echoes.

It was an hypnotic sound and it reminded him of something, something

scary. He stepped towards the sound bravely.
Sophie had her eyes closed as the rhythm of the word picked up its own
textures once theyd left her mouth.

It was alive in the room and the sound filled the hollow spaces with a
growing tension. She was unaware of the firestorm that she had created.
Fire was blazing in and around her firstly bursting through the ceiling and
then into every corner of the room.

It was a blazing confabulation that soared around the protective circle in

which she stood. Then the sound of their cloven hooves made her open
her eyes.

Seeing the room full of fire the vision took her breath away and she
became fearful of the power that had been unleashed. Her fingers
trembled and Sophie became terrified of what she had created.

Then, through the flames she saw them, thousands of small elemental
creatures each with the face of a devil. Their clawed fingers reached out
towards her through the flames and their cloven hooves rapped out a
tapping sound across the marble floor. In their hands were either pipes
made from golden rams horns or barbed tridents.

These thought forms look furtively at her, poking their tridents, blowing
their horns and then they stopped and peered behind. Moving aside and
bowing a gap opened through them.

Sophie looked up and saw coming through the flames a young boy. She
recognised him at once.

But he appeared to be glowing there before her. He was shimmering with

bright white light which enveloped his form completely.

He was a vision of love and kindness that the flames could lick but not
harm. Even the goblins looked startled by the form walking among them.

She saw standing above Neits the figure of a man and he was holding his
hands above the boys head, like a crown of fingers. Protecting him and
allowing only love to beam from the scar in his forehead.

Around the globe all the boys of his age felt joined for that moment,
across the abyss of time and space they broadcast their power and love
towards him; knowing that tonight their destiny was for filled. They
changed reality with nothing but thoughts of love and light.
You! she screamed as the scar on Neits forehead started to glow white
hot. He remembered what his father had said in his dream, if he pushed
hard he would push to.

Around the world they all pushed, from the centre of their being, filling
the boy with psychic energy.

With that thought in his heart the boy pushed over a flaming incense
burner spilling its contents across the floor. The heavy iron burner
tumbled over as if in slow motion.

Its smoking contents scattered across the floor. The ash and tinder
obliterated the circle in which Sophie stood.

This created a bridge for the goblins and elementals to use. They
immediately swarmed across the bridge and began pricking her with their
pointed forks. Their tridents quickly became bloodied as they found their
mark, through her blue robes, into the serpent stitching, then again
through her flesh.

They swarmed into the circle and had fun with the screaming woman.
Sophie picked up the great ceremonial sword and tried to use it to kill
them but it was too heavy for her.

Lifting it above her head the weight of the sword made her fall backwards
out of the circle and into the fire. The small creatures danced around her
body as it was consumed by the intensity of the flames.

Her screams rang out in the night like a she wolf baying at the moon.
Echoing down the years, the mother of Romulus and Reemus, Babylon
the great gasped her last. Then, as she burned, Niets saw the whole mass
of flame, blood and heat appeared to be sucked up into the centre of the
ceiling. Sucked up by a vortex of wind, thunder and hail; leaving the boy
in an empty room. At his feet sat a small leather book.

He thought he heard a voice on the wind, a screaming voice of the age,

Rufus is Dead, it howled, Long live Rufus.

He thought he heard the sound of cloven hooves stamping across the sky,
or was it thunder, or perhaps the grinding of sharp teeth against flesh and
bone; or was it the sound of a man screaming, forever.
Then there was silence. A warm silence that made him feel happy, like a
hot sun rise by the crest of an ocean. The sound of birds singing outside
the dark room reminded him that morning was approaching, a new
morning and the dawning of a happier time. He picked up the book and
turned it over. On the rear was a map. Niets picked up a piece of blue silk
that lay on the altar and carefully wrapped the book in it.

He ran outside the house and saw that it was summer all around, there
were green shoots everywhere and flowers littered the wayside. The
bright morning sun was rising above his head and he knew that the world
had changed.

The following week he stood with a badly injured Isaac, a weeping cook,
stern faced Mr Plank and a solemn looking Mongol by the grave of a
young girl. Cook placed a wreath of flowers on the grave and looked
towards the boys.
So, its over. She sighed.
Are you sure you dont want to come with me and Mr Plank? Were
going to find some land and make a home there for us and him.

She nodded at Mongol and smiled.

Thank you. Neits replied. But we have plans of our own. Dont you
want to stay in this old house?

No fear. Jed Plank retorted grasping the cooks hand and squeezing it
gently.
This place is like a tomb, somewhere for storing the dead. We would
never feel comfortable here with its bad memories and ghosts.
No. The cook whispered. Its best left for the rats and mice. Were
going to make our own life somewhere else. I have a feeling only good
things can happen now.

Yes. Neits smiled. So do I...

Three months later.

Are you sure you want me to set you down here? The captain of a
fishing vessel said taking off his cap and wiping the sweat from his brow.
There doesnt appear to be much to see,
...cept a few Indians and the like.
I think they will treat us well. Neits replied helping Isaac to his feet.
The two boys walked to the side of the boat and Neits jumped into the
crashing waves of clear blue water.

He turned and helped his friend, who was still weak from the attack, to
climb off the boat and into the bright blue water. They both walked
through the surf onto the beach yonder.
Well be moored off the coast for a day or so. The captain shouted.
Maybe even two days dependent on the fishing; youre a long way from
home. When were gone youll be stuck here.

If we change our minds in the next day or so Ill let you know. Neits
shouted through the sound of the crashing serf. Thank you for all you
have done for us.
It was a pleasure. The captain shouted heartily. ...Thank you for the
paintings. He glanced over his shoulder towards the stack of oil
paintings leaning against the bow of the boat and smiled.

Goodbye, for now. Isaac shouted limping onto the white sandy beach.
He shielded his eyes and watched the boat return to the sea. The captain
and his crew waved back from the deck wishing the two boys well.

Isaac leant forwards and removed his sandals feeling the hot white sand
between his toes. The wind caught the coconut trees and the mass of ferns
that lined the beach then blew through their hair. Both boys realised that
they had come home.

Neits felt his breast pocket and was relieved to find it still there, a small
leather book which he had carried on the long journey from the house.

How did you know about this place? Isaac asked as his friend helped
him toward the tree line.
Its beautiful.
Someone told me about it.... Neits replied simply. ...In a dream.

They then saw an old man step from the trees and walk toward them, his
skin, patted with clay as blue as the waves and the sky above, his tight
grey hair in long dreads that hung like tree-roots from his head. Neits
recognised him at once. It was the man from his dreams; the one who said
he was the boys father.

He nodded and smiled as the two boys joined him.

My Son. The dread-locked man smiled. We have been waiting for
you. Neits took the book from his pocket and gave it to the old man who
nodded and smiled.
Oh, He said with a note of concern. Id better put that away.
Yes, you had. Neits replied.

People think they can talk to god with it. The old man laughed.
Have you ever heard such nonsense? Still, he said thoughtfully.
Id better put it somewhere safe.

As the small party entered the village the children and women came from
the long houses and looked with interest at the two strangers.

You see. The old man said with glee. I told you one day Rufus would
return. Look, he is cleansed of his evil ways. Lets celebrate. The return
of our brothers.

The village never needed an excuse to have a party, and boy, what a party
they had that night; but thats another story.

Content contemplation of Divine Wisdom creates simple order. Strife

for absolute power strikes at the root of our being

THE END

DWK (THE DOGBREATHSPUBLISHING) 2010

From the original 1974 Manuscript
All rights reserved
C: dwkthedogbreaths@gmail.com