Fall of Lucifer (30 page)

Lucifer fixed Michael with his intense sapphire gaze. ‘Yes, it is true that I would gaze upon my brothers’ countenances . . . ’ His voice was very soft. For a fleeting moment his eyes held a trace of their previous haunting beauty. ‘I miss our brotherhood, our fellowship, our camaraderie.’ He was silent a long moment, then smiled malevolently. ‘But nostalgia aside, I came to check on the progress of His Messiah – of which I see you know naught.’

He wrapped his hooded garb around him, and then turned back, a maniacal gleam in his eyes. ‘Tell our Father that He shall have to reckon with me sooner than He deemed. He disquiets me. He is become most reticent. Relay to our Father that I am concerned for His well-being. He is overtaxed. He keeps too much to His chest. Could it be that His chief princes no longer minister to Him with the adoration and attention as in aeons past when
I
was His chief attender?’ A sinister smile glimmered on his lips. ‘Or is there more dissension brewing in the heavenly courts?’ His words were soft but unmistakable.

‘Enough of your sedition, Lucifer!’ Michael exclaimed. ‘You know full well that what takes root so easily in fallen men’s fallow minds has no resting place here. You inflict your torment onto that mass of earth you so despise – yet even there, there are still our champions who reject you and see through your evil schemes.’

‘Ah, yes, there will come a time to target these “champions”.’ A thin malevolent smile crossed Lucifer’s lips. ‘But for now . . . this Messiah will do.’

Then he was gone, leaving nothing behind him but the soft fragrance of frankincense wafting on the icy north wind.

Epilogue

Petra – 2017

Nick turned the last page of the angelic writings. For the hundredth time that morning he photographed the strange angelic hieroglyphics. He unscrewed the exciter filter from the quartz crystal lens of his camera and carefully replaced the golden-bound codex into the upper compartment of the jewelled casket.

‘Waseem!’ His tone was terse. Urgent. He removed the camera from its rostrum, thrusting it into Waseem’s hands. ‘Get this to Mansoor at the palace museum.’

Waseem nodded earnestly. ‘Mansoor . . . the curator . . . ’ Nick explained painstakingly.

‘Yes, Malik.’

‘Take the motorbike,’ Nick said.

Waseem took off, his lanky olive legs kicking up clouds of dust as he ran into the harsh daylight.

Nick followed, stumbling out of the Lower Temenos, weary and unshaven but elated. He shielded his bloodshot eyes from the blinding Jordanian sun, staring after Waseem, who was now showing off the camera smugly to a shorter Arab boy.

‘Yallah! Yallah!’ Nick shouted, gesticulating frantically.

Waseem grinned, a wide toothy grin. He jumped onto a bright red dirt bike and placed the camera carefully into the sidecar. He kicked the throttle, waved vigorously to Nick, then roared down the dust road towards the desert highway, following the signs that read
Amman
.

Nick fumbled for his cell phone and pushed the dial button. ‘Mansoor, it’s Nick. Waseem is on his way with my camera. Get the photographs developed as soon as he arrives.’ He shaded his eyes with his hand, watching the red bike’s trail of dust disappear over Wadi Araba’s mountainous desert terrain. ‘Increase the development time. I need a higher contrast black-and-white negative.’

Zahid rushed over to Nick’s side, holding out a bottle of fresh water. Nick grabbed it with his free hand, pouring the icy liquid down his throat. He grasped his phone between his ear and his neck, rubbing the surplus water over his dirt-streaked face with his palms.

‘It’s greater than we could ever have imagined,’ he said. ‘Tell the princess that the royal household of Jordan holds the greatest discovery of modern civilization.’ Nick gazed up at the towering hills of the rust-coloured sandstone that surrounded Petra. ‘The mystery of the universe unveiled.’ His face lit with a strange elation.

‘The
origins
of evil.’

Chronicles of Brothers

– Book Two –

Messiah – The First Judgement

ISBN: 978-0-9552377-5-1

Order now on
www.chroniclesofbrothers.com

or from Waterstones, Amazon, Borders

or your local independent book store

Prologue

1981

St Michael’s Mount, Marazion Cornwall, England

The dark, imperial figure stood on a jagged outcrop beneath the towering granite slopes of St Michael’s Mount. His indigo cloak billowed in the violent gales that blew up from the raging winter storm in the English Channel.

‘Our Father . . . ’ Lucifer murmured, his soft, cultured tones barely audible. A bolt of lightning flashed, illuminating the soaring pyramidal mount crowned by its medieval castle.

‘ . . . Who art in heaven . . . ’

The heavens opened, and a driving, lashing rain hammered down.

Lucifer inhaled deeply, his face raised heavenward, bathing in the torrential downpour, and raised his hands in exhilaration to the darkening skies. Six monstrous black seraph wings rose behind him.

‘My kingdom come . . . ,’ he cried, his steel blue eyes blazing with fervour.

The soaking strands of his matted locks thrashed against his face, masking the scarred imperial features.

‘
His
will be done,’ a soft voice echoed from behind him.

Lucifer smiled. A slow, satisfied smile.

‘Michael . . . ,’ he murmured, his back to his brother, ‘you are late.’

Michael stood on the far side of the mount, his hand on his sword, silent. Lucifer pushed his long raven mane back from his face, turned, and studied his brother intently.

Michael wore the long white silk robes of his battalion’s ceremonial regalia. The sapphires on his silver breastplate gleamed, and his flaxen locks were tied back in two platinum braids. The handsome, chiselled features were set.

Grim, pondered Lucifer. No, not grim – earnest. Earnest, noble Michael.
Nothing has changed
, he reflected. He laughed sardonically.

‘You summoned me through the royal courts. What brings you here, brother?’ Michael strode to and fro impatiently. Lucifer grinned his old magnificent smile, relishing Michael’s frustration.

‘I was passing by the area,’ he said casually. He walked towards Michael, across the crests of the raging waves, in long, firm strides. ‘I was
curious
, brother.’ Lucifer drew his head close to Michael’s. ‘I would learn of the legends . . . of the white rock in the wood,’ he whispered. Michael’s clear green eyes locked on to Lucifer’s inscrutable sapphire gaze. ‘Legends of Michael the Archangel . . . ’

Michael flinched as Lucifer’s seductive dulcet tones penetrated deep into his soul. ‘The stuff of fairytales,’ Lucifer continued.

‘I traverse many lands.’ Michael replied.

‘Ah, but you reveal yourself to so
few
.’ Lucifer slowly, lazily, circled him. ‘They saw your apparition here in Cornwall, in the year 495.’ He gestured at a lofty crag in the distance. ‘You revealed yourself to a fisherman, a lone hermit . . . a
monk
?’ Lucifer’s eyes narrowed. ‘Who was he, Michael? Was he one of us?’ he hissed. ‘The angelic, or one of the Race of Men? Is Yehovah
compelled
to pre-empt my every move?’

‘You waste my time, Lucifer,’ Michael said coldly. ‘You summoned me with the royal seal, yet you speak of trivia.’

Lucifer observed him sceptically.

‘More than trivia, I think, brother. No matter, I will assuage my curiousity another time.’ Lucifer raised his hand to the skies. ‘Let us get to business, Michael – our Father’s business. And like Him, I, too, would converse of Messiah’s.’

He surveyed the craggy shores of southwest Cornwall. ‘And of this faded empire – this weakened lion . . . this
England
.’ He swung around. ‘For she shall yet behold a king . . . this year, maybe next . . . ’

He grinned mockingly at Michael, as when they used to swordfight in aeons past, in worlds long departed. ‘Perhaps tonight, Michael, a messiah is born in Marazion.’

‘Speak plainly, Lucifer,’ snapped Michael, losing patience. ‘Enough of your parables.’

‘Ah, but do I speak the truth, or merely a fabrication?’ Lucifer needled. ‘Relay to our Father that I, too, shall send a messiah.’

‘Our Father is omniscient,’ Michael replied. ‘He knows your every conversation. Your every thought is preceded and beheld by Him.’

‘Ah, yes, but I stand by the legal process. I would have my thoughts on record in the royal courts in the codices of heaven. That is why you are here – so I meet the demands of “
His
” legal system.’

Michael indicated agreement. ‘It shall be recorded as you request.’

‘My strength ebbs from me . . . ’ Lucifer scanned the heavens, strangely agitated. ‘The Nazarene is near . . . ’

An uncharacteristic dread crossed his marred countenance. ‘You came alone?’

Michael nodded. ‘Time runs down, brother,’ he spoke softly, sorrow etched on his noble features.

Lucifer lifted his head, his breathing easing. ‘He offers repentance with one hand, yet, with the other, seeks my demise.’ Lucifer’s eyes filled with loathing. ‘Our Father is malicious.’

‘As you would have it, Lucifer.’ Michael looked at him, suddenly fierce. ‘Your brazen iniquity affects your judgement.’

‘As your shameless naïvety does yours,’ Lucifer sneered.

The two brothers glared at each other, severe, unyielding.

Finally Lucifer spoke. ‘My messiah shall rise from these isles,’ he whispered. ‘A king of politics and of industry, courted by kings and queens – a greater orator than Churchill – rises upon these shores.’ He stared out past the raging black waves to a lone star that glimmered through the rising mists. ‘I think I shall give him brothers,’ he declared. ‘Like
us
, he shall have a family.’

His mood changed abruptly. ‘They shall be three, even as you, Gabriel and I are three angelic brothers.’ He gave Michael a mercurial smile. ‘Three brothers of the Race of Men.’

An insane fire lit his gaze. ‘And
like
us’ – he bowed mockingly to Michael – ‘one shall be an insurrectionist, a renegade.’

Michael bowed his head. ‘You will lose, Lucifer,’ he murmured, ‘as you lost at Golgotha.’

‘
Golgotha!
’ Lucifer snarled, his countenance turning at once into a mask of hatred. He turned his back on Michael, looking out to the raging winter seas. His voice was hard. ‘Tell Jether when he sees the white rider in the heavens, my messiah will make his appearance in the Race of Men.’

And he vanished.

Michael turned as Gabriel strode out of the hanging Cornish mists, up the rocks and towards him. Gabriel’s flaxen hair fell loose over his kingfisher blue vestments. His flawless features were finer than Michael’s strongly defined ones . . . gentler. But tonight his regal countenance was set.

‘His messiah will be born tonight in Marazion,’ Gabriel announced wearily. ‘It is certain.’ He stood on the rocks before Michael, the sword of justice hanging at his side. ‘Lucifer’s fallen angelic battalions already surround the area; our legions will do the same.’

Michael bowed his head. ‘He will lose,’ he said, ‘at Megiddo.’

Gabriel nodded. ‘Yes, Michael, he will lose – but at what cost to the Race of Men?’ Together the brothers stood in silence, staring out beyond the dark swirling mists rising off the west Cornish coast, to the blazing star that now rose in the heavens over the small village of Marazion.

* * *

2021
Monastery of Archangels
Alexandria, Egypt

Two monks stood in the portal of St Michael the Archangel, the rotating telescope dome on the observatory of the Monastery of Archangels. Their features lay hidden by the grey cowled hoods of their Coptic monastic robes. They stared through the Coronado Solar Telescope directly into the Egyptian sun, transfixed by the unsettling apparition that hovered above the sweltering desert plain.

The older monk watched, mesmerized, as the spectre materialized into a sinister waxen form astride a magnificent white stallion. The form held a bow.

‘The white rider of the Apocalypse . . . ,’ the younger whispered, fingering the cross at his chest. ‘The first seal is broken.’

‘The Son of Perdition comes forth to rule – one from the Race of Men.’ The older monk looked grimly up from the telescope into the shimmering crimson skies of the Egyptian dawn. ‘The Great Tribulation has begun.’

[[GABRIEL IMAGE]]

That dusk is still imprinted in my memory. The dusk when the sign of the White Rider of the Apocalypse hung in the Egyptian skies over the sweltering desert plains. The Son of Perdition coming forth to rule in the Race of Men. For the breaking of the First Great Seal was surely to herald the beginning of the devastations of the End of Days.