Messiah: The First Judgement (Chronicles of Brothers) (11 page)

* * *

‘Jether! Jether!’ The pressing cry filtered from the colossal balconies of the Royal Amber Chamber that hung high above Jether’s private monastic cloister quarters in the Tower of Winds, down to where Maheel and Issachar were assisting Jether in his varied preparations for his journey to the cradle of the universe.

Obadiah carried an empty silver amulet over to Jether, who threaded it deftly on a long silver chain.

‘Jether! Jether!’

Looking up, Jether and Maheel watched Xacheriel making his precarious way down the wide polished amber spiral steps of the Royal Chamber. He clung distractedly to his embroidered purple and golden taffeta toga as he descended, his curled satin slippers sliding dangerously on the steps. Dimnah clung desperately to his arm, hindering rather than aiding his progress.

Xacheriel misstepped and they both tumbled in a precarious heap of purple and gold into Jether’s private libraries, landing in an undignified sprawl on the gleaming amber floor.

‘Drat and bumble...’ Xacheriel mumbled, scrabbling for his monocle, now buried under mounds of newly bound Annals. He glowered at the trembling Dimnah as though it were all the youngling’s fault.

Jether shook his head. He placed the silver amulet around his neck and closed the clasp, then strode over to the languishing pair, followed closely by Maheel. He stared down at Xacheriel’s enormous feet, which were crammed into a pair of tight cerulean satin slippers obviously several sizes too small. One of Xacheriel’s rare leanings to vanity.

‘You didn’t, by any sheer chance...’ Jether addressed Xacheriel, ‘...place any of your newly concocted time-travelling lubrication grease under your ceremonial slippers, did you?’

Xacheriel glared indignantly up at him. ‘I was conducting a voltage experiment in the hologram chambers.’ He scowled sheepishly. ‘My – my latest time-travelling experiment – and I wandered over into the Red Zone by mistake,’ he declared dramatically. ‘A temporary
lapse
of my instruments. The grease aided my hasty departure.’

Maheel shook his gentle white head. ‘You know we have cautioned you again and again not to travel on those coordinates.’ He frowned in concern. ‘It is dangerous, my dear Xacheriel. Hazardous at best. Charsoc’s spies frequent that time lock, and they are most ruthless with their methods of torture.’

‘Yes, yes...’ Xacheriel gave a dismissive wave.

‘The demon werewolves frequent the time corridors in the Red Zone,’ Jether said darkly and deliberately. Xacheriel paled momentarily much to Jether’s relief. Dimnah’s mouth dropped open, enthralled.

Jether decided to press the point while he had the advantage. ‘...As do the flesh eating Necromancer Kings...’ Jether glowered. Xacheriel’s hands trembled visibly. ‘One of the myriad advantages of not being constituted of matter.’ He consoled himself, then yanked his enormous scarlet spotted handkerchief from his inner pocket and wiped the sweat that suddenly poured from his brow. Dimnah’s mouth hung wide open in awe. Issachar strode up behind Jether.

‘You needed me?’ Jether asked Xacheriel. ‘I leave to retrieve the stone of fire.’

Xacheriel frowned, then smacked his temple violently with his large hand. ‘Yes ... Yes ... of course!’ Xacheriel strode round in circles, ordering his thoughts.

‘It is a
terrible
tale, revered Jether,’ he declared ominously.

Issachar yawned loudly and deliberately. Jether glared at him from under his eyebrows.

‘A
terrible tale
.’ Xacheriel’s big hands shook. ‘One that affects your journeyings,’ he whispered.

Jether frowned, placing his hand gently on Xacheriel’s shoulder. ‘Calm yourself, Xacheriel, old friend. Breathe deeply.’

Xacheriel inhaled, his great chest heaving. ‘On my way back past the Red Zone, in the Second Heaven, I encountered the Revelator scouts, Gabriel’s firstcore rank of Eagles.’

Jether waited patiently, knowing he would eventually get to the point.

‘They had in their custody one nasty-looking-and-smelling customer. Vulture-like organism – mangy feathers.’

‘A vulture shaman – one of Charsoc’s scouts.’

Jether nodded.

Dimnah’s mouth gaped so wide that Jether reached over and physically closed it with his hand.

‘Dimnah!’ Xacheriel barked.

‘Anyway, the nasty-looking feathered life form had
this
– he called it his “trophy”.’ Xacheriel scrabbled in his voluminous pockets, eventually fishing out a great silver-and-diamond collar bearing the seal of the eagle revelators. He passed it to Jether, dabbing gingerly at his eyes with his handkerchief.

‘Vespar...’ Jether uttered, stunned.

Xacheriel clasped Jether’s old fingers awkwardly in his own.

‘I am sorry to be the bearer of miserable news, old friend.’

Jether extricated his trembling fingers from Xacheriel’s iron grasp, then swiftly turned over Vespar’s collar. The scarlet insignia that signalled a missive was in flight was still in place. Jether stared past Xacheriel, his features frozen in horror. For he knew with a terrible certainty that if Michael had received the missive, he would promptly have replaced the scarlet insignia with a gold one from the royal house to signify his receipt of the communique. It was the simplest rule of the corridors, adhered to by one and all of the First Heaven’s legions.

‘The insignia is in place.’ Jether’s voice was barely audible. ‘Vespar did not reach Michael with my missive. Consequently, Michael did not receive my instruction to leave the East and escort the child to Alexandria.’

Jether held on to the balustrade for support, his hands trembling. ‘The infant travels as we speak. Unprotected.’

He turned to the elders, his face white as a sheet. They stared at him, appalled.

‘Far worse. If Lucifer discovers the missive, he knows I meet the infant King near Alexandria with the seventh stone. He will be mobilising hell’s armies even as we speak.’

Jether hurried up the amber stairs, the elders following close behind. ‘Send Sachiel to Michael. He must leave for Egypt without delay.’

He turned to the elders on the stairway.

‘We no longer have the element of surprise. Prime Raphael and our armies for assault. We leave at dusk.’

Chapter Nine

The Hordes of Hell

Hell’s immense and terrible armies mobilised on the smouldering volcanic wastelands of hell. Folcador, hell’s fearsome archduke and Lucifer’s finest general, a ferocious demon with the face of an angel and the wings of a griffin, rode fierce and proud in his black war chariot, leading a hundred legions of the fallen. Astaroth, grand duke of hell, rode the skies, his war chariot pulled by the fierce white ice dragons of Siberia. His barbaric generals – Pruslas, Barbatos, and Rashaverak – marched below, the menacing Black Horde marching behind.

Forneus, the great and scheming marquis of hell, rode the skies on monstrous, coiled Leviathan, followed by twenty-nine legions of silver-tongued winged serpent demons.

The vast companies of Dark Grey Magi on their headless three-humped camels, rode alongside the dread warlocks of Ishtar on the backs of werewolves and dragons. Overhead in hell’s crimson, murky skies flew the demon Witches of Babylon on Leviathan, and Hera and the Banshees of Valkyrie on their flying giant serpents. Marching to the rear was the great, macabre company of Necromancer Kings, leading their armies of living skeletons.

Belzoc, barbaric prince of Persia and Lucifer’s Commander-in-Chief, led twenty thousand of hell’s legions, riding their black war chariots pulled by hell’s formidable dark-winged stallions.

Lucifer stood, menacing and proud, in his monstrous black war chariot, its silver wheels sprung with jagged war blades. The crimson flame on hell’s infernal flag flew proudly.

The sinister Shaman Kings stepped forward; behind them marched the vast company of hooded Shaman Drummers.

‘Armies of hell, I salute you!’ Lucifer cried. The slow, menacing throb of war drums pulsed beneath his voice. ‘Slaughter the usurper King before He is sealed!’

A terrible, blood-curdling roar went up from the armies of hell as the rulers of the dark world thundered towards Egypt’s skies.

* * *

One by one, fine hairline cracks started to appear on the great idols of Egypt in the great temple. The shuddering built to a crescendo with an overpowering roar as, one by one, the imposing golden images crashed to the ground. Temple priests ran for their lives, the idols continued to fall until not one remained standing.

Mary bowed her head and stared down at the sleeping babe. She shivered. Thousands of silent sinister-looking vultures had descended towards them this past hour, circling the caravan, casting strange dark shadows across the desert.

Aretas frowned. ‘We must make haste,’ he said. ‘There is danger in the wind.’

He flicked the reins and galloped to the head of the caravan, strangely troubled.

* * *

Raphael, resplendent in his full ceremonial battle armour, rode past the front line of the armies of the First Heaven in his platinum war chariot, pulled by twenty winged stallions. He stood tall, imperial, the valiant general of Yehovah’s armies on the mount of the North in the First Heaven.

To the left marched Gabriel, attired in his ceremonial war regalia, followed by his vast company of the Revelators, his swift and agile archers, in their suits of gleaming silver armour. Their great bronze crossbows reached from the ground past their heads, at the ready.

Overhead flew a million of the Revelator ‘scouts’, occupying the length and breadth of the skies – the First Heaven’s huge white-feathered warrior eagles, with their beaks and talons of gold, their wingspans over one hundred feet. The archangel princes led Michael’s battalions. Juhdiel the Daring led a thousand legions. Uriel the Fearless rode ahead in his enormous silver chariot, leading four hundred legions of the First Heaven’s finest swordsmen, followed by his multitude of warrior princes. Jether and his twenty-three royal compatriots, the angelic monarchs, were mounted on their royal white chargers, standing in a semicircle, their lances raised.

Gabriel drew the Sword of State from its jewelled sheath and raised it high above his head. ‘We fight for Yehovah, that truth and justice may prevail!’ he cried.

‘We protect the infant king!’

The deafening roar from the First Heaven’s armies resounded through the First Heaven. Jether rode over to where Raphael and Gabriel stood surveying heaven’s armies. He clasped Raphael’s arm.

‘My spies inform me that Lucifer sends Belzoc, prince of Persia, ahead to slaughter Michael before he reaches the infant.’ Jether lowered his eyes. ‘Hell’s depraved champion would settle an old score.’

‘He defeated Belzoc once over the Hebrew Daniel,’ Raphael declared. ‘With Yehovah’s strength, he shall defeat him again.’

Jether frowned. ‘One clean thrust of the sword of justice, and Belzoc is banished to the Abyss to await the Judgement. Your aeons as Lucifer’s commander-in-chief will serve you well against their malevolent strategies.’

Raphael spoke with a hard fierceness. ‘Once Belzoc is slain, speed is Michael’s advantage ... Lucifer will be close behind. They are evenly matched.’

‘You have your fastest warriors?’

Raphael nodded. ‘My swiftest legions are my escort.’ Raphael pulled down his golden visor. ‘The Messiah’s kingdom come!’

His twenty winged stallions and war chariot thundered into the lilac skies, followed by a hundred thousand of his legions’ war chariots.

Jether stared after them, strangely troubled. He turned to Gabriel and placed his hand upon his shoulder. ‘You are prepared for Nakan and his necromancer sorceries?’

Gabriel gestured to the amulet around his neck. ‘Well prepared, revered Jether, our arrows dipped in the sacred ointment from the labyrinth’s sixth spire.’

‘The entire destiny of the Race of Men rests on the outcome...’ Jether looked silently into Gabriel’s eyes. They clasped hands, and Jether embraced him.

‘Yehovah be with you, noble Gabriel. Press any advantage against Lucifer. Tell Michael to bring the child safely to me. I shall be waiting.’

Jether placed his hand on Gabriel’s shoulder. ‘I go beyond the treasuries of the hail, Gabriel,’ he whispered, ‘to the wake of the universes – to retrieve the seventh stone. I await you at Alexandria.’

* * *

‘Your Majesty, Your Majesty!’ Ayeshe galloped up alongside Aretas at the front of the caravan, his stallion whinnying in terror. Ayeshe tugged at his arm with his scrawny brown fingers. ‘The noise, sire – it frightens the camels!’

Aretas nodded; the royal servants exchanged looks of trepidation. ‘Stay in my place, Ayeshe.’

Aretas pulled on his stallion’s reins and galloped to the back of the caravan. He turned his Arab steed around and scanned the vast expanse of desert. He could hear the great thundering of horses’ hooves far behind him, but the desert was empty. Flat. A vast plateau stretching to infinity. And then the hair on the back of his neck crawled as he watched the desert sand a full league behind being kicked up, as if by the hooves and shadows of a great army on horseback, drawing down on the caravan.