Omen of Light Read online

Raphael had been stationed in Persia longer than any other Malakim lieutenant. He’d accompanied Michael there when the commander left Amanah in the hopes that the renown of King Elyon’s temple would reach the farthest corners of Mortal-earth, as the mortal-king, Sholomon, had requested of the SpiritMaster. Even after Michael had returned, Raphael had remained in Persia for centuries, and even helped thwart an annihilation attempt against the House of Jacov.

  “Dyeus is here,” Gavriel said.

  Raphael grinned. “I’m sure he’s in a panic. He never really rose from Shaitan’s bad graces, what with Persia being neutral territory under Cyrus and other defected mortal-kings.”

  “Oh, I am sure,” Gavriel said. “But Marduk will undoubtedly do all in his power to ensure Hérod is informed that the Heir—the true king of Amanah—is not only alive and well, but dwelling little more than a league away.”

  Raphael paled. “Should we stop the mages from coming?”

  Gavriel shook his head. “The conjunction was foretold long ago,” he said. “King Elyon wishes it to be noticed. But we need to ensure that the mages and Hérod do not cross paths. They naturally have Malakim guards ever since they defected, but I also wish for you to accompany the caravan. Take a company with you, and influence the priests to go directly to Beth Lehem.”

  Raphael nodded. “Will you be informing the commander?”

  Gavriel shook his head. “Not yet. It will take the mages months to arrive. I do not even wish to think on the state of frenzied alarm the commander would have worked himself into in that time if he knew.”

  † † †

  “What am I to do?” Dyeus asked, nervously pacing Marduk’s private chambers. “The dark lord will not be pleased.”

  Marduk stared at him in disbelief. “Your fear of His Infernal Majesty blinds you to the good fortune that has just fallen into your hands.”

  Dyeus snapped towards him. “Defectors, a good fortune? In the Orient of all places? Do you forget that for centuries after Elyon altered the tongues it was only in my territories that the mortals tenaciously clung to the knowledge of a lone spirit-lord, pardoned under the Noaich covenant? The dark lord need not look far for an excuse to vanquish me to the abyss. If he finds out these three priests have now defected, it won’t take him long to realize they may very well undo all the corruption Heka and Mithras have perpetrated, and then—”

  “Do you think the dark lord will care about the defection of three priests if they inform Hérod the Heir is born?” Marduk interrupted casually.

  Dyeus blinked. “Why would they inform Hérod?”

  Marduk rubbed his forehead. Fear made simpletons of the Shaityrim. Of the officers that made up Shaitan’s Six, Dyeus had been the first whose name was all but forgotten by the mortals in his territory. After Heka had corrupted the Zoroastrian rite, Dyeus was so pleased he was no longer under threat of the abyss that he hadn’t even cared that his mortals no longer venerated him by name.

  But Marduk recognized such a development as a loss of power. When Cyrus had conquered Babylonia, it had taken only a few generations before the mortals no longer venerated Marduk by name. Thus, Marduk ensured his inclusion in the Grecian rite which the dark lord had so meticulously invented, a rite then adopted by Rhòme when they overtook Grecia. In the eastern portion of the empire, Marduk drew in Mauveth under the Grecian name, Zeus, and in the western portion, under the Rhòman name, Jupiter.

  Nevertheless, Marduk feared the day would come when the names of Shaityrim were viewed only as myths and legends, if remembered at all. For though Mauveth was also accumulated by mortal thoughts, words, and deeds performed in defiance against Elyon, sacrifices were by far superior in both strength and potency.

  “They are looking for a king, are they not?” Marduk asked. “Where else would they seek him than the royal household?”

  Dyeus’ face lit up as his commander’s words sank in. “I’ve assigned Mithras to the caravan,” he said. “I will ensure he influences the mages to seek an audience with Hérod upon their arrival.”

  5

  Upon the caravan’s approach, Gavriel mounted his winged mare and flew out to greet Raphael. The lieutenant had informed him that, treacherous terrain notwithstanding, the mages’ months-long journey had gone smoothly enough, despite the accompanying Shaityrim. Though the mages had not heeded the dark whispers telling them to seek Hérod, neither had they heard Raphael’s voice directing them to go to Beth Lehem. Gavriel could only hope that he would be able to persuade them to bypass the city from which Hérod ruled all Amanah.

  Several paces ahead of the caravan, the pegasus’ hooves touched the ground, and she slowed from a canter to a trot until she pulled up beside Raphael.

  “Forgive me, Commander,” Raphael said, dipping his head. “I tried to influence them, but the Shaityrim—”

  “You are not at fault,” Gavriel said. “What matters now is keeping them from Hérod.”

  From his position beside the servants leading the mages’ camels, Mithras snorted. “And how exactly do you propose doing that? Where else would they look for a newborn king save for the royal household?”

  Gavriel shot Mithras a glance that informed the warlord of Persia he’d not forgotten the time he’d been his prisoner for one and twenty days, and that comeuppance would not be pleasant should the Shaityr decide to push his fortune.

  Though Mithras glared, he said no more.

  “Where are they headed?” Gavriel asked, turning back to Raphael.

  “The temple,” the lieutenant said. “They wish to offer the SpiritMaster a sacrifice in gratitude for the safe journey. And to inquire of the Council of Elders the whereabouts of the Heir.”

  Gavriel sighed. The Council of Elders consisted of two groups, the Kohanim and the Hasidim. The Kohanim served as King Elyon’s priests, but were aristocratic Grecianizers who bowed to any whim of Rhòme in an effort to retain their power. Disliked by all loyal to King Elyon, they forsook belief in the SpiritRealm, and any prophecy not penned by Moshes, including Daniel’s vision of the Heir as the Judge of Time and the granting of immortality to the dead. Indeed, they accepted only the first five of the thirty-some books that made up King Elyon’s sacred text.

  The Hasidim were devout in their loyalty to King Elyon, and had dedicated their lives to the study and interpretation of the sacred text. They served as teachers and magisters in the convocates all across the empire, and those in Shailem were professors to temple acolytes. Unlike the Kohanim, the Hasidim were loved and respected by the common people.

  The caravan climbed the steep ravine leading into Shailem, then made the ascent up the small mount named Moriah, on which the temple rose. Leaving their camels with their servants, the mages entered the large outer courtyard designated for goyim defectors. Their expensive garb attracted the attention of several mortals, and Raphael noticed the large assemblage of Shaityrim peering down from the outpost over the Rhòman garrison.

  “Seek one of the Hasidim,” Gavriel said, hoping his words penetrated the mages’ minds. But as with Raphael, his words went unheard, and the mages requested a temple guard to summon them a priest. The guard looked them over curiously, but then disappeared into the throng of Jacovites making their way into the inner court, where goyim were forbidden to enter under penalty of death.

  The guard returned several moments later; three Kohanim trailed behind them, their pompous headgear distinguishing them not only from the common people but also from the middle class Hasidim.

  “Welcome to Shailem, and to the majesty that is our temple,” one of the Kohanim said.

  The Persian priests bowed. “We come seeking the one born King of the Jews.”

  The Kohanim glanced at each other questioningly. “Our king is Hérod, but no child has been born unto him of late. Or to one of his sons.”

  “But we saw his star,” Caspar said, pointing above them. “The prophecy of Balaam, recorded in your sacred text.”

  The Kohanim squinted at the sky and frowned. “You believe you have seen the star that proclaims the coming of our Heir?” He laughed nervously. “I can assure you, the Heir has not come.”

  Gavriel rolled his eyes. “And you wouldn’t recognize him if he had,” he muttered, “unless he was an aristocratic, Malakim-denying, seer-forsaking, restoring-of-the-dead-opposing lover of all things Grecian like you.”

  “You must understand,” the Kohanim went on, “Rhòme has appointed one from the House of Eshau to rule Amanah. They will not take kindly to talk of the Jacovite Heir. There are always rumors, and there are always stars. And as the protectors of our people, we must quash these rumors lest the Rhòmans feel we are treasonous and slaughter the entire nation.”

  The mages stared, stunned by the priest’s dismissal of his own rite. “I see,” Caspar said finally. “Well, thank you for your time.”

  After offering their sacrifice, the mages rejoined their servants and sought out an inn. They asked many a merchant they passed if they knew the location of the newborn Heir, but were only met by quizzical expressions and replies in the negative. Mithras and the Shaityrim who accompanied them continued to hiss that they seek out Hérod, but the mages bypassed the palace without even a glance.

  Gavriel noticed Marduk atop one of the vine bridges above, his eyes sweeping the street as he followed the procession of servants and camels. The Shaityrim commander jerked to a stop, and Gavriel followed his gaze. His chest filled with dread when he noticed Chuza, a young servant of Hérod’s son, Antipas, staring in fascination at the Persian visitors.

  Marduk dropped down into the city and stood beside Chuza, whispering to the mortal’s mind. The mages asked yet another merchant on the whereabouts of the Heir, and as Chuza overheard their query, his eyes widened in surprise. Marduk whispered to him again, and the mortal disappeared into the crowd in the direction of the palace.

  Gavriel turned to Raphael. “Well, we almost succeeded.”

  “Are you going to tell the commander?” Raphael asked.

  Gavriel chortled. “Not until I find out exactly what we’re up against.”

  † † †

  Marduk strode through the walls of the palace great hall and found Hérod lounging beside a low table, pulling meat from the carcass of a goat with his fingers. Behind him, two women played a soft melody on lyres. Antipas and Archelaus, two of his grown sons, sat on either side of him. Educated in Rhòme, they shared their father’s love of Greco-Rhòman culture, and loyalty to King Elyon was merely nominal to ensure their continued status as Amanah’s royalty. Not that the House of Jacov really had much say in the matter. Now that Amanah was owned by Rhòme, it was the emperor who decreed who served as puppet kings throughout his vast empire. And the dark lord was rarely far from the emperor’s side.

  A servant announced Chuza, who breathlessly relayed what he’d overheard in the marketplace. Hérod’s body went rigid, and his face first paled, then flushed with rage. The music stopped, and the servant pouring his wine almost over-filled the goblet. Hérod rose from the table, his whole body trembling. It seemed he had no words for such an occasion, for he opened his mouth several times but nothing came out. Finally, he kicked over a brazier, scattering coals across the floor.

  “Get me the Hasidim!” he roared, while servants scurried to clean up the coals.

  At first no one seemed to know to whom he spoke, but then he turned on Chuza with such fury in his expression that the servant took several steps back before bowing. “Of course, your majesty. At once!”

  Antipas had paled at Chuza’s words, evidently suspecting that no good would come of such news, but Archelaus seemed to find his father’s reaction humorous.

  As Herod ranted obscenities, Marduk smiled. It was so pleasant to be stationed to a mortal who didn’t need any influence. The populace already didn’t like Hérod. If they discovered the long-awaited Heir was here, whom they considered the real successor to Davead’s throne, they would disregard Rhòme’s say in the matter, and Hérod would find himself deposed faster than the Hasidim could recite Elyon’s creed.

  † † †

  Hoping to thwart Shaityrim influence over the mortals, Gavriel accompanied the Hasidim scholars summoned to Hérod’s palace. On the far side of the room, Marduk watched the agitated king with amused interest.

  “Where is the Heir to be born?” Herod asked.

  “Pardon?” the lead Hasidim said, confused.

  “Did the seers not mention the place of his birth?” Hérod said, trying to keep his voice even.

  The Hasidim only stared, their expressions testifying their dislike of this man due to his feigned adherence to the Moshaic rite, let alone his disregard for King Elyon’s requirement that only a Jacovite from the Order of Judah was allowed to be king of Shailem.

  “Does your, er, our, sacred text state where he is to be born or not?” Hérod asked, a tinge of anger making its way into his voice.

  “Beth Lehem.” The answer was stilted. “Is that all?”

  “Ay, that is all.”

  “Good day, your Majesty,” the Hasidim said. He and his companions attempted a weak bow and stalked from the great hall.

  For a moment, Gavriel lingered behind, hoping to hear Hérod’s plans before Marduk forced him to leave.

  “Chuza,” Hérod said. “As soon as night falls, go to the inn where these mages are staying. Tell them that King Hérod wishes to speak with them at once. Be sure no one sees you. And be sure they inform no one that I have summoned them.”

  As Chuza bowed and left, Gavriel studied Hérod, wondering why he would wish to speak with the mages in secret.

  Marduk laughed at Gavriel’s confusion. “We can’t have the whole of Shailem knowing he’s going to kill the Heir after he tells the mages where to find him, now can we? They would stone him in the streets.”

  † † †

  Gavriel flew his mount straight into the room of the inn where the Persian priests were staying. “We have trouble,” he said to Raphael, dismounting. “Hérod found out from the Hasidim where the Captain was born, and now he seeks an audience with the mages to inform them of such.”

  Raphael ran a hand down his face. “What are we going to do? I doubt we’ll be able to convince them not to go.”

  “I agree,” Gavriel said.

  “You’re going to have to tell the commander.”

  Gavriel sighed. “Let’s see first whether or not Hérod plans on sending spies to follow them. Perhaps we can at least persuade him that would be far too suspicious.”

  “You think Marduk will grant you the opportunity?”

  “I don’t plan on asking.”

  Though the mages seemed surprised by the secret summons, they were delighted to be informed they had not traveled so far for naught, and thanked Hérod profusely for informing them where to search. Hérod bowed, treating them as royal dignitaries. “Search diligently,” he said. “And when you find him, send me word, that I too may pay him homage. My people have waited a long time for his coming.”

  Gavriel remained stoic as Marduk chuckled at Hérod’s compelling sincerity.

  “Tell Michael I look forward to seeing him again,” Marduk said.

  Gavriel turned on his heel and followed the mages from the palace. Though Herod was not sending spies to follow them, it mattered little, for they were convinced of the mortal-king’s goodwill. As the mages stepped out into the cool night air, Melchior gave a gasp of surprise and pointed skyward. Gavriel followed his gaze. A planet within the conjunction had entered retrograde and now appeared to be moving south…towards Beth Lehem. Gavriel knew that in a few minutes, to mortal eyes, it would actually seem to stop and hover over the little village.

  “The SpiritMaster confirms Hérod’s information is true,” Caspar said excitedly. “We must make haste.”

  Gavriel sighed. He could no longer delay notifying the commander.

  6

  Michael drew his sword and invoked the Avaddon—the onyx jewel of death embedded in its hilt—and the blade shone with black light. “The mages will not return to Hérod.”

  Gavriel scowled, and lowered Michael’s sword. “Killing them is not the only option.”

  Michael ignored him, his eyes never leaving the window facing the road to Shailem. “How did priests of Persia even discover the Heir promised to the House of Jacov had been born?”

  “They saw his star,” Gavriel said. “They knew from Balaam’s prophecy where to go.”

  “Are they defectors?”

  “Ay,” Gavriel said. “It did not take them long to equate Ahura Mazda with King Elyon as their ancestors once did.”

  With a sigh, Michael sheathed his sword. He glanced over at the Captain, sleeping beside his mother. Joseph had already left for the day to sell his wares on the street of the carpenters in Shailem. The baby stirred, and Miryam pulled him to her breast, in the hopes of gleaning a few more moments of sleep.

  “You are fortunate I stalled their coming until today,” Gavriel said. “They had planned to leave their servants and belongings at the inn where they were staying and come here last night. But I managed to convince them they should take everything with them, and it was already so late after their meeting with Hérod that they decided to wait until dawn. But at least now they have no genuine need to return to Shailem.”

  “Save for reporting back to Hérod,” Michael said, pacing the earthen floor. “How exactly do you propose we keep them from doing that? And how do you follow a star? What star?”

  “Well, technically it’s not a star, rather a triple conjunction of celestial bodies, the largest of which has entered retrograde, reversing its course, which of course means it appears to actually stop—”

  “Speak sense!” Michael interrupted, accustomed to Gavriel’s loquacious blathering of irrelevant details.

  “Well, as I said originally in mortal terms, they followed the star.”

  Michael rolled his eyes. “What star?”

  “The star.”

  “What star?”

  Gavriel dragged him outside, and made wide, sweeping gestures with his arms toward the sky. “That star!”