The Centaur (2 page)

“And when I saw him, I fell at his feet as dead. And he laid his right hand upon me, saying unto me Fear not; I am the first and the last…” 

The demon set up a long, miserable wail at the words which brought back such painful memories, such feelings of betrayal, such pain. Memories of times long past and deeds despicable when brother turned against brother and the Universe was ripped asunder. He continued to roar and scream, unable to cover his ears, unable to block out the sound of the silky smooth voice of his captor. Many times he had feared this moment when he would be made to pay for his sins, but never had he expected to be ensnared by this one.

“…
I am he that liveth, and was dead; and, behold, I am alive forevermore, Amen; and have the keys of hell and of death!
”

“Cease!! Cease! I beg you, my Lord, have pity on me!” his voice cracked. “I have sinned against you and your brethren, it’s true… but I could do nothing more.” His words ended in a piteous wail. “You left me no choice! What could I do? Tell me! What could I do?” Abaddon cried out and then hung limply from the chains, weeping great red tears from his flaming eyes. “What would you have of me? You have taken all that I had. What more can I give that you have not taken? Do not leave me here, my Lord. Do not leave me in this void! Throw my bones into Chaos and give me the peace of damnation and obliteration. I am ready. I beg you! Why did you not destroy me long ago? How can you be so cruel. Have you no heart at all?”

“You speak to me of heart? Where was your heart when you betrayed the Prophet? He elevated you to glory and you debased yourself with sin. You were the glorious one, Abaddon. You had everything and you threw it away. Little did they know that Beloved John was speaking not of Christ in those scriptures, but of a vision of hell and the keeper of the bottomless pit where Satan was chained for a thousand years. You! You! Abaddon! Abaddon! It was you who cast down the serpent of old into the bottomless Abyss and chained him for a thousand years. Why did you abandon Apollyon? How my heart was broken when I saw her sorrow. How she did weep at your falling! And yet, even the glorious Apollyon was not beyond the callings of sin and depravity. Not even the bounds of the Fourth Gate could hold her and she was cast out in her rage and her jealousy to make her own way in the world. Where is she now, Abaddon? Do you know? Would you like me to tell you?”

“No!! No, please, my Lord. How can I be responsible for her sins?” The demon tried to look away, but the angelic presence stayed in front of his eyes.

“Do you not know?” The angel leaned dangerously close to the beast and the creature opened its eyes. The voice was but a whisper now. “Do you not know who she is? Your angelic twin? Your feminine half, Abaddon, lovely Apollyon, glorious Inanna? Surely you saw her in flight, did you not recognize her?”

The demon jerked his head up and howled even louder than before as his visitor stepped back to wait out the fury. When his energy was spent, he hung suspended in the web of chains for a long while as if dead. His captor waited patiently. Time stretched on… endless.

“What do you want?” The demon asked in the silence that followed.

“I want your loyalty. You know the ancient words of banishment. Your minions still follow you. Give back something to the world you used so cruelly.” The glowing visage was difficult to look at in the utter darkness surrounding the prison cell.

“Can you release me from this prison, my Lord?”

“I can.”

“Will you release me on my word?”

“I will.”

“In return for my freedom, I offer the sum total of my services, my undying loyalty and my eternal gratitude for the remainder of my life.”

“And I will require your unerring devotion for the rest of your life.”

“Devotion?”

“Devotion. You will serve only me. You will obey only me. Even in the face of utter destruction, you will obey no other. In return for your service, I will give Inanna to you, if she is of a mind to receive you. I will broker a deal with her on your behalf. If she agrees, then you may join with her and depart from this world in peace.”

The demon let go a long, low growl that ended in a miserable moan. “She will never have me back!!” The words were filled with pain.

“Swear it!”

“I swear it, Master.”

A brilliant flash of light erupted within the tight enclosure and the demon screamed in despair before finding himself crawling about in the dirt beneath a clear, night sky full of brilliant stars and a sliver of the waning crescent moon. He stopped at the sight of two black boots in front of him.

He was yanked roughly to his feet and left staring into the shadowy face of his captor in the unmistakable glow of firelight. A sweet smell emanated from the fire behind him and a double circle traced in the dirt, filled with strange symbols, surrounded them. A chill wind brushed his face and lightning flashed all around them. The tormented demon shrieked in terror as a green bolt of electricity dug a small crater just outside the protected circle. Horizontal rain lashed the boulders and scraggly brush visible through the hazy green dome. A tremendous storm was raging just outside the circle and he realized that he was in human form again. He squinted at the figure in front of him. Water dripped from the Knight’s long, dark hair onto his bare chest. He saw the claws of the green and black dragon and the awful scars and knew that the Templar Knight standing in front of him was dressed only in a bedraggled Scottish kilt was none other than his worst nightmare, the Chevalier du Morte. The storm intensified and he could hear the noise of golf ball-sized hail bouncing off the rocks.

“Master,” he bowed his head immediately.

“Sit.” Mark pushed him toward a low, flat boulder near a blazing fire.

The dark angel, once more clad in the form of Ernst Schweikert, sat down on the rock.

Mark walked around him and picked up a goatskin sack full of wine. He thrust the bag at the terrified creature and then stood watching as he drank down the wine in huge gulps. When the bag was empty, Mark began to pace back and forth, laying out his plans and instructions for his new assistant.

The Lord of the Scorpions listened attentively to his new Master, wondering vaguely what had happened to him, who had imprisoned him in the crystal chamber and what had happened to the precious crystal skull he had been carrying before suddenly being snatched into the ether.

((((((((((((()))))))))))))

“She will know.” Omar shook his head adamantly. Luke’s plan was crazy. He couldn’t possibly just waltz into New Babylon, pretending to be Jozsef Daniel, who was pretending to be Omar Kadif. One look at his face would give him away when he had to confront Huber. “I can’t.”

Omar threw the smudged towel in the corner of the tent and Luke Andrew went after it. He picked up the formerly white cloth and sat down on a small canvas stool where he began to clean his sword and scabbard of the accumulated grime of the day. The blowing grit had dogged them all day, obscuring the sky and making the ground visibility less than a quarter mile. They had stopped only a day’s march south of New Babylon and sent dispatches by horseback on into the city to deliver messages to the Emperor’s ‘mother’. The messages would pronounce the pursuit and battle a success, giving their approximate arrival date at the city gates. The envoy would wait for a return message and in this way, they hoped to learn whether she had any idea of the true story of the rout and disaster and the destruction of the Ancient Evil.

Omar was convinced that she would somehow know that he had been dispatched to the beyond, and she would be waiting on them with some new terror. He wanted to go into the city with guns blazing and take the palace by storm. Luke assured him that it would not be necessary. He already had the Fox behind him. After two weeks, moving at a snail’s pace back toward New Babylon, he had completely won over the men left under his command. Jozsef Daniel’s forces had been decimated. They were returning with less than half of what they had started out with. Most of their transport vehicles had been destroyed and many of the survivors were injured. Along the way, Omar had used his considerable talent to heal as many of them as he could, but some were so badly injured they died along the road and were buried where they fell. Omar was demoralized and devastated by the loss of so many. In all his campaigns in his younger career as Prophet, he had lost very few troops and for the most part, his General and his chief advisor had kept the truth from him whenever casualties had occurred. Now he was unshielded by lies and deceit, and the full impact of what had come of his dreams settled upon him like a black depression, and he still had to face Huber. The Prophet felt sure that he was now paying for his sins once and for all.

“Don’t be so sure.” Luke said after a moment, startling him from the depths of his gloom.

“Of what?” Omar crumpled onto his cot and leaned his elbows on his thighs. He ran his fingers through his messy hair. His grandfather’s skills as a barber were somewhat lacking.

“Of either. She probably don’t know and don’t care, and I’m sure that you can do what you have to do.” Luke smiled at him as he slid the imposing blade of twisted gold into the black scabbard. “You underestimate yourself. You always have. Even when I thought you were a wimp, you were a force to be reckoned with. I guess you could have kicked my ass any time you pleased back then. My question is why did you put up with me in the first place? I must have been a real ass-hole tried and true.”

“You are my uncle, more like a brother. Blood means a great deal, Luke. During the time we spent together with your father, the King, I began to see things in a different light. We were intolerable. I have to assume that your father saw more in us than what we exhibited outwardly. He could have destroyed both of us then with the wave of his hand, and yet it was blood that held him back.” Omar looked away from him. “My father taught me that much. I should have listened to him more….” Omar’s voice trailed off and he frowned. “Where is he, by the way? I haven’t seen him since noon.”

“He said something about wine or women or something.” Luke shrugged. “I think he’s tired of the provisions. He’ll probably show up with a picnic basket any minute.”

“He still takes care of your father’s Templars. They serve him well.” Omar changed the subject of food and commented on the fifty or so Templars that Mark Andrew had rescued from purgatory. They kept to themselves, made their own camp and provided their own way. Luke had spent some time with them in Tibet and Arabia and he was still not quite sure if they were alive or dead. They rode great prancing horses and could be heard talking, laughing and even singing together, but they never got dirty. Their Templar uniforms were always pristinely clean, much like Lucifer’s little band of warriors. No matter how much blood was spilled on the battlefield, the Templars walked away as fresh as new pennies.

“So I’ve noticed.” Luke nodded. “I wonder where Jasmine is. He said he took her somewhere safe.”

“You still miss her?” Omar asked him.

“Sometimes.” Luke admitted. He thought it strange that, in all these years, he had never found another love interest outside of Sophia, and that had been fleeting. Considering the outcome of that situation, he was very glad nothing had come of it and he was more reluctant than ever to even look at a woman. The brief encounter with Nicole in the meadow, and then the even briefer conversation with her after the battle had left him shaken. She wanted to ‘join’ with him.

Just after their father had shown up, Nicole had looked him up and told him that their beloved father had found his way home and that there was cause for celebration. What she meant by that, he had no idea. He did know the Mark Andrew they had sent home to Scotland was not his father. The Mark Andrew that had traded places with him on this campaign was
his
father, and yet, even he had seemed somehow different.

“I’m sure we can find suitable wives in New Babylon after we clear up this… problem.” Omar commented causing Luke to choke on the water he was drinking from a plastic bottle, spraying it all over Omar’s lap.

“What on earth would you want with another wife, Omar?!” Luke stood up.

“I want children, Luke.” Omar frowned up at him. “I want a son and maybe a daughter. What every ma… body wants.”

“My god… pardon the pun,” Luke shook his head. “What about Bari? He’s your son or have you forgotten?”

“I have not forgotten.” Omar stood as well.

“Well, one thing my father taught me, Omar, was that
the company of women is a dangerous thing and many a good man has lost his way to Paradise on account of them
and I believe it. It takes either an extremely strong man or a complete idiot to appease one.” Luke smiled ruefully at his nephew. “I suppose that is the basic difference between you and I. My father never wanted children. He never planned any of his bastards other than Luke Matthew, and I’m sure that, if he could go back and change that, he would. I think I understand why he feels the way he does. Children are millstones around our necks, hostages to fortune and nothing but heartache and trouble. Tell me one good thing about them, Omar. Tell me.”

“Well, look at Dunya.” Omar waved one hand and reached for a wine bottle sitting on a wooden crate. “My father couldn’t ask for a better daughter. She is a wonderful person. Kind, generous, loving, strong, beautiful and a great mother to her children. Not a bit of trouble. Even while we were in the underworld for all those years, she was the model of perfection. If I could have a daughter like Dunya, I’d forego a son altogether. And look at Aurora. Any father would be proud of such a daughter. A marvelous woman. A privilege to name her as my kinswoman. And her children, models of perfection. Gregory and Nicholas are brave, strong, intelligent and beautiful. Pure as the driven snow in heart, word and deed. They could have been Grail Knights had they been born a thousand years earlier.”