BENE-HA-ELOHIM (THE CHILDREN OF GOD) An Elena Duran-Corazon Negro Story 6/15 by Julio Cesar divad72@prodigy.net.mx KADOSH, THE HOLY AND BELOVED "But you endure not patiently, nor fulfill the commandments of the Lord; but you transgress and calumniate his greatness; and malignant are the words in your polluted mouths against his Majesty." Book of Enoch 5: 4 Bronze Age Inside the Great Desert 1620 BCE Methos stood inside a huge cavern. Surrounding him were his companions in peril: Kronos, Caspian and Silas. Methos knew Kronos very well; he was Methos' adopted Immortal son. However, he didn't recall the time or place when Silas and Caspian had joined them. But right now his mind was filled with more important matters. Behind them stretched the long, dark tunnel leading to the outside world. To their right, a dozen feet ahead, rested a massive stone coffin, the reason for their presence in this house of stone. An hour earlier, they had finally located the hidden door on the face of the cliff that blocked the passage to the chamber within. To their surprise, opening the massive stone door had been easy. Once the task had been completed, they had descended, in single file, the sloped passage that brought them to this chamber. No one spoke. Tonight, they desire to achieve ultimate power. And they felt than they had the strength and the courage to seize it. Methos was the only member of the pack who still had doubts. Though he and Kronos had been together for many years by now, he still suspected there were secrets about Immortality they did not know. His companions had no such fears, especially Kronos. His researches into the Immortal legends had convinced him that the one way for them to achieve proper power above the other Immortals was for them to take the Quickening from the ancient ones. That meant they had to locate one of the fabled ancient ones and take his head, thus gaining his powers. That was the purpose of this expedition. Kronos' half century of searching had uncovered a resting place for an ancient Immortal resting in calm. But inside his mind, Methos feared their search had been too easy. For some reason that Methos could not remember, they had settled on attacking Lilitu, a mysterious and legendary Immortal. Whatever the logic, it had proved correct. They were in one of the numerous Lilitu's resting places. "Welcome to my humble home. Maybe you should push back the lid of the coffin," commanded a voice from the darkness. The chamber was thick with ancient, powerful knowledge. No spell of chant would work here. And Methos and his companions were not Mages. To open the altar, they needed brute strength. "Working together, you can move it." Methos couldn't identify the speaker, but somehow it didn't seem to matter. His movements along with his companions were under some kind of mental control. Now that they were inside the crypt, there was no turning back. All of his doubts had vanished during the descent into the earth. He no longer worried about the wisdom of their actions. What was done was done. But deep inside his soul, Methos felt that he had heard that voice coming from the shadows before. Somewhere else in a previous time. A time Methos didn't dare remember when. "Damned thing is heavier than the horns of Baal!" declared Kronos, as he bent his back to the task. "It must weigh tons." "It must be held in place by some kind of power," Silas said. He was straining against the stone lid with all of his might. "Nothing could weigh this much." "Push," commanded the voice from the darkness as they continued to struggle. "My patience has its limits. Push." "How in the name of all the Gods does anyone move this slab?" asked Caspian. "I see no hinges. The lid remains in place by weight alone. To move it you have to lift it off from inside the altar." It was a chilling thought, one that should have caused them to pause in their effort. Yet they did not. An overwhelming passion to finish the job held them in an unbreakable grip. There was no room in their minds for questions. Groaning, cursing, complaining, the four Immortals continued to struggle with the stone block. Finally, with a shriek of protesting rock, the lid started to move. "Harder," commanded the voice from the darkness. "Push harder." Methos pushed. He had no choice. The stone slab filled his thoughts. Getting it off the altar was the most important task in the world. The job consumed him, filled him with a frenzy that could not be denied. He strained like a possessed man. He was as a slave forced to obey the dictates of his master. Inch by inch, the unyielding lid scraped across the top of the coffin. Slowly, the inside of the altar became visible. A strange green light started to shine from within it. With a crash that shook the entire chamber, the stone slab fell to the floor. The casket was open. Widely the four Immortals crowded around the altar, peering at its interior. It was empty. Kronos narrowed. "What kind of joke is this?" "Look inside," whispered the voice from the darkness, as if unimpressed by the presence of the power inside the altar. "Look inside and watch your future." The smoke was the first thing they noticed out of the ordinary inside it. And then, a village came into view. Screaming people running away from armed men on horseback, houses burning, livestock running amidst the confusion. So much power. The ultimate power. A woman's shape appeared in front of them formed by the mist. They watched cautiously as she pulled off the mask of the skull. She was no monster, then, but a female. At least, they thought she was a woman; she looked almost as inhuman with her mask off as she did with it on. Her face was painted blue on the right side, and her eyes glittered within green color. She seemed almost to smile as she said, "Our kind is hard to kill." She pointed behind her. The frame was piled with skulls, some bleached white, some still ivory, all human. Methos knew well enough what she meant. "I can give you the power to be invincible. You just need to join me." "Join you?" Methos asked suspiciously. "Yes." The woman smiled, seemingly at complete ease with the situation. "Become one of my Headless Children. Become my Four Horsemen." "Why us?" Methos asked again. The woman grinned, an evil, terrible smile that made Methos think of the devil itself. "I've been following you for decades, Methos, even before Zarach found you as a child, trying to pick a perfect opportunity to present my 'proposition' to you. You are one of a kind, as all my Headless Children should be. You have one of the best minds I've ever come across, and you can be ruthless when given the opportunity. I could show you the way. Either join me, or all of you will die right now. What is going to be?" The four Immortals looked at each other. Even when their minds were being controlled, they perfectly understood that the woman's threat was true. Suddenly they nodded. "Who are you?" Methos asked swallowing hard. "I am Lilitu," the woman said. "Now I am your 'Mother'. Do you accept me?" Methos felt fingers of fear creeping down his spine. The woman was no apparition. She was inside the cave with them, and now he felt her Immortal presence. He should have reacted, returned to consciousness. But, he did not. It was very strange. Kronos shook his head. Evidently, Methos was not alone in his feelings. "Do you accept me?" Lilitu asked again, walking toward them. "Yes!" the four Immortals said at the same time, their voices trembling with fear. The natural echo of the cavern amplified Lilitu's laugh. "Close your eyes," she ordered them. They all felt it. Lilitu was inside them, within their minds. Time stood still as they felt the elder Immortal nourishing their bodies with a strange inner force. Then, staggering, almost falling, they were released, letting their minds fall back into their souls. "It burns!" Methos yelled, his voice thick with emotion. "Her power burns inside me! I can feel her power, the incredible power like fire in my veins!" Shrill demonic laughter filled the cavern. "It is done!" Lilitu screamed. "My deed is done!" Methos, his senses reeling, gripped the edge of the casket. They had succeeded in their quest. They had found and ancient Immortal. What they were, they were no more. "Now you are the Four Horsemen!" Lilitu's voice finished for him reading his mind. Methos watched his new brothers. To him, they somehow seemed. bigger. More dangerous. Diabolical. "Now I give you a new command," Lilitu hissed as her shape started to disappear once more within the shadows. "Search other Immortals and destroy them. For now on, there can be only one!" This time, panic swept through their ranks like a whirlwind. Inspired by an insane fear that could not be quelled, they struggled like maniacs to push the stone lid back onto the altar. Horror gave them the necessary strength. In minutes, the cover was in place. Yet, there was no escaping the feeling that Lilitu's monstrous eyes were still watching their every move. Howling in unnamed dread, they swept up through the tunnel leading to the outside of the mountain and out into the night. Behind them, the massive stone door slammed shut, sealing Lilitu's resting place. ======== London March 21, 2013 Methos woke. Shaking with horror, he rose from his bed. A thin layer of sweat covered his hands and face. He often dreamed of that fateful night over 3000 years ago, but never before in such detail. As in the case of his nightmare about his transformation into an Immortal, Methos understood that the dream was more than mere recollection. It was a message from an unknown player in the eternal battle for the Prize. The Game. Methos was not convinced that the recollection was entirely true. Some elements, he suspected, had been colored by the passage of time. However, there was no denying the fact he had descended into one of Lilitu's resting places. The voice in the shadow of his mind, the unseen presence he had accepted for so many centuries without question was 'Mother'. She had been the master schemer who had been at least partially responsible for what had taken place in the Bronze Age. Methos felt certain that the kidnapping of Cassandra had involved the same figure. Beyond any measure, he knew that the mysterious whisperer inside the darkness of his mind had been Lilitu. Always present for him. Never before he had remembered Lilitu's role in the events that had taken place in all his life. It was yet another example of how 'Mother' had manipulated and deceived the Immortal world for more than thirteen millennia. And how she remained unsuspected and unnoticed by those she used as pawns. Methos walked naked inside his room. Like most ancient Immortals, he did not believe in coincidences. These dreams, revealing Lilitu's treachery, indicated that major events involving 'Mother' were about to take place. Or that such events were already happening. It was not a pleasant thought. The Four Horsemen had served as playing pieces in Lilitu's Game for centuries. At first, Methos couldn't bring himself to kill any of the weak villagers the Horsemen attacked, but after several threats from Lilitu to take his head, he forced himself to. The smell of blood was always around him, hovering, threatening to empty the contents of his stomach for him each time another innocent's blood was spilled. During their first raid, he did throw up, generating hilarious laughter from both Caspian and Silas and a reproving glance from Kronos that threatened more than any words possibly could. Days turned into weeks, weeks turned into months, and two years later, Methos had come to terms with his new lot in life, and although it still sickened him to see the weak destroyed, he found himself reveling in the power that he now held. He was Death-the end of time, the apocalypse of all things good-and that kind of power was enough to make him forget about peace for longer periods of time than he had thought possible at first. Methos seethed with rage. As proud as he was cautious, he hated the thought that he had been exploited with such ease. However, he knew that revenge was a dish best served cold. Anger wasted valuable energy. Logic, not emotion, would ensure Lilitu's demise. Danger!!! Beware!!! She is back!!! We are all in danger!!! The thought caught Methos off guard. He roused himself, senses sharpened. He 'd heard that voice before. It was Zarach, Zarach trying to reach the ears of the Ancient Gathering. Methos trembled. He knew very well what Zarach's mental 'scream' meant. It came again, the unexpected communication of some strong yet unveiled mind. Danger!!! Beware!!! She is back!!! We are all in danger!!! But there were no words really-it was more than a shining glimpse into another's soul, a sparkling overflow. Lilitu was once more free in the world. Finally, the time for the Gathering had come. Methos' eyes moved slowly over the opposite balconies. Far away in some remote corner of Scotland, Zarach needed him. He closed his eyes to shut this out. Then he felt it again suddenly. Danger!!! Beware!!! She is back!!! We are all in danger!!! It was a moment of stunning pain. He slumped back in his bed and bowed his head just a little. Then he looked out again over the steel rafters, the ugly tangles of black wire and rusted cylindrical lights. "Where are you?" There, far away against the opposite wall, he saw the figure from which the thoughts were coming. Ah, the oldest he had seen since the Bronze Age. The blond and two-colored eyes Immortal, his eyes giving him a brooding expression. Methos shuddered. He felt a sharp pain in his lungs. His memory wasn't going to fail him this time. He would not slip away from this moment, the happy clown remembering nothing. He scanned at Zarach, lying inside his castle-Zarach Bal-Tagh, the embodiment of illimitable strength and will. Zarach, who had given him the greatest gift above this earth: the possibility to escape from Lilitu's control. Methos felt the way Zarach hated Lilitu, the being with the posture of a killer and a priestess in one. Methos loathed that 'Mother' had disrupted the serenity of his timeless existence. Methos knew the extent of her destruction too; her plan that every Immortal on earth should be destroyed, save for some few, most of whom were under Lilitu's control, never dreaming of the fate that threatened them. In Lilitu's Game, anything was possible. Without warning, an unnatural numbness gripped his mind. This time, Methos recognized the feeling. Another mind was sharing his thoughts, viewing the world through his eyes. In the past, he had always ignored the sensation. With a terrible, sinking feeling, Methos realized that he couldn't even trust his instincts. His assumptions might be true-or they could be reversed. He had no way of knowing. Cautiously, Methos focused his gaze on the books pilled in the main wall of his bedroom. Letting reflex take over, he mentally started reviewing the volumes in his dominion. It was an exercise he often used to relax and calm his thoughts. Tonight, it served another purpose. Within seconds, his mental eavesdropper had departed. Methos was going to die too, if he didn't wise up. Zarach had schooled him. He had escaped from Lilitu before, and that made him and easy target. Mother would never forget such failure. Methos rose to his feet. It was the loneliness as much as anything else. And something else came clear to him suddenly, as he looked up the roof. It was the single word Watcher. The brotherhood that watched the Immortals was totally unaware of the end of the world. The end of the Game. Not possible, he thought again, then laughed silently at his own foolish innocence. This was a night of shocks, was it not? Yet it seemed quite incredible that the Watchers should have survived from the time Lilitu had created them millennia before, when she had played with its members and tormented them, and then turned her back on them out of pity for their fatal combination of innocence and ignorance. Methos himself had played with the Watchers too. Ah, memory was too ghastly a thing. Let his past lives slip into oblivion! He could see the faces of those vagabonds, those secular prisoners of the Watchers who had so clumsily pursued him across the ancient world, recording glimpses of him in great leather-bound books, their quill pens scratching late into night. Methos had been his name in that brief respite of consciousness, and Methos the oldest living Immortal they had labeled him in their fancy Latin script, sending off crackling parchment epistles with big sloppy wax seals to their superiors in Rome. A few years ago, it had been a game to him again, to steal their letters and add his notes to them; to frighten them; to be one of them as Adam Pierson! To crawl out from under their beds in the night and grab them by the throats and shake them. It had been fun; and what was not? When the fun stopped, he' d simple left them. But he had loved them; not exorcists they, or witch-hunting priests, or sorceresses who hoped to chain and control his power. For all their meddlesome curiosity, they would never have betrayed him. They just recorded, but never interfered. Until Lilitu played with them again. The Watchers had killed Darius, a rightful member of the Ancient Gathering. And now to think that the order had survived, with the tenacity of the Church of Rome. No wonder Lilitu had fought her way to the front ranks, as if to the bottom step of the altar. Now, under Lilitu's influence once more, the Watchers were dangerous again. It was a grim reminder to Methos of the danger the world was facing. The Ancient Gathering was entirely on their own against 'Mother', a fly caught in a spider web of treachery nearly 13,000 years in the weaving. There was no one they could trust. Absolutely no one. Methos was alone again, wondering what it was he wanted; wishing that he could forget again; that he was in some lovely place full of warm breezes and mortals who didn't know what he was, and twinkling electric lights beneath the faded clouds, and flat endless city pavements to walk until the morning. Methos sighed and nodded, deciding the fate he should follow. For the very first time in seven thousand years, Zarach needed him. The powerful ancient Immortal needed to be rescued. And this time, for a change, he, the Immortal whose first name had been Kadosh a long time ago, the one known as Death during the Bronze Age, would be beside him. Methos would stand beside his Immortal father.