BENE-HA-ELOHIM (THE CHILDREN OF GOD) An Elena Duran-Corazon Negro Story 12/15 by Julio Cesar divad72@prodigy.net.mx Glastonbury, England March 21, 2013 The cold of the wind night was still rising around him. The morning was either the last day of winter or the first day of spring. As always, the spring equinox brought some sort of peace to his soul. It was a kind of magic. Myrddin walked in the woods, patiently watching everything around him. He could tell that the world was a very hostile one. He didn't need to read minds to sense that. However, at this early hour, everything seemed to be in peace. Even alone in the middle of the forest, he was a commanding presence. To some he was an enchanter. To others he was a wizard and a prophet who oversaw Arthur's conception and birth, the one who enabled his ascension and acted as high counsel to the King in the early phase of his reign. But the truth was that Myrddin got his reputation as a wizard from his ability to see the future, to know about things that were happening far away, his intelligence and skill as an engineer and a healer, and some real pieces of good luck. His name, Merlinus, was a latinized adaptation of the Welsh Myrddin. And this last was the name he used because he was the northern-bearded man reported to have the gift of sight who predicted a Celtic uprising. Legends said that he was birthed by a succubus and had no human sire. When he was but a young prophet he had been brought to Vortigern as a sacrifice, but he had saved himself by displaying feats of magic greater than those of the King's sorcerers. Over the years, he had been considered a boy savant. Some said that he had been the one who cast the spell that allowed Uther to impregnate Ygerna with Arthur. But in fact Ygerna wanted the king Uther, but could not be caught betraying her husband. So Uther had came to Myrddin to ask him to help him pull this off. Myrddin cooked up a plot that took Ygerna back to Tintagel, and Uther to another fortress. Myrddin disguised Uther and made arrangements with the guards inside to get them into this impenetrable fortress. As centuries passed by, with the arrival of the Christian Church, the necromancer was now said to be a devil's pawn born with the goal of opposing Christ by the formation of an evil prophet. His mother's virtue was responsible for thwarting this black purpose and the powers bestowed by Hell were turned to the good. He was responsible for the making of the Round Table for Uther as a replacement for the table upon which Joseph of Arimathea placed the Grail. He lived to see Arthur born and saw to his care with a foster family. Lastly, he created the test that would ultimately prove Arthur's royal birthright, the Sword in the Stone. Some even said that he obtained Excalibur from the Lady of the Lake and assisted the King in his early struggles for unification, laying the foundation for the Grail Quest. But Nimue-the woman known in some legends as Viviane-seduced him. However, after Nimue's death he had made a voluntary retreat to an underground world. Over the millennia his role as a whole had been that of advisor and scholar. His genius guided the realm. He had been forty-five by the time he died for the first time. Regardless, he was a cryptic figure who occupied a transitional state, slightly Christian with heavy ties to the older, Druidic world. As the sunlight strongly shone around him, he focused his gaze straight ahead and opened his mind, to let the feelings of the world flow in, but only a little. Not enough to read any thought, just an adequate amount to gauge the feelings of the planet's population today. He could feel hostility. The same sensation he had felt during all the past centuries, since the old magic was gone. Myrddin sighed and began to pick up feelings of uncertainty, of people rethinking their positions in the world. And the level of hostility was clearly stronger. There was a low rumbling among the world, and he could feel a new and increased uncertainty flowing amid the people. He could feel that things were again turning against hope. This time, though, as he scanned the living things with his mind, he felt a new presence, a powerful and familiar one. He narrowed his eyes in disgust, focusing his mind. After an instant, the feeling was gone. Myrddin's bearded face shone by the light reflected to it toward the horizon, his long gray hair whipped around across his broad shoulders. He took time to think about his lost loves, then ran his hands through his hair, letting out a deep breath that could be heard over the green countryside. Then he took down his gaze. It was early in the morning, and he had set out for a long walk through the landscape to watch the sun rising. The thriving sunlight filled the open area, chasing away the shadows as he crossed between the trees. Danger!!! Beware!!! She is back!!! We are all in danger!!! He stopped, balancing himself automatically, his senses at full alert. He spun, scanning his surroundings, not sure if he'd really heard the words or it was just the fragrant wind blowing over the overflowing branches. Danger!!! Beware!!! She is back!!! We are all in danger!!! He was certain he'd heard it this time. And it came from a far away place. He walked back, stopping in the middle of the woods. His hand drifted under his jacket, closing on the hilt of his sword, Excalibur. Danger!!! Beware!!! She is back!!! We are all in danger!!! The voice repeated. Without blinking, he knew who had just reached him. He could sense the anger in his elder. He stretched out his mind until he found who he was looking for. The trees around him seemed to move away his thoughts, slowly at first, then faster and faster, until their movement was no longer visible. The whole world around him seemed to move outward, away from him, exploding, until he was simply alone. Myrddin let his psyche settle in the call. He let his brainpower climb, up out of the land. The light above seemed bright, but he knew he wasn't seeing it with his human eyes. Just with his mind. Soon he could feel the source of the message. He flew like a bird, free of his body, flashing over the trees, the roads, the houses. He let himself go. Everything seemed like a blur of color, yet he knew he could stop at any moment, to seek out any detail. The surroundings were more like a movie in fast-forward. He could sense the source of the brain waves, the power of his personality, pulling toward him. Then he watched. Zarach Bal-Tagh, suffering, trying to send his message toward the world. Warning the Ancient Gathering that Lilitu was free again. Myrddin's stomach turned cold, even though he wasn't at all surprised. Lilitu was stronger than anyone else. Of course, he had known her under another name. A name that stills, after all these centuries, rang a bell of sadness inside his soul: Morgan le Fay. Myrddin sighed deeply. The ancient Gathering had run out of time. The day had come. Their most desperate hour had arrived. Immediately he returned toward his home, the new Crystal Cave. ======== Amsterdam March 21, 2013 "Come into my parlor," said Joliet, giggling. Careful not to exert much of her strength, she tugged her young paramour into the front hall of her mansion. "Said the spider to the fly," she added smiling. "You are much too beautiful to be a spider, my love," said Jean Claude. He leered at her perfect body with lustful eyes. Talk, dark and handsome, he was very much the gentleman rogue. And quite drunk. "You underestimate me," said Joliet, spinning on her heels. Like a fine dark mist, her near-transparent shawl whirled around her body. Beneath it, she wore an extremely short black velvet dress that clung to her curves like a glove. Her stockings were decorated with roses. Her hair was long and dark, and it curled across her shoulders like a gigantic snake. Her lips were bright crimson. "The black widow spider is both beautiful and deadly. She loves her victims to death." "You are no black widow," whispered Jean Claude, grabbing her by her shoulders. Roughly, he pulled her toward him. His mouth covered hers in passionate embrace while his hands dropped to her ample breasts. Anxiously, he pushed off the velvet and reached for her exposed nipples. "Your lips are warm like fire." "The night air makes them so," declared Joliet, pulling away from her latest conquest. She made no effort to fix her dress. A little more provocation never hurt, she felt. Jean Claude was young, strong and full of life. First, she would let him make love to her. Afterward, when his energy and lust were fully spent, she would kill him before he'd left her, just as Kristin Gilles, her Immortal teacher, had taught her in 1670 back at Normandy. Kristin was dead now-some motherfucker named Duncan McLeod had taken her Quickening. Or perhaps it had been another Immortal named Adam Pierson who had killed Joliet's mistress. It didn't really matter: in Joliet's eyes, all men were a fucking shit. "Would you care for a drink?" she asked, pressing the bell to summon her maid. "A glass of wine, perhaps?" "Wine would be good," said Jean Claude. His face was flushed, his gaze fixed on her ruby-red nipples. "You are so young and beautiful. Your breasts are magnificent. I want to bury my face between their beauty." "You will have plenty of time to examine them at length," answered Joliet with a smile. "In fact, I will insist on it. Jean Claude laughed, a harsh, coarse sound in marked contrast to his flowery words. Involuntarily, Joliet flinched. Despite his good looks and expensive clothes, Jean Claude was a typical country bumpkin who came to the big city to make his fortune. Every year, hundreds of adventurers like him flocked to Amsterdam in search of wealth and notoriety. Most of them ended up as waiters and bartenders in the city's many restaurants. A few, like Jean Claude here, became high-class gigolos, catering to the exotic and depraved sexual excesses of the metropolis' idle rich. His disappearance would hardly be noticed. Joliet discovered him at a party of a friend of a friend. As one of Amsterdam's privileged class, she went to many such affairs. He had come to the art gallery as escort for a wrinkled old hag with too much money and little taste or culture. Getting rid of the old hag had not been difficult for Joliet, who was an expert at disposing of anyone who stood in the path of her desire. Winning Jean Claude's attention had been even easier. A flash of bare thigh, a passionate whisper, and the sight of her Rolls-Royce limousine were all she needed to persuade him to accompany her back to her mansion in the richer part of the city. "Where is that girl?" Joliet wondered aloud. She rang the service bell for a second time. "Renee, attend me. Now." No one answered. Joliet frowned. The mansion was quiet-too quiet. Renee should have come immediately. The girl knew better than to keep her mistress waiting. There was no excuse for her absence. "Something wrong, my little cabbage?" Jean Claude asked, swarming back and forth in place. He was very drunk. "Don't worry. I'll protect you." "Nothing to worry about, I am sure," commented Joliet, striding over to the phone on a nearby end table. "However, I think I will summon Maurice from his quarters. Just in case." Maurice was her driver. He had rooms over the garage. Like Renee, he served Joliet in everything she could desire. A veteran of many battles, he could be an extremely deadly opponent in a fight. If there was trouble in the mansion, Maurice could handle it. The telephone line was dead. Joliet grimaced. The conclusion was obvious. A pack of thieves had broken into her home to steal some of her fabulous treasures. She suspected it was too late to worry about Renee's fate. Though the burglars had probably departed several hours ago, Joliet always thought it better to be safe than sorry. Then she felt the Immortal's presence. More than one. "I think it would be wise for us to leave this place immediately," she said to Jean Claude, gripping his right arm. He blinked in drunken surprise at the power of her fingers. "We are in danger. Don't disagree or try to be a hero. And stay quiet." Together, they turned to the front door. Joliet gasped in shock. A man stood there. A very big man, an Immortal of course, dressed in a pair of faded jeans and a black t-shirt. Standing with his huge arms folded across his chest, he filled the doorway. He smiled cruelly. "Thinking of going somewhere, mi-fucking-bitch-lady?" "Get out of my way, you oaf!" Joliet ordered. No man and few Immortals could disobey her direct orders. But the Immortal stared at her, and then laughed. He did not move an inch. "Wha-what's going on?" Jean Claude asked, still in a drunken stupor. He seemed to be unaware of their peril. "Who is this clown blocking our exit? Send him away. I want to be alone with you." "I am afraid that your wish is unimportant to us, you little pimp," said a soft, smooth voice from behind them. Joliet whirled, suddenly very frightened. The speaker was a short, slender man with a mustache and restless eyes. He was dressed much the same as his companion. And he also was an Immortal. "Who are you?" Joliet demanded. "And what are you doing in my home?" "My name is Frederic," said the small man. "Not that it matters. I am the one who will ask the questions. And you will supply the answers. Nice nipples, by the way." "Another pain in the ass," declared Jean Claude, belligerently. He raised his hands, curled into fists. "You can't talk to a lady like that. I ought to knock some sense into your pointy little head!" "Be quiet, Jean Claude," said Joliet. "The gentlemen are thieves. They merely want to know where I keep my jewels. Let me tell them so they can be on their way." "I'm not afraid of them," continued Jean Claude, swaying slightly. His lips curled in a sneer. "Two peasants. Their accents betray them. This one comes from Marseilles," he said pointing to Frederic. "Typical sea scum. Son of a cheap whore, I'd guess." "My mother was an honest smuggler," said Frederic coldly. "She cried bitter tears for her only adopted son who died in the War." "War?" asked Jean Claude. "What war?" "The First World War," answered Frederic. He looked over Jean Claude's shoulders to the big man stationed at the door. "I grow tired of this asshole's ramblings. Oscar, kill him." "Whatever you say, Frederic," the big man rumbled. For someone his size, Oscar moved with astonishing speed. He took two steps forward and with his left hand grabbed a surprised Jean Claude by the back of the neck. He lifted, raising the young gigolo off the floor. Casually, effortlessly, Oscar slammed Jean Claude's face-forward into the nearest wall. Plaster cracked from the force of the blow. Blood spurted as Jean Claude's bones broke into pieces. The gigolo screeched in pain. Ignoring the sounds, Oscar pulled Jean Claude back a few inches, and then slammed him a second time into the wall. Then a third time, and a fourth. By now, the young man was no longer screaming. And the wall was soaked with blood. "Not much fun killing mortals," commented Oscar, dropping the battered gigolo to the floor. He lay there, unmoving. "Hardly seems worth the effort." Grinning, the huge Immortal slammed a foot into Jean Claude's head. The young man's skull exploded, sending bits of bone and brain across the room. "I always liked doing that," he declared. "Nice and messy." "I am a very important person in this city," Joliet said, trembling. "Harm me and you will pay." "A frightening thought," said a third Immortal, coming up behind Frederic. A good-looking man with a casual, relaxed stance. He appeared human, except for his black eyes, which burned with madness. In his fists he gripped the heads of Rene and Maurice, blood dripped from both. "We promise not to be bad." Frederic laughed. "Truthfully, we three are gentle souls. We seek to harm no one. All we wish is some information." "Information?" asked Joliet, conscious of the huge brute, Oscar, close behind her. "What kind of information? And why come to me?" "Because, bitch," said the handsome Immortal, carelessly tossing the heads of Joliet's two servants at her feet. "You are reputedly the most notorious whore among our race. If there are secrets to be learned, you are the one who has the answers." "Me, a whore?" Joliet asked, indignant. "I am no whore. I am an artist." "Yes, sure, just like that bitch Kristin was, right?" Frederic laughed. "Big deal. Personally, I think art is crap. It's a waste of time." Joliet sneered. "You, sir, have the soul of a pig." Frederic sneered back. "And you, milady, tread on dangerous ground. There are others in the city who posses the same information that you do. Insult me at your peril." Joliet realized the danger of her situation. Her beauty meant nothing when she was confronted by three Immortals of this kind. She was at the mercy of this hellish trio. She knew it, and so did they. "What do you want to know? Ask, and if I can answer, I will. On one condition." "A condition?" asked her Frederic. "I find it amusing that you dare bargain with us, milady. You are in no position to make demands." "I beg to differ," Joliet said. "You want facts. I have them. No one knows more about this continent than I. No one. As you said, I've fucked almost every Immortal here, and men always tell bedtimes stories. Destroy me, and you may eliminate your only chance to learn what you wish to know. Am I not correct?" "You're smatter than you look, that's for sure," Frederic said smiling. He glanced at his handsome companion. "What do you think, Joseph?" "Make a bargain with the bitch," commented Joseph. "We are in a hurry." "Yes, we are. Maybe it's a bad habit." Frederic said and then looked at Joliet. "Name your fee." "My life, of course," answered her. She pointed to Jean Claude's body and then the two heads on the floor. "I have grown accustomed to eternal life. Servants can be replaced. As can lovers. They are merely humans. Swear that I will not be harmed and I will tell you whatever you want to know." Frederic shrugged. "In return, we must have your oath that you will nor reveal our appearance in here to anyone for a week. By then, we will be gone. Either departed or destroyed, depending upon circumstances." "I promise not to say a word," declared Joliet, solemnly, trying to sound sincere. At the moment, she was willing to swear absolutely anything in order to preserve her life. Promises meant nothing to her. As soon as the three departed, she intended to call the police and inform them of everything that had taken place tonight. Well, almost everything. Right now, she needed time. "I swear it on the honor of my former teacher, Kristin." "The honor of Kristin," whispered Frederic. "A powerful oath, to be sure. I, too, swear. By the honor of my Immortal teacher, you shall not be harmed." Joliet pointed to the Immortal named Joseph. "He should swear too. And the oaf behind me." "I swear it," said Joseph. "By the sacred honor of my Immortal father. I will do you no harm." "Me too," spoke Oscar. "What the others said." "Ask then," said Joliet. "I will answer if I am able. Then, depart." "We are searching for an ancient Immortal known as Myrddin," said Frederic looking his fingernails. "We were told that he lives in catacombs far beneath the streets of the town of Glastonbury. Tell us how he can be found." "Myrddin?" Joliet asked with her first smile since Jean Claude had died. "Surely you jest. He exists only in the pages of magazine stories. In fairytales, just like King Arthur and his knights of the Round Table. No such Immortal lives in this world." "Our quarry is no fiction," Frederic said narrowing his eyes. "I am sure of that. Concentrate. Act as if your existence depends on your answer." The small man grinned. "It does." "Catacombs beneath Glastonbury?" repeated Joliet, thinking furiously. She shook her head. "Glastonbury is not Rome. There are no such tunnels." Then, suddenly, the thought of Rome triggered a long-forgotten memory inside Joliet's mind. "Perhaps, just perhaps, you mean the Roman tunnels in the left section of the city. Vague tales claim that they are part of a greater network of passages that honeycomb the entire town." "Exactly where are these Roman catacombs located?" Frederic asked walking toward Joliet. "I'm not sure," she said, her eyes narrowing. She didn't trust her captors. She knew the exact entrance of the catacombs, and that information could buy her some more time. "Let me think." "Think fast," Frederic warned. The cold gaze of Frederic hurried her answer, so she continued. "I'd guess the main entrance was near the cemetery. Long ago, after my first death, I visited the place with Kristin. It was a frightful sight. During the eighteenth-century, the caves were filled with the remains of millions of skeletons moved from the town's charnel houses. They covered the floor of the tunnels like a carpet of bones. Kristin called the place the Gate of Hell." Joseph nodded. "It sounds right to me." "And to me," Frederic joined his companion. He bowed to Joliet. "Thank you, milady, for the information. You have been quite helpful. We appreciate your assistance." He waved a hand to Oscar. "Fuck her. You can take her head afterwards." Joliet shrieked as the giant grabbed her by her throat. "You promised!" She cried gasping. "I have more information! Tons of it! You swore an oath!" She gasped is disbelief. Frederic laughed. "So did you. And just like you, milady, we lied." ========