The Dragon Queens (The Mystique Trilogy) (20 page)

My mother stopped and shook my knee. ‘Remember, this is all probably fiction,’ she said. ‘I don’t want you having nightmares.’

‘As if!’ I protested. ‘I am a teenager now, I can handle it. Keep going.’

‘Okay then, the line of the Dragon Queens began when a human female was raped by a Nefilim male that had been spiritually possessed by one of the Anu.’

‘Sama-El?’ I remembered the name from Ashlee’s Persian journal.

‘The Sumerians knew him as Enki, Lord of the Earth. It is said that during the human betrayal by the Nefilim, he was the only one among the Nefilim brave enough to speak out on humanity’s behalf. His concept of the ideal of human rights was known as Kianism, and resulted in him being branded a traitor, banished and set adrift in space. Kianism was banned and it was considered treasonous to study it. It was expected that without access to ORME, the former Nefilim ruler would endure a painful withdrawal and an agonising death, followed by complete soul fragmentation. Enki did not die, however. On the contrary, his compassion for his human children sparked a genetic advancement within his DNA, whereby his missing emotional frequencies were repaired and he reconnected with his soul group on Nibiru. He was subsequently welcomed home by the Anu, who had assumed all their Anunnaki had been lost aeons before. Enki’s report of the state of affairs on
Earth was shocking, and the Anu Council appealed to their Anunnaki gods in the next harmonic universe to give them the means to save their fallen brethren on Earth. The Queen of the Anunnaki in turn appealed to the Amenti Council. Keep reading Ashlee’s journal and you will learn that a deal was struck between the twelve members of the Amenti Council and the Anunnaki queen and her prince.’

‘What kind of deal?’ I was too impatient to wait and read about it myself.

Mum rolled her eyes. ‘One that saw the Staff of Amenti reincarnate, and Enki father the line of Dragon Queens and their Princes of the Grail bloodline. And that’s all I’m going to say.’

It was all rather mind-blowing. ‘So what happened to the lizard race—how did they perish?’ I was guessing they must have died out as I hadn’t seen too many lizard people walking around on Earth lately.

‘The lizard warriors, known as the Dracon, were left alone for thousands of years, and the Nefilim were confident that the dreadful mistake they’d created was extinct. But the popular theory is that they never did die out completely. By the time the Nefilim returned to Earth to resume their mining and genetic projects, they had realised that due to the blocking effect of the ORME their soul-minds were no longer connected to their Anu soul group on Nibiru. Without direction from their morphogenetic blueprint, the beautiful Anu bodies that they’d once possessed began to mutate into ugly demon-like forms worse in appearance than the Dracon. It’s said that they still move freely among mankind, using mind-control and programming techniques to alter our memory so
that any knowledge of the past remains buried in myth and legend. Whoooo…’ Mum made a spooky noise to emphasise how sucked into her story I was.

‘You’re messing with me?’ I realised and slapped her on the shoulder. She’d been really starting to scare me.

Mum grinned. ‘No nightmares now, you promised,’ she said, and got up to go to bed, rubbing me on the leg to indicate that I should do the same.

I was still smiling at my own gullibility. ‘At what point of that conversation did you start leading me up the garden path?’

‘Who really knows the truth?’ Mum said. ‘But I intend to keep looking.’

‘And that’s all any potential reader could ask,’ I said, bringing us back to the start of our conversation, when I’d asked about whether or not she was going to publish her novel.

Later, in bed, writing all this up, I realised those words could just as easily apply to me some day.

With one parent a published non-fiction author and the other published in fiction, this could pave the way for me to be published no matter what form my first masterpiece might take. In fact, just recording my thoughts now, I realise that my journal entries are growing more interesting by the day.

I have just had the most hellish night of my life! I had a nightmare about aliens, which is really no surprise after my bedtime chat with Mum, then awoke in a panic to find blood all over my bed. I have never felt cramps like this before—welcome to womanhood! I feel truly gross. Then, to top it all off, I opened my locked diary, to which only I know the combination, to find the following paragraph in a handwriting very different to my own and in a language I don’t even understand. I scanned the piece and ran it through a translation program, which identified the characters as Sanskrit. This is the translation:

I AM. I am the destructor of the great unreality and the liberator of the perceivers of illusion who seek eternal bliss. I am death to the ignorant who fear for their lives; the ego shudders and recoils in my presence, seeing in me its own demise. I am the blackness that awaits the deceivers of cosmic law. I am Time and none shall escape my all-consuming march. Demons heed my proclamation: your demise is nigh, for I AM.

Who on Earth would be writing in my diary in ancient bloody Sanskrit? My mother is the only
person I know who’s familiar with ancient languages, but it’s not like her to invade my privacy and vandalise my treasured belongings. Surely she knows how much this journal means to me?

Still, that didn’t stop me confronting her in a blind fit of superhuman rage and accusing her of tampering with my diary. Mum was clearly deeply hurt that I could think her capable of doing something like that, but she stayed very patient with me and calmed me by pointing out that my body’s hormones were no doubt having a fit at present and so I could be forgiven for being a little over-emotional and irrational.

‘Do you swear that it wasn’t you?’ I believed my mother, but who else could have gained access to my diary?

‘I swear upon my soul.’ She held a hand to her heart and looked me square in the eye. ‘I have not touched your journal and have no intention of ever doing so.’

Inwardly I knew before I even made the accusation that I was placing blame in the wrong quarter, and my mother’s sincerity confirmed this. She even offered to take a look at the offending entry and lend her expertise to the mystery. But as the entry in question seemed to be heralding the arrival of ‘the destructor’, and I had no idea who that might be, I decided my mother might find the piece too disturbing.

‘That’s okay,’ I said, ‘I’ll figure it out.’

She seemed a little sad that I didn’t want to confide in her further. ‘Well, I’m here for you if you need me.’

‘I know.’ I kissed her cheek. ‘I’m sorry I went ballistic at you. Maybe the diary entry is just
another facet of my nightmare. Hell, maybe I wrote it myself!’ I was joking, but the idea caused a large lump of anxiety to wedge in my throat. What if it
was
me who wrote it?

‘Perhaps you did.’ My mother’s tone became more positive and reassuring as she reached for her psychic dictionary, a permanent fixture on her desk. ‘There is a psychic art known as automatic trance writing.’

She found the reference she was looking for. ‘Here we go…“The medium becomes a channel for the writings of etheric world intelligences…The information perceived is usually previously unknown to the medium”.’

I tried not to gulp when she said this.

‘“The script could even be written in a language unknown to the channel.” Is that—’

But I was already on my way back to my room.

Mum’s notes hidden in Ashlee’s diary had said something about a split-personality syndrome. I rushed to retrieve them from the pocket of the pants I was wearing yesterday, but Mum had taken them to be washed. I was about to bolt out the door, when I recalled that I had copied the notes into my own journal, so I ran to open that instead.

This bi-soul conflict may cause chronic mental and emotional polarity, such as clinical schizophrenia or split-personality syndrome.

What if I was sharing my body with another soulmind, some kind of alter ego? And what if the key to my unlocked psychic talent lay in this other, darker side of myself?

‘But why now?’ I wondered aloud, and was answered by an excruciating lower abdominal cramp. ‘Okay, so what if my raised hormone levels
have sparked some cosmic chain reaction in my DNA? And what if that’s awoken the ET soul within me, which only emerges when I am asleep?’

A shiver ran through me and then another. Now I was really scaring myself.

Then my mind’s eye hit upon a segment from my dream. It was so blindingly vivid that my reality melted away and I found myself gazing out of a large curved oblong window…

The room I was standing in was quiet, calm and dimly lit. But beyond the transparent barrier protecting me, a war was raging and our enemies were claiming victory. From my high vantage point, I saw all my healthy and intelligent human hybrid children rounded up and devoured by packs of lizard warriors.

‘They were the last hope for our immortal souls,’ I said, devastated. An unusual pain welled in my throat. When I placed a hand over the afflicted area I noted how smooth the skin was on my exceptionally long neck.

‘Some will survive.’

It was a male voice that replied, and I knew via the person I was in the vision that he had been largely responsible for this rebellion. I could not bear to look at him.

‘We shall return and start again,’ he added rationally.

I was well accustomed to the sight of blood, and yet it turned my stomach to see the tiny angelic forms of my human children ripped apart. My chest began to ache. ‘We created the ultimate beings of beauty and the ultimate creatures of destruction,’ I said. ‘We are worse than these beasts, for if not for
our great lust for gold, this planet would have been paradise.’

‘Until your soul frequency theories are proven, gold is still our only means of survival.’ The male warned me against voicing such views too openly.

‘Then we are damned,’ I uttered, and to my great shock my eyes moistened and a trickle of fluid ran down my face. I had witnessed such an occurrence in humans when they expressed excessive emotion, but my kind had been clinically incapable of feeling anything for aeons. Could it be that my compassion for my children was reversing the damage I had done to my genetic structure and the spiritual bodies that were intrinsically attached? Was I to be the living proof of my father’s theory?

‘You do not look well,’ my companion noted. ‘You must be due to ingest.’

‘I will never ingest again,’ I retorted. That would be my protest against our blatant abandonment of potential angels to their slaughter. ‘I would rather perish than cause the like of this holocaust again.’

‘We need you, Kali,’ he said, and I believe I detected a slight undertone of worry in his tone. ‘Your devotion to these mortals could almost amount to Kianism, and you know what became of our father for his beliefs!’

‘Enki was right!’ I stressed, knowing my view was considered treasonous.

My company chose to ignore my words. ‘The Council will never allow you to abstain from ingesting,’ he said.

‘I know,’ I replied. An unpleasant sensation gripped my heart at the realisation of what I must do. Its invisible tentacles extended upward to my throat and down to my stomach; I was held
paralysed in its clutches. This was fear, the same fear that my human children were experiencing—fear of imminent death.

The Council would do all within its power to keep me alive and producing humans for them to rule and abuse. But even if I had begun the long road towards developing my emotional body sufficiently to reconnect to my soul source on Nibiru, I had to accept I would not live long enough to complete the process and prove my theory. Either I faced eternal damnation now, or aeons of seeing many more horrific slaughters just like this one. My ancestors had denied me any chance to aspire to a higher cosmic service, as I was one of the final few of the Anunnaki born with and damned by the ORME addiction.

My only hope was that some of my human creations might somehow survive this terrible day. My research had revealed that humans were far more emotionally adept than we Anunnaki, possessing a capacity to master the key emotions required for spiritual advancement: love, joy, compassion and empathy for each other. That was why I called my theory the ‘em-bed-path’; for only empathy and compassion attuned human beings to their higher emotions, whereby they underwent a massive genetic evolution. For when a human becomes truly self-aware, he or she attains an internal command of gravity. This balance is the key to steer the fields of molecules that compose all there is, and effectively gives the individual the capacity to remodel reality according to their will.

I gazed upon my human children’s suffering, and rather than resisting the agony, grief and remorse, I embraced it, for indeed it was better to feel the most
excruciating pain than to feel nothing at all. I acknowledged the ignorant, self-obsessed social climber I had been, and I forgave myself for I had known no better. Now, however, I did know better and with my resolve to self-terminate for the greater good of all came the most amazing feeling that filled my heart to bursting point. My entire being was levitated to a state of bliss where fear could no longer touch me.

‘Kali?’ my companion called.

I did not acknowledge him.

Instead, I held both my hands out before me and, drawing on all the power vested in me from my aeons of abusing the Elixir of Life, I willed my cold heart into my clutches.

‘Kali, no!’

I retained consciousness long enough to see the organ still pumping in my hands, my thick blue blood running in rivers down my arms.

‘Huh!’ The gruesome sight startled me from the vision. I felt like I was going to throw up and made a dash for the bathroom, but recovered after splashing my face with cool water. I gazed at my pasty reflection in the mirror; boy, did I look like one of the living dead!

I wondered if all women had bad dreams with their periods. I sure hoped it wasn’t going to be this horrendous every month!

A bath and some lunch made me feel a little more human, and as I nibbled at my food I looked up the name Kali in the psychic dictionary. Although the reference was rather brief, I discovered that Kali was a female etheric world intelligence in charge of destruction. This
information seemed to link my dream with the mysterious paragraph in my journal. Could the tall, smooth-skinned being in my dream be writing through me? If this was the case, it certainly put a whole new slant on the idea of keeping a dream diary!

I looked up this Kali character on the internet, which was rather more helpful.

Kali comes from the Sanskrit word ‘kal’, meaning time. She is a Hindu goddess, who is greatly misunderstood by the Western world as being associated with sex, death and violence, but in the Hindu text she kills only demons. For humankind, she represents the death of the ego and the will to overcome the ‘I am the body’ idea. She reminds us that the body is only temporary, and through this realisation she provides liberation to her children. To the soul who aspires to greater spiritual endeavours, Kali is receptive, supportive and loving. It is only a person filled with ego who will perceive Kali in a fearsome form. Her black skin represents—

Black skin?

I recalled my vision once more and realised that the hand that had risen to comfort my sore throat was indeed as black as it was smooth, and my fingers were extremely long.

Interesting.

I went back to my reading.

Her black skin represents the womb of the quantum darkness, the great non-manifest from which all of creation arises and into which all of creation will eventually dissolve.

Whoa…she sounded rather awesome. If this was the being that was now co-sharing my body, then I was honoured!

I could hardly believe my own imagination. Yesterday I’d never experienced a single psychic moment, and today I believed I was in cahoots with an ancient Hindu goddess. And why a Hindu goddess, when my bloodline seemed to trace back to Sumerian roots? I pondered this a moment and an interesting theory came to me. What if the Sumerians’ Genesis account was actually a retelling of an even earlier text? Could the ancient text of India and that of the Sumerians be derived from the same archaic source?

I knew someone who could answer that for me.

‘As far as we know, Sanskrit came along after Sumerian, and Sumerian is the oldest written language so far found,’ my mother said.

‘But…there might be a language from which they both derived?’ I ventured.

Mum shrugged. ‘Only if you believe in the theory of Atlantis.’

‘Do you?’

Mum gasped and turned it into a laugh. ‘Why are you so curious about ancient languages today? Does this have something to do with your mysterious journal entry?’

Time to withdraw. ‘No,’ I lied. ‘But thanks.’

I raided the kitchen then retreated to my room.

I felt I’d done enough soul-searching for today, and as I still felt wretched I decided to simply curl up in bed with Ashlee’s Persian journal. Lady Ashlee always seemed to have some great insight to impart; it could only be beneficial to spend some time in her head.

I opened the journal, found the purple ribbon that marked my place, and continued reading.

I awoke to the most incredible sound resounding around the chamber of Zalman’s Signet station; its vibration penetrated to the very core of the pain within my heart and ripped out my dis-ease, roots and all. The release took my breath away and I was washed by wave upon wave of euphoria as every single one of my subtle light centres popped and cleared in sparkling bursts. When the sound died away, I felt lightened of a great load; my entire centre of gravity had shifted to a state of utter bliss.

‘What a miraculous acoustic,’ I said.

‘In the beginning there was the word, and what you just heard was a lower vibrational interpretation of a very distant echo of it.’

Zalman referred me to my reflection and I gasped with wonder to see that my aura was now sparkling gold—that was exactly how I felt. In the mirror I noticed another anomaly behind me and I spun around to view the domed ceiling.