The following is from the new book Bloodlines of the Damned IT IS DUE TO BE RELEASED IN NOVEMBER INTRODUCTION There exists a most ancient literary tradition wherein information of great importance is concealed within fantastical stories. The tradition of which I write gave birth to the great myths of the world, and to the Holy Bible. It also gave this world a host of so-called fairy tales as well as the fantasy genre of fiction. The tradition continues… THE END A red wing of hair fanned across her forehead as she stared up at me with large, dark eyes. She was the most beautiful woman I had known in more than two thousand years. During that time I risked worlds to ensure her safety. In my eyes she was a goddess. My dearest dream was a vision of spending eternity with her. Now my thoughts were captured by a terrible question: Leah, Witch of Endor, Leah, soul of my heart. Why? Wind whispered through the ancient trees, delicately shifting the green leaves of a falling summer. Honeysuckle and meadow grass and rich earth filled the air with scents of nature’s perfume. I breathed deeply and gripped the sword’s blood-slick hilt in my left fist. Its starstone blade flared in a spike of light that found its way through the leaves of the giant oaks. Leah’s eyes turned toward the blade. A small smile touched her lips. A smile… Even then, during the moments that should never have come, during the time when dreams were falling into the Nine Hells, that smile gripped my heart. So beautiful. My memory dipped into the past and brought forth the first time I believed she had betrayed me. I had been wrong, so terribly wrong. But this was different. This was beyond Leah and me. She had betrayed the Way, the path that could lead the Fallen Angels back Home. I looked down at the three angels I had killed. Their bodies lay crumpled upon the ground and I now smelled the coppery scent of their foul blood. Their lives were as nothing to me. How many people had I killed during my time walking this Earth? Hundreds? Thousands? It mattered not. I would gladly kill them all again rather than take the life of Leah. I sprang. Michael’s sword rang as the blades met. A hundred times I had crossed swords with this archangel. I knew this would be the last. He would kill me this time. My heart was no longer filled with the strength giving love of Leah. She had chosen Michael. My sword darted toward Michael’s throat. He parried and thrust toward my heart. I side-stepped and kicked at his knee. Any other man on this planet would have been crippled by that kick, but this was Michael. My foot never even came close. His sword swooped and I felt its razor-sharp blade slice the flesh of my thigh. I stumbled back, the muscles of the leg severed. I fell. I felt death’s approach. I had never been a true match for Michael. As it so often does when we are about to die, my entire life flashed before my eyes… CHAPTER ONE We were the chosen, gathered from the Gardens of Eden, the Swamp of Serpents, and the Flooding Plains, boys of Mesopotamia, each having passed the mental and physical tests administered by the Angels who watch. Nine boys between the age of eight and ten were chosen that summer, the first chosen in many years. Some of those nine would become giants, men who willingly stepped forth to face unbeatable odds as if on ever terms. It is their story I now tell. And upon my soul-star I swear that the words that flow from my hand will be as true as my memory. Have no fear; it is a fine memory, trained since the tender seasons of my youth by the Watchers of Heaven. The greatest of us was Azazel. His homeland was the Swamp of Serpents. But although countless serpents slithered through the swamp it was not for snakes the place was named. Legends say that when the God Enki walked the world in human form he made his home in the swamps, for each night Enki, whose name means snake, changed his form into that of the great water serpent. In time Enki’s followers would be known as the Serpents. During my boyhood there existed legends that the Angels had forbidden storytellers to give voice to. Those legends said that Enki had taught his followers the way of knowledge that heads to the waters of Youth It was also said that the Angels who serve the God Enlil had killed all the Serpents. Some legends own much truth. Others do not. No more beautiful child of gods or men had ever walked the sands of time than Azazel. He glowed as if carrying some light within him. Few could upon meeting him resist the urge to stare while considering if his soul-star might be the Great God of Day, the Sun. Hair like burnished copper framed his often present grin, a grin as irresistible as the Euphrates at flood. Never was there a sky as blue as the eyes of Azazel. He would come to be called the most beautiful of Angels. But I not once witnessed a moment of conceit in his sky eyes. Believe not the tales told of his pride. It was not pride that caused his fall, but love. It was in the Gardens of Eden that the Watchers found me. My father was king of a small village near where the rivers Pishon, Gihon, Tigris and Euphrates are joined. Legends say, it was in the Gardens of Eden that the god Enki first showed humans the Way of Knowledge. Eden is a land of plenty. Sweet fruits are offered by tall trees. Clear waters flow through flowered meadows. Our warriors kept their swords sharp, for there were many tribes who envied us the Gardens. As a boy I dreamed a warrior’s dreams, of becoming a man of courage, of becoming a hero. But in my most beloved dreams I never possessed the courage I witnessed the morning after the Angels brought me to the Ziggurat of Time. It was the morning I met Azazel. I had arrived during the night and though my eyes were hungry to view the famous Ziggurat I could see little but its outline and starlight dancing on its gilded top. The Ziggurat of Time was called by children of men the Tower of Babylon. Yet the tower was not named for the village of Babylon. The village took its name from the tower. Babylon means Gate of the Gods. And that is exactly what the tower was designed to be. Only after the destruction of the Ziggurat would the village be re-designed as a reflection of the heavens. Twenty-four buildings, six to a side, were built around the Ziggurat. Each was the home of an Angel, though they served other purposes as well. Surrounding the buildings stood a stone wall twelve cubits tall. None but the Angels and their slaves entered its four pearly white gates. The slaves who attended the Angels possessed no tongues and so carried no tales of what went on behind the wall. Much of the wealth and power of the Angels depended upon the common belief that Angels were Sons of Gods, beings of spirit who for a time walked this world in the flesh of the Chosen. Humans were called sons and daughters of men. There were no female Angels, a thing I would later realize foretold the true nature of these beings… Azazel and I were the first of the chosen to arrive and broke our fast together with the Angel Aram in whose home we had slept. Aram told us that we were free to roam the Village of Babylon and the lands surrounding the Ziggurat during the days before the other boys arrived, but to stay clear of a certain stretch of the river, for there upon sands walked the largest water dragons in the world. This of course determined our first destination of the day. What boy could be expected to resist so tempting a sight? Azazel suggested that we would avoid disobeying the Angel if we did not go onto the beach where the dragons lay but stood just off the beach and looked at the dragons. I considered the idea to be a good one. The conspiracy made us instant friends. As we hurried toward the river we spoke our homelands, and of water dragons. Since Azazel had been raised in the swamplands he had many tales of dragons who feasted on foolish humans. The Gardens had few water dragons so Azazel’s stories seemed wonderfully horrible to me. But even these stories could not keep my mind from often traveling back to thoughts of becoming an Angel. Children of men knew little of the ways of Angels, so a fire of curiosity burned brightly in me. In this Azazel appeared different than I. His countenance changed whenever I mentioned what might be involved in becoming an Angel. He grew quiet. At first I attributed his strange lack of interest in the subject to some fear. I would soon change my mind concerning Azazel and fear. Though strange were his reactions to my many questions about Angels, I remained undeterred. “Do you think it true that Angels live forever and fail to grow old? I have viewed no old among them.” Azazel stared ahead as if searching for truth. After a few steps he said, “I do not know.” For a time neither of us spoke. I did not know how I knew, but I had no doubts. Azazel had just lied to me. I was considering why he had lied when we reached the top of a small sand ridge. We stopped. My heart pounded fear through my veins. Water dragons, scores of gigantic monsters, some as long as five tall men. I smelled rotted meat, began to ease back. No more than ten paces away lay a beast capable of consuming me in a single bite. He was all that my mind allowed me to think of. Not so Azazel. He pointed off to our left and softly said, “Look, a child.” An instant later he left my side. She seemed so very small, a child strolling among monsters as if among lambs. How can she be so free of care I wondered? The dragons lay basking in the growing warmth of the morning sun, many with their huge jaws opened wide to display jagged teeth for the birds that pecked them clean. The girl walked well within the range of those terrible jaws. Should a dragon but turn its head it might make a meal of her. I desperately wanted to run to her and pull her from death, but, alas, I was not the owner of such courage. My eyes turned to Azazel. He was already among the dragons. He knew fear. Such was plain in the tense set of his shoulders and his soft steps. Yet even when the monsters shifted about as if irritated by his presence he continued his advance toward the girl. At times he was but a step away from a dragon’s jaws. Should any of the beasts near him decide to give chase it would be a short contest. Water dragons are swift runners. Azazel had reached a point where he was closely surrounded by monsters when the girl saw him. Her eyes widened as her mouth formed a perfect circle of concern. Smoothly she changed the course of her steps and moved toward Azazel. When he realized that her intention was to come to him he stopped. Her steps quickened. Several dragons raised their heads. One turned to stare at the approaching girl. In that moment I knew she was about to die. I stepped forward. Then again, bracing myself to run among the dragons, a distraction to give the girl an escape from death. The dragon lowered its head back to the warm sand. The girl passed by him. I breathed. In a short time she stood before Azazel. I was surprised to see she was nearly as tall as he. She reached out and took his hand, led him from the beasts. When they came up to me sweat dripped from Azazel’s face. The girl released his hand. In the voice of tenderness he said, “Why were you walking among the dragons?” The girl offered no voice, only stared up into Azazel’s face for many moments. She was a lovely child. Dark curls flowed around her face, and her eyes made me think of spring grass. Her clothing was thread-bear yet most clean. In fact I was struck by her cleanliness. Few children of men scrubbed their bodies. Suddenly she smiled, showing several gaps between her tiny teeth, then she turned and ran toward the village. Azazel and I stood watching her. I said, “Surely hers is a god-touched mind. She knows not what she does.” Azazel shook his head in disagreement. “She knows. Did you not see that she saved me? I owe her my life.” I thought this might be true but I gave to my thought no voice. I was amazed. Never had I viewed so humble a hero. We would in the coming days learn more of the strange girl but what we learned would only serve to deepen the mystery of her. We had walked but a short distance back toward the Ziggurat when Azazel pointed toward the ground and said, “We were followed.” I studied the ground. It was some moments before I found the tracks of a man. Azazel said, “Telling us of the dragons was a test.” When we arrived back at our dwelling beside the Ziggurat the Angels made no mention of our having gone to the river. Yet I noticed how their eyes followed Azazel. Whether they stared at his beauty or because they saw a hero I did not know. But they would soon have another reason to stare. It was not only Azazel’s grin that was mischievous. The paths that seemed the most obvious to him were paths I would not have considered walking on my own. It was but the third day since our arrival at the Ziggurat and we were walking beside that massive structure when Azazel stopped and looked up. “Let us climb to the top and stand in the heavens”, he said. It seemed to me a terrifying idea. Only Angels and those they sacrificed to the gods of the heavens climbed the Ziggurat. And we were not yet Angels… Memory of my cowardness in facing the dragons flooded my mind. After but a moment’s hesitation I said, “Yes, let us climb into the heavens.” There were in those days many ziggurats but the Ziggurat of Time was the greatest among them. It was a cosmic mountain, an image of the heavens, built up in seven increasingly narrow terraces linked by steep flights of stairs. Each terrace was a different color. The wise knew that those terraces correspond to the Seven Wondering Soul-Stars and the Seven Heavens through which they roam. The gilded top of the Ziggurat is a gateway to the spiritual world, a mysterious opening that offers invitation to a voyage through the Winds of Destiny. Each night the Angels climbed the seven terraces to gather prophecies. As I have said, the Ziggurat of time was the greatest of them all, but its greatness did not depend only upon its size. Within its bowels were hidden the greatest secrets this world has ever known. Although we were among the strongest boys in Mesopotamia we were soon dripping sweat and drawing in great gulps of air, for the steps were exceedingly steep. Azazel said, “It is now that I understand why it is that some of the Angels have thighs like roosters.” I merely nodded my agreement. It was then that I noticed the two Angels staring up at us. “Uh, oh”, I said. Azazel now saw them also. “They did not tell us we were not to climb these steps. Let us continue.” We turned and resumed our climb, both expecting to hear an angry voice telling us to come down. No such voice did we hear. And so we climbed. I glanced over at Azazel. He offered me a joyous grin. I grinned back, though I am certain I felt less joy then did he. The voice of a coward was whispering in my thoughts. Did death await us at the top? Were we insulting the Gods? A herd of like questions plagued my mind. In such thoughts a coward dies many deaths. Perhaps a hero dies but one? Death, it seemed to me a poor way to end a young life. Many were the nights I had gazed up into the night sky, the realm of spirits. I saw no joy there, only countless soul-stars suspended in darkness. In my tribe it was taught that only a hero or the mother of a hero would be reborn in the body of a human. It was I now know a false teaching, but it spawned great warriors, for who would not wish there mother to be reborn? Mine in a mind given to wondering and it did so as we climbed. I thought of the sweet taste of the waters that flowed through the Gardens of Eden. My mother’s face had so often smiled understanding at some foolishness of mine. Would she fail to be reborn because I gave up my life and all chance of becoming a hero by climbing these steps? It was a dreadful thought. Could a man ever hope to become a hero by owning such worries? Maybe not. But what hero worthy of the title would fail to consider the rebirth of his mother? Such circular thinking and paradoxes strained the limits of my young mind. Azazel slowed. I suddenly noticed we were reaching the top of the Ziggurat. A glance down showed there were now more Angels staring up at us. The final step was covered in gold, its polished surface a fine reflector for the light of the Sun. When the gilded top of the Ziggurat at last came into view the glare from the shining gold nearly blinded me. But it seemed to bother Azazel’s eyes not at all. A slight breeze brought the coppery scent of blood. Something or someone had been sacrificed recently. I could now see the red lines of blood that had dripped down the side of the cube-shaped altar. But most of my attention was focused on the Angel of Death who stood beside the altar. His dark robes flowed in the breeze. He smiled. “Come”, he said. I trembled. Azazel stepped forward. I followed. The winds of destiny began to blow. The twenty paces across that golden floor seemed the longest walk of my life. The scent of blood grew stronger as we neared the cube-shaped altar. I could now see the body of a lamb lying on the far side of the altar. The Angel of Death turned, walked behind the altar, and descended steps we could not yet see. When we reached those stairs we stopped and peered down. Twelve steps led down to a floor of clay. Azazel grinned and started down. I could find no choice but to follow him. The Angel of Death was removing his sacrificial garb and donning a robe like the other Angels wore. My knees seemed to shake a little less. I no longer smelled blood. The air here was cooler and carried the scent of spices. The angel folded his legs and sat upon the floor while bidding us do the same. We sat, but our eyes scanned the room. Shelves had been carved into the walls and upon them lay an array of objects of ivory, wood, copper and bronze. I forgot my fear and longed to investigate the manner of their being. The Angel smiled before offering a voice both deep and immensely kind. This was not the voice I expected to flow from an Angel of Death, though I knew little of such men, only having watched them from below as they carried out their bloody duties atop Ziggurats during festivals. “The Bringer of Light and Hero of the Age. The world has long awaited your coming,” he said. I glanced at Azazel. I knew not what he would do to earn such titles, but I possessed no doubt he would do so. When I looked back to the Angel he was looking at me and smiling a strange smile. It made me most uncomfortable, for I felt as if he could see into my mind. I hoped not. I wished no one to know of the coward that lurked there. Azazel asked, “What is this Bringer of Light?” The Angel of Death said, “It is the Bright Morning star that rises just before the Sun.” For the first time during the days I had known him Azazel appeared stunned, at a total loss for words. Few people in their lifetime, even those who often stared into the night sky, ever recognized their own soul-star. To be told by an Angel that yours was one of the Wondering Gods would have shocked anyone. Suddenly Azazel sat up straighter and looked the Angel in the eye. He raised his hand as if to point to the star as he spoke. “You have seen me in this star?” The Angel of Death smiled and made a gesture akin to Azazel’s. I thought some code might have just passed between them. Azazel relaxed some. His eyes cut toward me, then back to stare at the Angel. The Angel spoke to me, “I ask of you an oath upon your soul-star, an oath of silence. Not until your beard is white will you repeat what happens here this day. This is no small thing I ask. It is an oath that will guide the path of your life.” My father had taught me the importance of oaths. I hesitated, thinking. There were too many things to consider, things I could not hope to know. But of one thing I was certain. The oath would link my destiny to that of Azazel’s. “I swear it upon my soul-star.” “Listen well,” said the Angel, “for we have small time alone. Azazel, you will tell Semjaza your knowledge of Serpents. Fear not. He will never in his life break a soul-star oath. This I have seen in the heavens. But few prophecies are so certain, because Destiny is an often-forked path. I cannot know that you will succeed in the task, only that the two of you have the best chance of one day destroying the veil that the Angels Enlil use to keep the world in thrall and hide the Way from children of men.” It seemed to me a heavy load to thrust upon the shoulders of two boys. But I was very young. I had no idea what a terrible load it was to be.
Posted on: Wed, 17 Sep 2014 03:52:45 +0000
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