The
Chronicles of the
Children
of Destiny
“Chronicles”
by Daniel Thomas
Andrew Daly
http://noahidebooks.angelfire.com
© 2009
Terra
‘Origins’
0 SC
(SC =
Since Creation)
‘AND NOW, LET US MAKE MAN IN OUR IMAGE, AFTER OUR LIKENESS.’
The gods – the angels of glory – all caught in a moment of time – with
only the children of eternity to remember how creation came to be, the memories
being vanquished from the other angels – with Logos and Memra, the words of
infinity and eternity, and Metatron overseeing the whole work – the gods spread
their hands towards two angels. Two
angels, male and female, who were to be the image of the firstborn. And from the rest of the angelic images, the
blueprint for all the children of mankind – all in the image of the gods – the
elohim.
The two selected angels were Krystabel, 7th of the female
Seraphim angels of eternity, and Saruviel, 7th of the male Seraphim
angels of eternity. Eve and Adam would
be formed on their very own images.
And so, the power of the divine – the power of the Almighty – the
infinite power which brings all things to life – surged, grew and erupted into
the hearts of all the children of God.
And when that great day’s activities were complete, truly, all the
Morning Stars sang together, and the Sons of God shouted for joy.
* *
* * *
Realm of
Eternity
Saruviel
& Krystabel
Saruviel, sitting next to
his twin Krystabel in Kalphon, was at peace.
For both of them, creation had been an intense experience. God had chosen the two of them to be the
primary creators of Adam and Eve. For
the life of him he could not fathom why God had made such a choice as himself,
given his reckless past, yet the grace of God had chosen Saruviel and
Krystabel, and they had fulfilled their duties gladly, Saruviel acting as the
Father’s image for that encounter.
Sitting there, enjoying his
sister reading some poetry from a book by Uriel, he heard a noise over at the
side of the lounge room and saw the Cherubim Beyonce coming into view – queen
of the Numerology.
She looked at them both,
with a big smile on her face. Brother,
sister. I have some really amazing
news. Saruviel looked up at his younger
sister, curious as to what could be so important.
‘I have been doing some
research into you and Krystabel’s name and I worked out the number in which you
find perfection together.’ Saruviel was mildly interested, but had not really
gone into the Gematria studies other angels had taken to. ‘Well,’ he said. ‘What is that number?’ Beyonce began nervously. ‘Well, your number is 107 and Krystabel’s
number is 112. Adding them together
comes to 219. That is your ‘Twin’
number. ‘Saruviel nodded, already
knowing that. Beyonce continued. ‘Well, the 7th principle for
Gematria is ‘Perfection’, whose number is 111.’
‘Why is it 111?’ asked Saruviel.
‘Numerical equivalents make Perfection equal to 111 if you take A as 1
and B as 2 and so on.’ ‘Yes, that is
right. I was forgetting.’ Beyonce continued. ‘It’s very complicated, but basically the
number for when you two have perfection is 219 times 111.’ ‘Sounds big,’ said Krystabel. ‘What is it,’ she asked,’ her curiousity
aroused. ‘This is the amazing
thing. It is 24,309.’ Saruviel looked at her for a moment, thinking
on the number, then it just hit him the significance. The current year was 14,309 – creation of
mankind beginning on the year.’ ‘But
that would mean,’ began Krystabel.
Beyonce nodded. ‘That is
right. At mankind’s 10,000th
birthday, you celebrate your year of perfection.’ Saruviel looked at Beyonce for a few moments,
and then turned to Krystabel, a slightly stunned look on his face. After a while he spoke. ‘That….is actually kind of interesting. Isn’t it sister.’ Krystabel looked at him. ‘My my.
Perhaps there is something to this Gematria after all.’
* *
* * *
Realm of
Eternity
Georgia
& Zac
0 – 1500
SC
Georgia and Zac. Zac and Georgia. 777th twins of the Cherubim. They were born, both at the same time –
together made in a single moment in infinity.
They had both been in God’s heart for a long time. A very long time had he contemplated and
considered just what he would bring forth for the 777th of the
Cherubim. In destiny – in the later
destiny of the children of Adam – the 9th from Adam, Lamech, would
live 777 years. Lamech would be the
Father of Noah – Father of the children of Noah and the latter day Noahide
movement. Both Georgia and Zac would be
instrumental in the life of Lamech. They
would watch over him from their responsibilities, nurture him, and teach his
spirit the lessons needed to raise the one who would be ‘perfect in his
generations’.
Throughout her life in the
realm of eternity,
After the creation of
mankind,
It had been given to Enoch
the work of Administration, Overseer, and head over the 7,000 realms. The very first of these realms – Kaluvia –
was were Enoch would be based and begin his work.
The Portal was the avenue
through which these realms were reached.
It was not overly complicated to use the Portal. In front of the Portal was a stand with a
series of keys upon them. These keys
were each of the Angelic letters, and a number of other important symbols. To bring the Portal to life, the letters of
the realm desired were pressed in the right order and the portal was
activated. It was quite easy to use.
The Portal would then start
to glow and after that all that was required was to walk through. Coming through the other side was a mirror of
the Portal in the new realm. This was
identical, apart from decoration, to the Realm of Eternities portal, with the
same functioning.
For many years since the
creation of the Portal, which was put into place on Adam’s 140th
birthday, a huge amount of Angels had gone out to explore the various new
realms. Unsurprisingly, Kaluvia was the
main realm visited. Under Enoch’s
guidance, a huge number of Angels had taken, passionately, to the task of
building these new empires and realms.
For they well understood, now, the purpose which they were at work
for. There responsibility, entrusted to
them by God, was to prepare a place for mankind at the latter day
resurrection. In God’s planning, mankind
was to rest in hades, the netherworld, a place of sleep and slumber, until the
great day. At that point the
resurrection would occur and the 7,000 realms would begin to be settled. Of course, humanity procreated. This the angels knew oh so well, and had been
often jealous. But, that night of Adam’s
140th birthday, after the announcement had been made regarding the
portal, another announcement which had shocked the entire realm of eternity had
been made. Each angel. Each child of God. The entire Angelic community would, one day,
appear in human form. Each would spend a
time amongst humanity and learn the ways of mankind. After that, unlike non-angelic humans, the
angelic humans would return to the Realm of Eternity upon their death with the
ability – then – to procreate. The Rest
of mankind would come at a later time.
Throughout the 7,000 realms, so God had stated, many angelic communities
would then be formed. But the number of
realms angelic community would not be so large by the time of the resurrection,
that non-angelic humanity would not have room.
Indeed, so it was planned, they were to receive the greater proportion
of land for their communities. And, as
had also been announced that night, at a later date – at a time in the dim and
distant future – well beyond the resurrection – more realms would come to be. But the number then would not be 7,000 – but
7,000,000. All these realms were
connected together – all of them becoming the realm of eternity.
* *
* * *
Terra
Daniel
the Cherubim
3384 –
3450 SC
The prophet Daniel sat down
in his abode within the
‘In
tymes past, ye Olde King Daniel, the great and revered Kinge of Olde Israel,
saw to it that a record of his great and many magnificente adventures and tales
be recorded – at least, so he felt, somewhere in the grande and great scheme of
things. So, having thus reached such a
conclusion, after much and greatly deliberate forethought and mental cogitation
(interrupted, mind you, by many strange and great dreams – dreams of devils and
dragons, beasts and empires, angels and saints, kings and queens, and much
other similar dreams of such ilk – of which Daniel fervently prayed to the
Great and Wise God of Truth for such things to departeth from him), Daniel took
it unto himself, with the help of his great and wise assistants, Hananiah,
Mishael and Azariah, to make a grand and great library within the domains of
the Realm of he who is the Most High – seeing to it, as natural reason would
conclude on such an issue in relation to the said individual, that the library
met all desired objectives (presently thought of mind you), with the desire to
house, home and store, with all proper accoutrements, the records of his great,
grand and magnificent accomplishments.
The
said library, the great and grand library of the Keep of Zaphon, within the
domain of the firstborn of the Archangels, first of the Kings of Old Israel,
Mighty Son of God – Michael, brother of the emissary of the Most High, the
respected Gabriel, was, as Daniel understood upon his consultations with the
most revered and respected Gabriel, to be an extension to the established
library of Zaphon – being judged to be within reasonable limits, due
considerations being given to the nature of the realm of Zaphora, and the
natural aesthetic principles to also be considered, of the boundaries of
Zaphora – so that, upon approval of the most high, and the approval of the
divine council, the noble King Daniel could record his great and victorious
accomplishments.
Daniel
judged that the number of scrolls should be – in total – a number of
appropriateness in relation to symbolic, spiritual, mathematical, scientific
and many other such Knowledge-Based principles of the education of such
knowledge. The number he arrived at was
based on the accepted decimal system of computation, established by his
forerunners of ancient days – attributed to mighty King Cimbrel (He being the
Tenth Kinge of Israel – the 35th Kinge before Kinge Daniel – he
being the 45th Kinge since the ancient one of ancient one’s – King
Michael), that number being 1,000. The
first 400 of these scrolls were, naturally, of special significance, recording
the crux of his tales in life. The
latter 600 recorded various other notes, observations, philosophical questions,
prayers, psalms, humorous anecdotes, and many other such textually scribable
ideologies and thoughts, that King Daniel felt were appropriate to have
written. The number would be 1,000. That would be appropriate, sufficient, and
complete. To swerve from such a number
made no real sense, all things considered.
And
so Daniel took it unto himself to begin work, being in his 46th
year, of which he expected to last unto, perhaps 70, perhaps just a little bit
more.’
Daniel finished off what he
had written. ‘Yes’, he thought to
himself. That should prove an inspiring
and extraordinary beginning to what should be a most eventful of tales. He would show it to his friends Hananiah,
Mishael and Azariah to gain their insights.
Hopefully the legend would be well received.
* *
* * *
Realm of
Eternity
Michael
& Gabriel
Michael smiled a
little. Gabriel had just handed to him
some of the writing’s of the Prophet Daniel, their Cherubim brother Daniel who had
now tasted human flesh, about the ancient Kings of the Ancient realm of Olde
* *
* * *
The Realm of
Infinity
‘You are the Devil himself, Samael.
You are the Devil himself.’
‘Order,’ proclaimed Sandalphon from the chief seat of justice. Sandalphon turned to Logos. ‘Logos is out of order. He will withdraw the comment, or be removed
from council.’ Logos looked at
Sandalphon, returning his gaze to Samael, his most bitter opponent. ‘I withdraw the comment. Turning to,’ he
began, quickly turning to the Code of Parliamentary Conduct, leafing through
the voluminous volume, coming to page 1138, he gave the page a cursory look,
remembering the section then, resuming.
‘Code of Conduct – Page 1138. It
reads ‘If a member, upon recalling incidents of a length superior to 100 years,
uses inflammatory innuendo, language, or other mannerisms, in an attempt to
deride opponents in the Hall, with reference made to incidents beyond the
reasonable memory of the Parliament, that being the said 100 years; being
references that are not written within the Parliamentary writings, or
historical records of the Realm, or that can be readily justified within the
living memory of the community at large; then such language shall be deemed as
out of order and the member shall withdraw his comment or be removed from the
Hall.’ Sandalphon nodded, checking the
page in front of him. He turned to
Samael. ‘The member of the opposition is
correct. You shall withdraw the comment
in relation to incidents pertaining to the Saruvim and the Ecclesia.’ Samael looked at Logos and grinned a wicked
little grin. His allusion to the so
called hidden lusts of Logos towards the Celestyel’s, and Logos casting them out
so that Logos could ultimately bed them, was – in truth – an extremely devilish
and malicious comment. ‘I withdraw the
comment,’ he finally responded.
Semyaza, firstborn of the 70,000 Oraphim of Nadrazon, known as the
Semyaza was a diehard Democrat.
In its ideology he saw the freedom and peace which could be
granted. And, in this thinking, he had
developed his own ideology of ‘Communism’ which, in its ultimate intent, was to
unite those who believed in Democracy to share their own individual commitment
to a united cause of freedom – a united cause in which each was cared for
contributing to the welfare of the community as a whole.
In truth, as time passed, similarities and almost apparent
contradictions, inasmuch as they often reflected their opponent’s ideology,
came forth. Yet, as many commentators
voiced, it was the passion of pride in Logos and Samael that caused the tension
between them to be constantly at loggerheads, each trying to outfox their
opponents.
Yet, whatever else, a day in the life of the council, for so many, was
an unforgettable experience.
* *
* * *
Many years had now passed since the formation of Council – nearly 10,000
in fact. In that time Terra had come to
be, and the angels, while curious about men, paid little attention to mere
humanity at first. Yet a number of
angels, including Sandalphon and Samael, had dwelt with men for a while, mainly
for the pleasures of the physical flesh of women. Yet for this they had been rebuked greatly and barred from Terra, it now
forbidden to them.
Logos, who now resided within Akalon, the Diamond city, many cubits far
above Azion – a place which he had first inhabited before the other angels of
Infinity had come to be, and after his tenure with the Word of Eternity ‘Memra’
and Metatron at ‘Home’ with God, yet had not used for a great deal of time, due
to his interactions with the Angels of the Realm of Infinity – was within his
private and personal abode of Akalon considering life in the Realm of
Infinity. While the essential basics of
life had not really changed that much, in any great degree, the realm, now, was
so very complex in the infrastructure and technology inherent within it.
Through Council, and their advances in law and administration, and
through the knowledge of science, an advanced civilization had sprung
forth. Inventions called ‘Computers’ and
the ‘Information Portal’ which connected every computer to a central database
were foundational within both Nadrazon and Azion, key updates to information
being processed on data-discs transferred between the realms on regular
intervals.
* *
* * *
Sandalphon was brooding. It was
time. It was now time, and he felt no
need to wait any longer. It was time to claim
the Realm of Infinity. He would speak
with Samael, tonight, and they would be bold.
They would bring to pass the culmination of their work and take hold of
the council completely. It was time to
reject the authority of Logos and bring to pass complete democracy. It was now time, no point in waiting any
longer.
* *
* * *
Samael argued with Sandalphon for a week, and then relented. Logos position and the laws he had brought
into council, while bothersome, were able to be lived with. And for the sake of unity Samael encouraged
Sandalphon to let the status quo remain – they could achieve their objectives
in time, no need to push it. But
Sandalphon was insistent and so, because of this, the rebellion began.
After 3 months of talks they were secure in their position and it came
down to a day of council deliberations in which Sandalphon had prepared his
words carefully. Taking to the dais to
start council discussions for the day with the mandatory prayer, Sandalphon
began.
‘Brethren. Today is a great
day. Today is a glorious day.’ He signalled to the angels at the side of the
room waiting his signal and they began moving forward into the chambers. ‘Today we claim the realm.’
And then the rebellion fostering all those millennia climaxed and the
angels in league with Sandalphon and Samael came forward and seized Logos and
the ecclesia and the other angels in their political party.
‘Were are you taking us?’ Logos asked Sandalphon.
‘Why, to the throneroom. Were
else. We are asking for the final
judgement. God has been absent long
enough, but he has watched us. And if we
can not have our way now, if after all this time he is not willing to yield to
our requests, we would have done with the situation.’
‘What do you mean?’ Logos asked Sandalphon.
‘It is time to bring a resolution to matters, brother. Delay is no longer possible. We want something resolved.’
‘Very well.’
And so the fateful congregation were escorted to the throneroom and
Sandalphon’s fearful agenda was coming to play.
He had made a gamble, had Sandalphon, and was willing to risk it. And his gamble was that his father would
remain silent and not speak. And if that
were the case, he would achieve victory.
For God’s silence would condone their rights and then they would have
all they had long desired and be rid of Logos authority for Good. It took something decisive, but the time was
now right.
* *
* * *
‘And so, friends, brethren, you have heard our plea. You have heard for so long now our desires,
freedom from Logos interference and full democracy down to individual liberty
which is our fundamental right of existence.
And now,’ he said, turning to the throne of Glory which had not spoken
for millennia.
Sandalphon began, as formally as he could.
‘Eternal father. God of
glory. I beseech thee. If you object to our claiming our liberty, as
is our birthright, speak now. Speak
now. We beseech thee.’
Samael looked on. For a long time
now he had been carefully manipulating his protégé Sandalphon to ensure he said
what Samael had really desired. And now,
him still in the shadows to a large extent, the freedom they had long desired
would now be theirs. Yet, a voice
spoke. A voice long gone from them
returned, at the most unexpected of times.
‘Sandalphon. I see you have not
changed. I see that in truth. I had long hoped you would have amended your foolishness, but
to no avail. Nevertheless you will learn
in time. But I know what dark power
motivates you. I know that. Samael, stand before me.’
All the angels were in shock at hearing God speak again, and Aphrayel at
the back of the crowd was thankful her father had returned to give his
judgement, for she had feared her brothers were about to do something most
foolish.
‘Samael, you are the power behind this rebellion. This much I know, for I have watched your
heart for so long now. But it will not
succeed, son. For you have not yet
learned some of the lessons you really should have known by now. But, you will. You will.
Samael, stand before me like a man, and do not cower.’
Samael straightened up.
‘You are banished, mighty Onaphim angel.
You are banished to earth, there to remain upon my good pleasure. For you will taste the glories of the
heavenlies no longer. Not until your
heart and soul knows what it is to be truly merciful. And I name you Samael no longer. For you are Satan, in truth, an adversary to
us all. Be gone from us, vile child.’
At that moment Karanasius, shadow angel of the realm of eternity, came
forth from the throne of God, dressed in black, hooded and face hidden, and
surrounded Samael. And then he dragged
him downwards, ever downwards, plummeting down to earth.
And falling, like lightning from the sky, the fall of the devil had come
to be.
* *
* * *
Later on, after much weeping, Logos was consoling his sister
Aphrayel. ‘In the end, Aphy, I was not
that surprised. Samael has long been
pushing God’s mercy. You must have known
that. And his judgement has finally
come. But don’t worry, dear sister. Destiny has a funny way of working things
out. Trust me on that, ok. Trust me on that.’
Aphrayel looked at him through teary eyes and managed to nod. She would now have to put Samael into the
hands of fate. Really, she had no other
choice.
* *
* * *
3970 – 4000 SC (0 to
30 AD)
And the realm of Infinity returned to its regular life and, just a
couple of centuries later, the primal manifestation was at hand. Logos, at his father’s decree, was to become
one with Jesus of eternity, and the incarnation would come to be.
* *
* * *
Terra
Logos
And Logos was born. And Logos was
seen by men. And Logos was
crucified. And Logos was
resurrected. And Logos, inhabiting the Cherubim
Jesus, was one with this angel. The
Logos – the Word – was One with Jesus the Son of God – the two were one – of
one heart and one mind. And Memra,
likewise, became one with Mary Magdalene, Oraphim angel of Infinity. And the two words became one.
* *
* * *
Terra
Samael
5687 SC (1707 AD)
Two thousand years. Samael – Satan - thought on that number. He had now been living on earth, banished
from his heavenly home of the Realm of Infinity for two thousand years. The current year, under the Christian
calendar, was 1707AD. In 293BCE, which
was the date as best as he could remember, given the information he had gleaned
from the history books and the best of his memories of the passing years, was
when he had been banished from his heavenly home.
That time had been pivotal in Satan’s
life. The final conflict between his
forces and the Logos’ forces had come to its fruition. In the thousands of years prior to then in
which their God and father had not, apparently, been present in the realm of
Infinity, apart from the burning flame in the throneroom of the Golden City
which had apparently marked his faithfulness to his children (or so it had been
commonly assumed), the tension had grown between Samael and Logos. Logos, as head of the Ecclesia, had assumed a
mantle of authority and rulership within the Realm of Infinity. But not everyone had accepted that
authority. And as the centuries had
passed, Samael and Sandalphon had influenced many leading up to that final
assault on the Logos, Michael, and the other angels, climaxing in the meeting
in the throneroom of the golden city.
And then, right at that point in which Samael had felt he may achieve
his ultimate goal, their God had returned.
And Logos, filled with the eternal spirit, had cast Satan down to earth,
banished from the heavenly realm.
It had been dear Aphrayel who had come to
visit him a few days into his banishment, for a solitary visit to explain to
him the terms of his exile. She,
Aphrayel, would be his final face from his home for the time being. He would not see her, or another, again for a
fair while. He had asked how long his
exile was to be – whether it was permanent, or whether he would one day be
allowed to return. Aphrayel, though, had
been cagey in her response – not really giving him any definite reply. And because of that, Samael had realized he
would perhaps be spending a great and long time in his exile. A great and long time to suffer the partially
human, partially divine, condition that he had found himself in.
For most of the last millennia he had been
living in Sherwood Forest in Nottinghamshire.
Robin of Locksley was one of, if not the main, reason Satan had remained
in Sherwood Forest. Just before Robin’s
passing in his old age, Marian ever-faithful at his side, Satan had revealed
his true identity to the one who had become a close friend in his later
years. He had met Robin many times
during his twenties and thirties, always disguised as a commoner of the land. In a sense, Satan had been one of the merry
men on brief occasions, but not in the traditional sense which had come into
English lore. There were the well known
characters infused in the mythos, but there were around 50 or so other merry
men who had been in Robin’s entourage from time to time. These were, in some ways, mercenary merry
men. Warriors who had joined the crusade
for a time being, but had later parted company.
On a few brief occasions, Satan, calling himself ‘Jimmy the Hand’, due
to his great accomplishment at theft and pick-pocketing, had been in the band
of merry men. He had gotten to know
Robin, as all the merry men did, over the 15 or so years he had known him. But Satan had eventually parted ways with
Robin before his lack of ageing became too obvious to him. But he had come to Robin’s abode when he had
been nearing death to wish him well. He
had hoped that Robin would not recognize or remember him, but his wish had not
been granted. Robin had risen, despite
his great age, and insisted on an explanation.
Satan had, frankly, told him who he was.
But Robin had said, in response, laughing that whoever he was, that he
could not believe he was the devil.
Satan had stayed around the small hutlet in the forest were Robin lived,
until the hero had passed. After that,
the last of the merry men had parted company, and the legend began.
The shack he lived in within Sherwood Forest
was amongst a thicket of trees, just a short distance from where that hutlet
had been. Satan had, prior to this,
travelled widely throughout planet earth, but had decided, in Robin’s honour,
to spend a long and great time in Sherwood Forest as his tribute to his former
friend. This, although the primary
reason, was not the only reason for this choice. He liked Britannia, as he called it, and felt
at home with the people of the land. The
Celts, Saxons, Danes, Angles and other people who had come to call this place
their home gelled with Satan. His own
physical appearance was essentially the same as any one of them. Of course, he recognized the various
ethnicities of earth, reflecting the diversity of his angelic home. Because of this, it had been no great
surprise that he was occupied mostly with the people of Western Europe.
Prior to his banishment, Satan had usually taken
little if any interest in the affairs of mankind. They, in the realm of Infinity, had not been
aware of the initial creation of the earth, but had become aware at a later
date, when Logos had announced the discovery of the universal realm and of planet
earth. In hindsight, Satan had
understood when the creation of the universal realm had occurred in relation to
the history of his own realm, which with his knowledge of earth’s history,
seemed to be around the time when Logos was absent from the Realm of Infinity
for a period of seven months. Upon his
return Logos had not understood the queries everyone had put upon him. All he had said was that, as he thought it,
he had gone to sleep one night and woken up the next day. When everyone had told him that he had been
gone for seven months he had continually stated that he simply had no
explanation for what had happened. He
stated again and again he simply had no memory of any events from that time
period. Satan knew, now, that Logos had
been involved, in some way, with their Fathers work of creation in the
earth. And, now having read the New
Testament countless times, he perhaps understood what Logos may have been
involved with.
Of course, that issue of creation he had not
yet resolved, and, with the advent of Christianity, the nature of the deity
itself had challenged Satan. He
remembered conversations with the Logos about the Logos’ own nature and his
relationship with their Father. The
Christian religion seemed to give explanations to some of the questions Satan
had about the issue – yet questions still remained. The Trinitarian notion, which was the most
common Christian doctrine relating to God, seemed, from Satan’s perspective,
not quite right. He understood the
divine nature of the Logos and how he partook of the Father’s spirit, but much
of the Trinitarian dogma, he felt, did not fully understand the Unitarian
nature of his divine father. A key
problem, Satan felt, was the notion of ‘eternally begotten’. That was, as far as Satan understood from his
conversations with the Logos, not quite right.
The Logos had a beginning, prior to which the Father alone had
existed. The Logos partook of the
Father’s nature, but was not that Father, nor equal with him. This information Logos had shared with
Satan. And of course, the notion of the
Holy Spirit as a separate identity from God himself, totally confused
Satan. He questioned whether these
Christians had received some sort of revelation from his God that he had not
been privy to. But in the end he had
concluded probably not. He had always
understood that the spirit of God was, in a human-thinking sense, the Fathers
divine body – the substance he was composed of.
It was not really separate from the Father, but was what the Father was
composed of – his spiritual nature. And
having reviewed the writings of the New Testament often, he felt that, just
perhaps, even the later Trinitarian doctrinal thinking did not really
understand its own foundational writings.
Christianity had caught Satan by surprise. With the people of Israel, Satan had never
really taken much interest. He had been
aware of the various events within that community, especially legends which
supposedly involved himself, which he laughed at. But in laughing at those legends, Satan had
taken a little interest in the ‘Book of Daniel’ from his heavenly domain. It mentioned his Seraphim brothers Michael
and Gabriel. But it stated of them
responsibilities which were not their own, nor ever had been. Apparently Michael was the Prince or Guardian
angel of the people of Israel, which his younger Seraphim brother had never had
anything to do with. And Gabriel had
never visited the prophet in question.
Satan had become aware of legends involving the prophet Daniel when he
had visited Israel shortly before Jesus’ birth.
He had spoken with a number of Pharisees and Sadducees regarding the
book, and they had maintained the correctness of its authorship and the events
contained therein. One Rabbi had
produced another scroll which Daniel had recorded, containing conversations
between himself and Gabriel. This
Gabriel had spoken of ‘The Realm of Eternity’ were the Seraphim and Cherubim
lived in harmony. He had spoken of their
home ‘Zaphon’. Of the realms of Zaphora
and Terraphora, amongst others. And
other angels, including the dreaded ‘Saruviel’.
All of this information had puzzled Satan for
centuries. Why had it been called the
‘Realm of Eternity’ and not the ‘Realm of Infinity’. Why were only the Seraphim and Cherubim
mentioned? And why such a fuss about
Saruviel? He had never been that
prominent an angel in Satan’s time. And
finally, what exactly were Zaphon, and Zaphora and Terraphora? It seemed strange, oh so strange, to
Satan. Obviously, as they had the
correct names of angels, the scrolls must have had some sort of divine
inspiration. But why were the details so
confusing? It was a quandary which Satan
had continually puzzled over.
And then, with the arrival of the Christian
religion, and in those days after the resurrection in which Satan, living in
Jerusalem at the time, met again with Logos, who had not revealed who he was
but had simply called himself Jesus the Christ, new stories about the Angels
had begun, and Satan himself had become the ‘Archenemy’ of the Christians. That reality had not impressed Satan, but he
viewed it as his punishment from heaven.
God was now delivering the reward to him for his rebellion.
But he wondered if perhaps, just perhaps, his
exiled brother who had never returned to the Realm of Infinity – the head of
the 7 Saruvim angels, the angelic being of evil whom the whole Realm had grown
to despise, the one who had raped his sister Gemrayel, the one whose true name
was Satan, whom he, Satan, formerly known as Samael, had been renamed to by God
just before his exile began, renamed to show just what God thought of his son
Samael – he wondered if this Satan, the angelic being who truly was the epitome
of evil to himself, was perhaps a being who had been involved with the people
of Israel in oppressing and opposing them.
He wondered if it was his younger Saruvim brother who was the real
subject of Christianities disdain. He
wondered this because he had felt that, just maybe, he had sensed his exiled
brother’s spirit while living in Jerusalem from time to time. Not only his, but other of the 7 Saruvim
spirits he felt he may have sensed occasionally. He had usually dismissed this as his memories
interfering on his life, but he did wonder.
But, whatever was the truth of those legends,
Satan would ponder another day. Today,
being the date he celebrated his exile, if such a thing should be celebrated,
he had made a decision. He would go on
holiday, as it were. For many years now
he had been slowly acquiring wealth, in the form of various gold coinage, and
had a reserve of gold coins in two large chests stored underneath his bed in
the back room of his shack. Satan did
not really need money in any major way.
He did not really need to eat food or drink water in his semi-spiritual
condition, thus, after his shack had been built and he had acquired the few
items he really did need, he had continued in the stance he had stuck with of
not being overly concerned about finances.
But, as he had realized, they were useful from time to time, and made
certain aspects of his exile on earth a little more bearable. And this coinage he had acquired could be put
to use in travel and various other expenses.
In his occasional visits to various towns, he
had come across news of a prodigy in Austria.
The son of a certain ‘Leopold Mozart’ was showing outstanding talent in
composition and performance. Satan had
never quite gotten around to learning the harpsichord, and had decided that
perhaps now would be a good time. He had
decided that he would visit Germany, were the young Mozart was often touring,
and seek lessons from him. He would see
what all the fuss was about and, given that he had great resources in what he
could afford to spend in hiring his tutelage, afford a number of lessons from
the new prodigy. Apparently, young
‘Wolfgang’, as he was known as, despite being only 13, was known to tutor
various German and Austrian ‘Lords’ and ‘Ladies’. With his substantial funds available to him,
Satan felt that, if he were to learn the harpsichord, perhaps there may be no
better teacher than this new Austrian talent.
And, with those thoughts in mind, Satan began planning out his trip to
the mainland.
* * *
* *
Arriving in Hull, the port he had decided
upon to depart for Germany for, Satan traded some of his coinage in for the
fare. The ship, known as ‘The Old
Warrior’, was transporting goods from England to various ports along the
western coast of Europe. One of the
ports they were to stop at was Bremerhaven on the German coast, which was
ideal, as he was headed for Hamburg, not far from there, where he had received
news that Mozart was currently living, giving performances and tutoring. His father, Leopold, was managing his son’s
affairs, so he would seek him out upon arriving in Hamburg.
The trip would take a few days, giving Satan
plenty of time for conversation with the other passengers, a hobby of his to
stay abreast with world affairs. The
night of his first day, he had introduced himself to an old Jewish man named
Abraham. The man had revealed his first
name of Abraham, but had not shared his surname of Rothchild. Abraham had lived in Germany for a number of
years, but had recently emigrated with his wife, children and grand-children to
England were he felt, so he said, his destiny lay. He was returning to Germany to finalise some
business arrangements, primarily regarding the sale of his final property. Abraham had become wealthy over his
life. His God, so had had said, had
blessed him in his German homeland. But
it was time to move on – time to start again at a different place. Abraham, so he had said to Satan, had felt he
had been given the ‘Call’ of Abram, and had thus moved himself and his family
to England which would be his new homeland.
* *
* * *
‘Master Salieri, we have a visitor.’ ‘Yes.
Who would come to us at such an ungodly hour.’ ‘He calls himself Radric Durander.’ Salieri looked at the grandfather clock
against the wall of his bedroom. 5 past
11. Yet, sleep had fled him this night,
so he rose to greet this new guest.
Coming down the stairway, in the hall of his
abode stood a man, dressed in black, face turned to the bookcase near the
entrance of his abode. Salieri descended
the last few steps and approached his guest.
‘Yes, may I help you.’ ‘Master
Salieri. In the good name of Christ I
greet you. I have travelled from fair
Britannia, having arrived in Hamburg just this morn. I have been seeking out Master Leopold Mozart
for an audience with his young prodigy.
I was told you were in contact with Leopold, having regular audiences
with himself to discuss various subjects pertaining to composition of
music.’ Salieri nodded. ‘That is correct. You would, I take it, be seeking an audience
with Master Wolfgang?’ ‘That is
correct. I am in the process of
undertaking a new endeavour to learn piano from musical masters. I have heard, in England, news of young
Master Mozart and felt I would seek him out to, perchance, undertake within his
tutelage lessons in relation to the piano.
Your name was mentioned, upon inquiry, as an appropriate avenue through
which to contact the Mozart’s.’ Salieri
considered this. ‘Perhaps, if music you
are considering taking up, I could give you a few pointers.’ ‘That would be most welcome, master
Salieri. Naturally, I would pay for your
services. I have gold and silver. Of course, I have failed to introduce
myself. I am Mr Durander. Mr Radric Durander. Now, can we begin at once. I am most eager to undertake this new, most
passionate, passion of mine.’ ‘Mmm. The hour is late, Mr Durander. Could not such passion wait until a more
appropriate hour.’ ‘Passion, Mr
Salieri. Passion is a spirit in life. When men of propriety, brevity, gravity and
maturity, in good Christian spirit, reciprocate to the most earnest desires of
their colleagues, a fervent spirit of communal bliss most regularly
ensues.’ Master Salieri considered that
thought. A most enticing, most
enigmatic, statement of spiritual realities he had not considered in such depth
seemed to have emanated from the new personage presently his company. ‘Very well, Mr Durander. I will have Bernard bring us some
refreshments. You have an hour of my
time. At the stroke of midnight we will,
for the benefit of my required sleep, retire for the night.’ Mr Durander nodded.
* *
* * *
Satan studied the piece in front of him. One of Salieri’s, entitled the ‘Golden
Eagle.’ He had been, quite slowly,
playing through the piece. It was of an
early grade of music. Grade Two. Satan, in earlier times, had learnt a little
of piano, and was capable of attempting a grade two piece when under the
tutelage of a master.
Salieri had been advising him, noting his
various strengths and weaknesses and Satan’s own musical style which appeared
to have developed. He noticed
similarities in his own techniques. This
Mr Durander did appear to have potential.
It would be, it seemed, not in vain the tutelage with which he could
impart from his experience and education and learning.
‘This piece, master Durander, is a joyful
ditty. It begins boldly, expressing its
theme, if I do in fact say so myself, with the most eloquent and delightful of
expression.’ Mr Durander nodded. ‘Destined, this piece is I feel Master Salieri,
to on a future day prove quite popular.
Quite popular, I would suggest.’
Salieri nodded gracefully at his guest’s kind compliment.
Satan practiced that night. He practiced carefully, paying close
attention to his teacher and noting his teacher’s wisdom. In fact, he had 3 hours of Salieri’s time, so
enwrapped they had become in each other’s company, and in that time Satan
learned of the wisdom of a truly great musical master.
He failed, after that, to really feel the
necessity of hunting down master Mozart for lessons. He did see him play on occasions, but felt it
unnecessary to pursue in any more detail the furtherance of his musical
knowledge. Something Salieri had said
spoke to him. ‘We can, of course, learn
so much from others. But originality,
born from our own inspiration, is the heart and soul of any musical piece.’ And with those words Satan had decided one
teacher was sufficient. The rest he
would learn himself, knowing already the basics of notation and how to read. He would practice, now, at his own rate.
However, he did purchase a harpsichord in
Germany, and had it shipped home with him.
And, returning to his old shack, Satan began practicing the small number
of pieces Salieri had given him and, with a dedicated mind, began his own works
of composition, endeavouring to bring forth that which was original and born of
his own inspiration.
* *
* * *
The Realm of
Eternity
Meludiel
5900 SC (1930 AD)
Meludiel sat lost in
thought. It was time, now. Time to start thinking over the last part of
the Song of Eternity for the male Seraphim.
The Song of Eternity, in her planning, was to eventually have parts not
only for all the 140 male and female Seraphim, but eventually, which would
almost take eternity itself, parts for all 1,400,000 Cherubim male and females as
well. A truly daunting task.
But for now, with
the first 69 parts now complete, she could turn her attention to the 70th
Male Seraphim, Davriel. She, as of this
stage, had no idea what type of theme she would use for Davriel, but she wanted
something memorable. Something to mark
the end of the first major section of the Song.
Something unique.
Sitting at the
Vibronic in the choir room of Zaphon she was oblivious to Daniel the Seraphim who
had entered the room and snuck up on her.
‘Boo,’ he said, and
she jumped.
‘Daniel! Watch it!’
‘Sorry. Hey, you want to get something to eat.’
Meludiel looked at
him, unsurprised. Ambriel was currently
away from Zaphon, a time Daniel usually surfaced in her life.
‘Ok then. I am a bit hungry,’ she replied.
Sitting there in the
dining room of Zaphon, Daniel talking about some of the latest plot ideas he
had for some of his Angel books which he wrote quite a lot of, Meludiel thought
on her song. And she thought on Ambriel
who was currently away from Zaphora at a conference somewhere out in
Terraphora. She thought on his theme and
suddenly it came to her – a recapitulation.
Yes, Ambriel’s theme, redone, in a different way, for Ambriel. Yes, that was a good idea. But how?
How would she do that?
‘Anyway, after they
defeat Azazel, Saruviel finally shows himself and the War comes to a great
climax. I haven’t figured out really how
it will end, but I am working on it.’
‘Huh,’ said
Meludiel, who had been lost in thought, not listening to Daniel’s conversation
about some of his Angel books. ‘What did
you say?’
He looked at her,
frustrated. ‘Off with the fairies, were
you?’
She smiled. ‘Very funny.
It is just that I have a lot on my mind.’
‘I’ll bet.’
‘Well, continue what
you were saying. I’ll listen, I promise
you.’
Daniel shrugged,
went back to his dialogue on his books, and despite Meludiel looking intently
at him, her mind drifted off again, thinking on melodies and harmonies and
grand conclusions to the Song of Eternity.
* *
* * *
Terra
Davriel
5910 SC (1940 AD)
‘His name is Adam. In honour of the father of us all.’ Rebecca looked at her husband Elihu. ‘That is a fine name. I am certain he will grow to appreciate
it. ‘Yes, he will. His future will be bright. I am sure of it. Now that we are free from that Aryan devil
and back in our homeland, Adam can look forward to being a free man. Living in a world were he is not judged by
his race or the colour of his skin. Living
in our blessed homeland of Israel.’
Rebecca nodded knowingly at her husband’s comments.
Having seen firsthand the plucking away of
her fellow Israelites by the Nazis, their numbers growing thinner and thinner
every day, Elihu had moved his family at what was possibly the last and only
opportunity that they would have, through false passports, papers, and
carefully chosen words, away from what had become Nazi Austria, back to their
beloved spiritual promised land, Palestine, which they called Israel. His parents had been taken the week before –
off for detention and investigation, the Nazis had said. Elihu knew that his time was short – that to
escape the trap that had been set for him, he must act quickly. To escape the gathering darkness.
They had some close friends in some Dutch
people who had been horrified at the way the new Nazi movement had been
acting. Horrified, but to frightened to
speak out. They had prepared the
necessary documents for Elihu and his wife, and had assisted them with some
finances to get them were they needed to be going.
And that destination, they had decided, was
to be Israel. Elihu believed that, no
matter what happened throughout history, his people would only ultimately be
accepted in their promised land. His God,
so he felt, desired that to be the homeland for the seed of Avraham. He had considered France, or maybe England,
and even America. But there was
something which spoke into his heart late one evening. A quiet, gentle, yet persistent voice. A voice which reminded him of who he was –
what he was – and were he should be. It
spoke not in literal words, but when the thoughts entered his mind and he had
reviewed them, he knew it was his God.
And he knew – he KNEW – that he must obey his lord and king and return
to the place which was the inheritance of the children of Israel.
Rebecca had been firm in her support. She had agreed very quickly, as probably from
Elihu’s perspective, simply being glad to leave their current persecution. But she had said that ‘Israel’ to them, their
family, had always been special. That it
had an inexplicable draw on their heart because of who they were. And thus she voiced no dissent when Elihu designated
Israel as their ultimate destination.
Fortunately, their voyage had been smooth and
generally uneventful. The various
authorities had accepted their papers, inquisitorial as ever, but had in the
end let them pass. They had been
believed. Elihu felt it was the work of
God in granting them safe passage. The
‘hand’ of the Almighty, he had said to Rebecca.
They had constantly stated they were meeting
with relatives in Cyprus. That they
intended to stay with them in Nicosia, the capital of Cyprus, for a number of
months before eventually returning.
Having arrived in Cyprus, they purchased a fishing boat, with the money
their Dutch friends had given them.
Elihu had learned how to sail when he was younger, and was sure he could
guide them safely from Cyprus to the Palestinian coast. The trip from Cyprus had been dramatic. A wild storm had come, threatening to tip
them over a number of times. But Elihu
had worked hard all night during the storm to keep them upright, and calm
gracefully followed the next day. When
they reached the Palestinian coastline Rebecca gave a silent prayer of thanks
to God. He had guided them safely home.
Elihu had purchased much gold before leaving
Austria. He felt it was the most
sensible of assets that they could use in establishing themselves in
Israel. Palestine had been a conquered
nation, as it had been for nearly 2000 years now, but there was still a small
faithful remnant of Israel at home. And
he hoped and believed that soon – very soon – Israel would be reborn.
One year after arriving in Israel, through
difficult negotiations with various Palestinians, they had purchased land and
begun their new life. Adam was born a
few months later – a joy to the heart of Elihu was his first child. Since marrying Rebecca at 19 years of age,
they had constantly tried to have children.
But it had never eventuated. Now,
in their early thirties, God had finally blessed them with the child ever
descendant of Avraham yearned for. And
no ordinary child. No ordinary child at
all.
Adam bar Elihu, from the tribe of Yosef, was
the Seraphim Davriel, 70th of the male Seraphim of the Realm of
Eternity. His manifestation, as he had
known in heaven, had been at hand. He
had been born into, according to his destiny, a scattered Israelite Samaritan
family. Davriel’s family had lived in
Samaria and followed the ancient customs of their sect for centuries before, a
century prior, Adam’s great grandfather had left for Germany. Adam’s father, Elihu, had known he was a
Samaritan yet had, through his new Jewish contacts in Germany, adopted a more
traditional orthodox faith. Yet the
Samaritan roots were not forgotten. And,
as time passed, and Israel was reborn as a nation, Adam bar Elihu, of the tribe
of Yosef through Ephraim, started to become aware – intimately aware – of just
how important those Samaritan roots were to himself.
* *
* * *
Terra
James
5943 - 5970 SC (1973 – 2000 AD)
The seventh born of the Children of Heaven,
the archetype of ‘War’, James was born on the fourth of September, 1973, at St
Benedict’s Catholic Hospital in lower London.
James David Castelton was his birth name, son of Alastair and Elizabeth
Castleton. James grew up quite a
handsome young man. Blonde hair in
youth, which gradually turned darker as he came into his teens. At 19 he was quite tall – 6 Foot, 1
Inch. He felt he would likely grow no
taller, which proved to be still true at 21.
His parents had been quite wealthy, his Father Alastair a banker by
trade. James had known a good upbringing. Alastair had seen to it that James, if he
continued with his studies with the aptitude he had shown, was to attend Oxford
University. James didn’t disappoint and
graduated top of his class in English Literature in 1995. His father had keenly inquired into James
plans for his life. ‘A writer,
Father. Probably an author. Maybe newspapers and magazines for a while –
but ultimately my own projects.’ His
father had accepted his son’s decision.
James had been inspired by the classics. Jane Austen, William Shakespeare, C S Lewis
and even Tolkien. They were intimate
friends of his. James read books –
voluminously so. In fact, sometimes he
felt the longer the tome, the greater the challenge – yet greater the
satisfaction in the accomplishment. For
James various styles and genres were appealing.
Drama, Fantasy, War, Detective and even occasionally a spiritual book,
though they were more his Mother’s taste.
His goal, though, was the ‘Epic’. The ultimate story of life. The novel to end all novels.
Since formulating this idea in his early teens,
he had considered many concepts. He had
written numerous short stories, a number published in various journals of the
land, and had completed his first novel, ‘Rose and Thorn’, a thriller, at 19. It remained unpublished, and although the
publisher he had sent it to had stated that it was not quite what they were
looking for, his potential had been noticed and he had been strongly encouraged
to persevere in his work.
He had indeed persevered and his second novel
was now complete. ‘The Dark Side’ was a
gritty crime and action drama. James was
happy with it – very happy. It reminded
him of the character in the ‘Punisher’ comics he read when he was younger. Frank Castle had been a hero of his –
fighting the bad guys with their own tactics.
His main character, ‘Davro Steele’, bore reminiscence to the Frank
Castle of his youth. The book, James
felt, should almost be published. It was
an improvement upon ‘Rose and Thorn’ in character depth, consistency of plot,
theme and purpose. He had learned much
since his first novel and felt he now knew, essentially, how to write the
novel. No longer a quick rush to put
down what was in the head at any one time – but a carefully plotted out
storyline, with the necessary characteristics which made a story, hopefully,
compelling.
The first person to read it apart from
himself was his wife of six months, Kate Geraldson. She had been extremely expressive in the
criticism she had given of it, as he had liked.
She had commented on every possible aspect of the book – both good and
bad points. In the end, she had
smiled. ‘It should do well James. It should do well.’
James trusted his wife. And sent it again to ‘Unicorn Books’ not far
from where he lived, to see if they likewise agreed. They had, this time, assented to
publication. ‘Much better,’ his agent at
the company, Terry Smythe had said. ‘You
have improved a lot.’
In a sense, our tale really begins shortly
after those words of Terry. James had
just left the office of Unicorn Books and was just leaving the lift at ground
floor, when destiny called on young James.
‘Excuse me.
This might sound strange, but could you please hold on to this briefcase
for just a moment.’ The blonde lady of
about 20 held out to James a briefcase, an anxious look on her face. ‘Uh, okay,’ replied James, not really knowing
what else to say, as he took the briefcase from the stranger. ‘Thanks, whoever you are. Got to run.’
The blonde lady immediately ran to the front sliding doors, looking
behind her towards the stairwell doorway.
The front doors opened and she quickly dashed out onto the sidewalk,
across the street. Soon she disappeared
into the city haze. James was
perturbed. What about her
briefcase? Would she be coming
back. He decided to sit down at the
leather lounge just near the entrance to the building. Perhaps she would shortly return. He had had such good news today, that this
inconvenience was only the slightest problem.
Mulling over how happy he was, the stairwell
doors bursting open suddenly startled him.
A man dressed in a black suit, with sunglasses, barged through, rushing
towards the exit. He gave James a casual
glance, but didn’t really consider him.
James watched him intently as he stood on the sidewalk, his eyes
scanning all over the immediate vicinity.
Eventually he moved off, heading across the road, roughly in the
direction the lady had gone.
James was a little shocked. Now that kind of thing didn’t really happen
every day. Almost like the start of a
great detective novel, he thought to himself.
But he was sure there would be some reasonable explanation.
He looked down at the briefcase. It was dark brown, with a triple number lock
on each lock. A pretty flimsy one as
well, by the looks of it. ‘Well, should
I?’ he thought to himself. It was human nature of course. But curiosity did kill the cat. Various thoughts entered his head, but he
decided to take the risk. He tried the
lock catchers. They both opened
immediately. It looked as if they had
not been jumbled. Carefully he opened
the briefcase and looked inside.
Greeting him was a solitary folder with a title emblazoned over it. ‘Project Dark Side’. James jumped at the title. ‘You have got to be kidding me’, he thought
to himself. If that was a coincidence,
it must now hold the record for the most audacious.
He picked up the folder and opened it. Inside were a number of pages in a language
he didn’t quite recognize, although looking at it he felt it was quite likely a
middle-eastern language. It wasn’t
Arabic or Hebrew. But it had a feel to
it of that area.
He counted the pages – 7 in total. All, by the looks of it, in the same
script. Of course, he spoke English,
could speak and read a little French and Gaelic, but really did not know any
other languages, although he recognized most foreign scripts. He couldn’t read it, so placed it back in the
folder and returned the folder to the briefcase, closing it.
He sat there for a full hour before
concluding that the lady, whoever she was, was not coming back. The building had 45 floors, with numerous
offices and businesses. She could
potentially have come from any one of them.
Taking it back to her office did not seem that practical as he did not
know were to really start and concluded that it could possibly take the rest of
the day. He summed up that she could, in
the end, likely replace the briefcase and papers if they were stolen, so he
should just leave them in the foyer.
He placed the briefcase next to the lounge,
and looked at it. He didn’t know why –
that old curiosity again – but something said to him, ‘go on, take it. Your dying to know what it says. You may as well. Someone else might, so it may as well be
you.’ He caved after a few moments and
concluded that, yes, his curiosity had been piqued. Whatever was on those papers, he wanted to
know. Just to satisfy himself. He picked up the briefcase and thought that
maybe, just maybe, he might regret it, but continued on any way. Leaving the building, he walked off down the
street to catch his bus.
* *
* * *
‘James.
What’s this?’ James looked down
at the briefcase his partner Kate was pointing to, his mouth preoccupied with a
ham and tomato sandwich. ‘Anh
bhrietthgkcathe’, he managed through the contents of his mouth. Kate laughed at her husband’s stupid
behaviour. ‘Yes, beloved, I know it’s a
briefcase. But it doesn’t look like one
of yours. Is it new?’ James slowly and deliberately finished his
mouthful before speaking. ‘Dearest, yes,
I suppose it is one of mine. Look, don’t
worry about it. It’s nothing
important.’ ‘As you say,’ replied his
wife, and finished off the glass of wine in her hand. The two of them had been hanging in the
kitchen since James returned home at about 6.00 pm. Formal dinners were the usual practice, but
James had said he needed a quick bite to eat, before having to spend some time
in the study. ‘Tonight we eat at
‘Alberto’s’’, were his words to his dearest.
‘Tonight we celebrate.’ Kate had
smiled at those words, happy at the news the book was to be published.
Kate worked as a secretary in a legal firm in
west London, and was studying legal studies part-time at a trade school. She was on a reasonable wage and, of course,
James parents were well off and supported James in most ways – and she knew he
would receive probably a very good inheritance.
But the book would help them sooner, if it were to be successful. They could possibly buy a decent unit somewhere
in the city if the book took off.
Presently they lived in a rented unit which
his parents and herself both contributed the rent to. James had only a casual job at a local
newspaper which didn’t pay very much. He
was concentrating on his dream – ‘Authorship’ – and they both realized that
such dreams required sacrifices. It would
be pleasant, Kate felt, if those sacrifices saw results sooner rather than
later. She felt this a lot, and then
chided herself for her selfishness. She
loved her husband and would, if it was necessary, support him alone as she did
love him. Growing up and looking at the
modern world she had noticed that not every marriage lasted. So many people were casual in their
relationships these days. Casual sex
dominated the land and the internet was full of pornography.
She had been raised to be a very traditional
English lady. Her family was
middle-class. Perhaps ‘Upper’
middle-class. They had a strong sense of
the history and culture of their nation, as her father had been a history
teacher in various schools. Her mother,
like herself, had been to a finishing school – so much more uncommon these
days, a rarity practically. But, because
of this, her family was stoically British.
Conservative in politics and fiercely loyal to the monarchy.
Kate took much from her education, but also
let some of what she felt were now unnecessary elements depart from her. For example, her mother naturally expected
her to take her husband’s surname. This
was the tradition of their society, until more recent years. Kate felt that such a tradition need not be
binding. She loved and admired James –
but she was not becoming James. She was
still her own person and she knew the family she was coming from. Why could it not be that James change his
surname? Why was such a tradition
necessary at all anyway? She had decided
that she would keep the ‘Geraldson’ surname and that any children, if they were
to have any, could share their parents surnames. It seemed the best solution.
Later that night, James was sitting in his
study, in front of the computer, looking through a website on middle-eastern
scripts. He finally recognized some of
the characters. The language appeared to
be ancient Canaanite. An all but
forgotten tongue. There was an
equivalent to the letters in English on the screen, but in half an hour of
searching he was unable to find a decent enough Canaanite Dictionary. However, to this problem he had a
solution. At Oxford he had become aware
of various faculties and departments, one of them being the school of
middle-eastern languages. Perhaps it
would be easiest to simply seek out a professor in the University and ask for
his or her assistance. It seemed the
best solution.
* *
* * *
‘Yes, Mr Castleton, the language is Canaanite.’ ‘I had thought so. Can you read it? Do you know what it says?’ ‘Yes, a little. Perhaps it may be best if you leave it with
me for a few days and come back and I will have a translation for you.’ ‘Thank you, professor. Friday afternoon I should be able to make it,
if you have free time then.’ Professor
Julius nodded. ‘That should be fine, Mr
Castleton.’
* *
* * *
Terra
June Middlesworth
June Middlesworth, daughter of John
Middlesworth, of the elect church of the living God, the true remnant of the
church of Christ, sat in her hotel room.
The angel had spoken true. James
had been present at exactly the right time, and had taken the briefcase without
any incident. Later on, when Grimlock
had caught up with her, questioning her, she had no documentation upon her to
suggest anything had been amiss. Of course,
Grimlock remained suspicious. She had
left the office of Darvanius so quickly, quite suddenly, that Grimlock had been
concerned. Alarmed that she may have
been aware of certain things, certain hidden and secret things. His master, Alexander Darvanius, had
contacted Miss Middlesworth. He had been
carefully and sincerely trying to persuade her to join in his mission and
purpose, of which all churches – all Christendom united – needed to be part of. Christ was near in his return, so Darvanius
continually maintained, and a united Christendom was essential to reward their
lord and saviour with a love unequalled in adoration in the bride of Christ
restored – completed – and unified.
But June, looking into the heart of Alexander
Darvanius, saw what her church had known for so long. There, in that man, was the devil himself.
Her church was to remain separate from the
plans of Darvanius. They would not join
– they would never join – the empire of Babylon – the whore so vain and
pompous. This Darvanius, a man she
refused to fear, would not conquer the elect of God. The true church of Christ, upon the rock, the
gates of hell itself not prevailing, would never fall to such a monster as the
one she had seen in the heart of Alexander Darvanius.
She had seen, over these last few years, a
number of protestant and evangelical churches slowly and steadily fall into
line in terms of doctrinal unity and acceptance of the authority of Darvanius
as the appointed overseer for the church - the false church – at this darkest
of hours.
And, as the whisper was, Babylon itself, the
Catholic abomination, had succumbed to the work of the dark one. June knew that Babylon would unite – the
false Trinitarian heresy of the evil council of the Papolaters – was rampant
throughout the world. The fourth beast
had slowly been claiming nearly all humanity in recent years. Darvanius had, relentlessly, been attacking
every denomination, with his unending plea of strength in unity – the church
restored. And the deluded souls – the
non-repented, certainly, as her father would teach, the unrepentable – the
predestined to the eternal fires of agonizing damnation – they would suffer the
justified and absolute wrath of her eternal loving father. Yes, in the evil she had seen in the hearts
of men, she knew, oh how well she knew, these wicked souls deserved and most
surely must be condemned to the agonizing hell of unquenchable fire. Absolute justice, so she knew in her heart. Absolute justice.
* *
* * *
Terra
James
James sat with Professor Julius. The professor, having welcomed James into his
office, turned to the writing, and began reading its interpretation he had
finished. It is a fascinating read,
James. An interesting piece of
literature, perhaps even authentic, but I doubt it. Probably just a late Pseudepigraphon, perhaps
not even that old. But anyway, it reads
like this.
‘This is the last written record of
Adoni-Zedek, King of Jerusalem. ‘I
Adoni-Zedek, call on you, Baal, Mot, Molech and Darthon. Rescue us from these invading Hebrews. Our fathers have known you and trusted in
you. We have sacrificed our children and
given of our crops. Now deliver us from
this terror of Elohim. My father of
fathers, Melchizedek, served you – the first great priest of Jerusalem. He honoured all the gods of Canaan, even the
terrible Elohim who now threatens us. I
beseech you, ancient deities, deliver us.
Vanquish us from this scourge. If
you do so, I will honour you. I will
repay your great favour and offer sacrifices in abundance. Throughout the land there will be feasts
given to you. I will instruct the other
kings to pay even greater homage. We
will continue on the orgies and the child sacrifices. We will do all you require, oh great
ones. Only deliver us. Protect us from the wrath of Elohim and the
Hebrews. They will destroy us – ravage
our land and take all that we own. We
cry out to you oh gods, save us from this terror. Our homage will be eternal. And in this prayer I invoke that terrible
name. The name our family has known from
Melchizedek and onwards. The name of
that great child of his, my fathers, myself and my son who, in the day of
destiny shall vanquish all our enemies.
I invoke the name of destiny – the child of power who shall rise up and
exalt us above all that rule. I invoke
his holy and powerful name. I invoke the
name of ‘Darvanius’. In his name, oh
gods of power, protect me. Deliver me
from this terrible scourge. Amen.’
James spoke up. ‘The name at the end. ‘Darvanius!
That is the spelling of Alexander Darvanius, the great ecumenists, surname.
Professor Julius looked at the document.
‘Is it now! I say. Well that probably settles it then. It is a recent document. Just a fantasy of someone’s imagination. I would think nothing more of it.’ James nodded, taking the translation, and
leaving the professor to his studies.
Walking along a corridor of the uni he assumed that the professor, in
all likelihood, was correct. The
document itself was likely just an imaginary tale – nothing substantial about
it. That was likely, in truth, all that
there was to it. All that there could
possibly be.
* *
* * *
Terra
Saruviel
5970 - 5977 SC (2000
– 2007 AD)
The time of manifestation was at hand for one
of God’s children – one which he had mapped out a destiny for and crafted it in
a most particular way. His child
Saruviel was, well he was Saruviel. He
was who he was and quite and most
original in his character and nature, which each of his children were. God did love his child Saruviel. Not the most of any angel, that was
true. Other hearts had captured his own
in the devotion, love and uniqueness they had shown him. But it was not love which Saruviel needed,
that much God did know. Love, for
Saruviel, would come later on – much later on.
It was not what he was preoccupied with.
One of the virtues, to Saruviel.
A virtue he acknowledged, but did not dwell on in any particular
way. God knew what Saruviel sought. He saw it in him – in his character and mind
and thoughts. It was respect which
Saruviel sought. Not God’s respect
though, not directly anyway, but rather that of his own. Saruviel had a belief about himself – a
belief that he should set the highest standard of all that existed, including
God. That he should seek to be the
epitome of perfection – higher than the highest point of Zaphon – higher than
the heights of the Realm of Eternity.
God had placed a spark of life within
Saruviel, one which was unlike the other of his children. It was the spark of potential.
God admired Saruviel. He admired the way in which he took life, in
truth, more seriously than any other being that he knew of. Far greater than Michael or the Logos, who
were both terribly dedicated to such realities.
Saruviel was intense in his heart.
It was the extremest of extremes to feel the spirit of Saruviel when he
had passion. When he was alive to life,
and the possibilities it brought.
Of course, tempering that passion, that
spark, that drive, was not easy. And God
felt that, in the respect Saruviel sought, he needed to show him the grace and
patience such a child needed. If that
meant evil came of it, which it had done so previously, such was necessary. For Saruviel’s development – for his eternal
future – God wanted Saruviel to know that he cared and that he respected his
child. Saruviel’s ways of life, his
beliefs, his understandings were important to God. God surveyed the hearts and minds of all his
children and understood the broader perspective of how the whole thought – how
it acted and behaved. Saruviel was
unique, as many of his children were, within that whole, and often, quite
deliberately, acted in a way contrary to the whole. But such was his nature. Such was the nature he had developed through
choices he had made in life, and in how he had been shaped through life
circumstances and the actions of others, including God himself.
God had decided, finally, that for Saruviel,
after a certain point in time, destiny would leave his son. At a certain point, God would have hands off
of his child and let Saruviel make the decisions of life and act upon them in
accordance with his will. Saruviel, one
day, would have to choose his own destiny.
He would have to map out for himself the life he desired and the path he
wished to tread. God felt that, one day,
one day somewhere in the future, he would make a man out of his son
Saruviel. That is were destiny would
lead this child of his.
* *
* * *
5970 SC (2000 AD)
It was a cold, dark, black and bitter winter
morning. Perhaps it was a morning
disdained by God himself, or one pitied by the angels of heaven. Father Murphy and two of the brothers of
Charnsley Monastery, a monastery known to few but the hierarchy in the Catholic
Church, set in the backlands of Nebraska, were at work in their vegetable
garden, while the other brother of the monastery was milking one of their
cows. Charnsley was a despot of a
town. A no-town, really. It’s half a dozen residents, blank-faced,
weary eyed, decrepit and hopeless, all past 60, barring one, were ageing
citizens who found the only thing to keep them going was the regular social
welfare cheque, and the faithful idiot box.
The one under 60 may have, in many ways, have been confused with the
others, despite her young years. She was
in labour. Mrs Greene, the midwife
watched her steward carefully, ready to deliver the latest of God’s blessed
miracles into the world. The labour was
loud and tiresome for Mrs Greene. Her
subject, cursing God for being inundated with such an annoyance, was bothersome
and irritating. Eventually, at 12.06pm
on Saturday morning, the woman gave birth.
Mrs Greene looked at the child, a fright coming to her face. Yet she steeled herself, tied the cord,
washed the baby and handed it to her mother.
Then she departed for the monastery to fetch the priest.
Half an hour later the priest arrived and
looked into Mrs Greene’s concerns.
There, on the forehead, the slightest of birthmarks. Yet unmistakable in what they read. 3 numbers. 3 solitary numbers. 6 6 6.
The priest made the sign of the cross.
Mrs Greene looked at him and spoke two words. ‘Kill it.’
The priest looked at Mrs Greene for a few moments, perhaps considering
acting upon this mandate, yet that most noble of Christian traits interfered,
and mercy was granted. He looked to the
mother. ‘You do not want this child, do
you?’ The mother looked at the baby
resting in her arms. Perhaps, for a
moment, she considered that having a child of her own may not be that bad but,
looking at the mark, and not being a fool, she handed the child over to the
priest. ‘Take it. Do what you will.’ The priest took the child, gave the mother
and Mrs Greene a cursory glance, and left.
And then the storm which had been brewing all morning began, and 3 quick
strikes of lightning struck.
* *
* * *
5977 SC (2007 AD)
‘What is God, father?’ Father Murphy looked down at young Alexander,
noting again that the birthmark that had been such a problem for the brothers
had faded long ago. He looked into the
face of this 7 year old child, one so inquisitive, so curious, so thirsty for
knowledge and understanding. He thought
on many theological things he could say to young Alexander to give food to his
eager young mind, yet felt the heart, for one so young, needed ministering
to. ‘God is your Father, Alex. And he loves you.’ Alex nodded, actually quite used to the
concept the priest had defined, yet not really satisfied with such an
answer. ‘Yes, I know. And I am grateful. Yet, I must ask. What is he exactly? What type of being?’ The priest took the flask of water hanging
from his shoulder strap, unbottled it, and took a sip. He wiped his brow, feeling the sweat from a
hard mornings work in the garden.
‘Alexander – God is spirit. This
is what the Gospels teach us. In Jesus,
our lord, we see him face to face. God
as man, God made flesh, to reconcile us with our heavenly Father. Each of them – Father, Son and Spirit are
united together yet, in truth, one God and not three.’ ‘I see,’ said Alexander, again hearing of
this Trinity notion. ‘And which one is
my father, exactly?’ ‘God is your
father, Alexander. God is your
father.’ Alex nodded, not really
satisfied with that answer, but accepting that it was likely the only answer he
would receive.
Father Murphy took another sip, closed the
flask and beckoned Alexander to get the wheelbarrow to put the pumpkin,
potatoes and tomatoes in. ‘We could
probably fish out a few more items, but there is still ample in the kitchen, I
think. I guess that should do. Now, Alex.
Put the vegetables carefully into the wheelbarrow and follow me. Be careful, mind you.’ The priest led the way from the gardens down
the long path back to the back door of the monastery which led into the laundry
and kitchen area.
Brother John was in the kitchen, at work on
the night’s meal. Alexander carefully
took the vegetables from the wheelbarrow and placed them on the kitchen
table. John scruffed him on the head
with a friendly pat, and told him to go out to the front living room as a
parcel had arrived for him.
Father Murphy looked at Brother John. ‘A parcel?
For Alexander? But who could it
be from?’ Brother John started peeling a
potato and responded, ‘Well, yes. I did
look at the sender. It is, by the looks
of it, from the Archbishop. It was
addressed to Alexander with ‘For your eyes only’, so I felt best not to object
to the Archbishops desires.’ Father
Murphy nodded. Alexander, from living
memory, had never received mail before.
For the lad, who, after a brief look at the Priest to see if it would be
alright to go look at the parcel and had departed, it would be a great event.
Father Murphy followed Alexander down the
long hallways to the front living room were, on the table by the window, a large
brown parcel was sitting. Alexander
looked at Father Murphy who nodded his approval. The lad, then, started to open up the
parcel. Inside was a uniform of a
traditional Catholic school, and a letter.
Alexander handed the letter to Father Murphy and started putting on the
uniform.
Father Murphy opened the letter and began
reading.
‘Alexander. I have known of you and your situation for
quite some time. We have been concerned
for you, young child. And because of
this we have found a home for you in Omaha and a family to foster you. You will begin your schooling at Corpus
Christi. Christ, our Lord, loves all his
little children, and you are special and dear to him, young Alexander. Before the month is out you will have a
visitor who will take you to your new home.
May God’s richest
blessings be upon you at this time.
Archbishop Rosetti
Omaha Diocese’
The Father looked at the letter and looked at
his young steward. Time, it seemed, had
caught up with young Alexander. His
destiny, it seemed, finally beckoned.
* *
* * *
Terra
Samael
5980 (2010 AD)
Samael sat in his room in his shack, working
on a piece on his harpsichord – a new piece.
It was now three years since Logos last visit and Samael was hopeful for
another visit soon. When the year 2000
had just passed, Logos had surprised him with a visit, and then again in 2002,
2005 and 2007. The encounter in 2000
had, surprisingly, gone very well. Logos
had greeted him warmly, even giving him a hug, and Samael found that his antagonism
towards his older brother had gone. In
fact, heaven was aware of this, declaring Samael’s repentance as the main
reason visitors were to be allowed. And
now, three years since his last visit,
Samael was hoping for another visit soon.
He stopped playing, looked glumly at his picture of Aphrayel he had
painted on the wall of his shack and thought to himself ‘Oh well. Maybe he’ll come tomorrow.’
* * *
* *
Terra
Jontel
5980 SC
(2010 AD)
‘Timbuktu?’ The old warrior of
many a war looked at the strapping lad, querying him again. ‘Why the hell do you want to go to
Timbuktu. Mtoko Jones, the 19th
of the Seraphim of Eternity, Jontel, had been born the fifth of July,
1976. Today, his 34th
birthday, the Fifth of July 2010, Mtoko had had a dream. A strange figure, dressed in bright red and
calling herself the daughter of destiny, had appeared to him in a vision and
said to him, ‘In Timbuktu, beyond the devil’s reach, lies a salvation of eternal
life belonging to the wise son of Muphasa.’
Mtoko’s father Muphasa was a strong influence on young Mtoko’s life and,
when the daughter of destiny had invoked his name, Mtoko had been inspired to
follow the vision in honour of his deceased father. And so, for the first time in his life, he
would travel the road to Timbuktu to see what destiny had in store for
him. Mtoko’s great, great grandfather
had been a white man from Wales. He had
come to Mauritania were he had married Mtoko’s great, great grandmother. Since then most of the whiteness had dropped
away from his family, yet they all knew that Mtoko, in a sense, was a
European. Yet, with so much of the blood
of Africa in his veins as well, they welcomed him as a child of their own. Mtoko’s great, great grandfather had been
Timberley Jones, one of the rarest of Welsh first names. Old Timberley had been of the Anglican faith
– one which he had passed on down through the generations.
Young Mtoko himself had been baptised in the Anglican church, yet had
converted to Islam around 21. His faith
from his early childhood, and into his conversion, was now quite strongly built
upon the Bible and the Koran. While he
was Muslim, he had nothing but love and respect for his Christian family,
mainly bothered by the Trinity doctrine which, despite the truth he held to
Muslim faith, was essentially the real reason he had departed
Christianity. Judaism had been
considered, yet he still accepted Jesus as the Christ. And based on this, and his notion of the
Oneness of God, he had converted to Islam, believing it to be God’s most recent
revelation.
Mtoko believed in Angels and Spirits and because of this upon receiving
the vision he promptly acted upon it, withdrawing the whole balance of his
funds from his bank, farewelling his mother and sister, and heading for
Timbuktu. His first stop on the long
road had been at a small road store which, thank God, sold his beloved Coca
Cola, the most delicious of substances.
There an old man, sitting by a Chess board with pieces set up, smiled at
him. Mtoko had sat down and asked for a
game.
In the end, young Mtoko trounced the ancient player. In chess Mtoko was, truly, very gifted. Strategy was his strength. And in Chess he delighted like no other game.
Having left the road store, he had been walking along the dusty road,
feeling the heat of the day, taking occasional sips from his canteen. And then, walking along, an old man who
himself had been on holiday from his hometown of Beltingham in Northern Wales,
stopped to pick him up. The old man was
on the safari of a lifetime, so he had said, as they were driving along. He had, so he told Mtoko, been inspired one
day. He had been driving along, having
just given a lift to a young man around Mtoko’s age, and then he had been
inspired to go off and, despite his age, see just what it could offer him. Mtoko asked him carefully. ‘What is your name, kind sir?’ The man looked at him kindly. ‘Pendragon, young Mtoko. Arthur Pendragon, in honour of the ancient
King.’ Mtoko looked puzzled. ‘You are of the Pendragon family?’ ‘An ancient bloodline in truth, young
son. Be he fact or fiction, King Arthur
is supposedly my ancestor, as the family genealogies claim.’ As they drove along they chatted on this and
that, and various other aspects of life.
Arthur shared with him about his life in Beltingham, and about his young
Grand-daughter, Lucy Bridges, who was now doing much better in life. Mtoko found the tale of Lucy very
illuminating and even inspiring. It
would be wonderful, he thought to himself, to have such a sudden burst of
inspiration to go off and accomplish ones dreams.
They drove all that afternoon, and late in the day arrived in
Timbuktu. The old man wished Mtoko the
best of lives, farewelled him, and drove off.
Mtoko looked at Timbuktu. ‘So
this is home for now,’ he thought to himself.
‘Well, let us see what destiny brings us.’
* * *
* *
Terra
Gamrayel
5974 –
5991 SC (2004 – 2021 AD)
Nathan James Hitler, the
Seraphim Angel Gamrayel of the Realm of Eternity, was born in Salzburg, Austria,
in the Christian calendar year of 2004.
At 15 Nathan was noticed. He was
gentle, courteous and proper in conduct.
Pleasing to all alike. Nathan had
been raised by his father Hans to be a little careful when discussing one of
the family members, old Adolph. Hans had
said Adolph had been misguided and given away to dark and deceiving
spirits. But Hans felt, in honest
Christian tradition, that Adolph also deserved a legacy of love and
fondness. In the next world, so he
taught young Nathan, Adolph may be enduring hard times because of his
aggressiveness and darkness which he had shown Israel. And, because of this, he had encouraged young
Nathan to study out Jewish doctrine and literature in an honest and heartfelt
attempt to seek peace with the people of the book.
Nathan had met, at 17,
young Mary Rosenberg, and fallen in love.
Mary had taught him of the covenant of Noah, and Nathan, as befitted a
Hitler, had taken to it with the passion and pride old Adolph had displayed in his
conquering zeal. Mary had chuckled at
some of the things Nathan had said regarding Israel. ‘Are you sure you are not Adolph reborn? I mean, those insane Karaites you hang around
are really fucking you up, Nathan.’ He
had responded by quoting Jesus of Nazareth, an old hero of his, regarding, what
he perceived as early formulations of the Mishnah, and had rebuked the Orthodox
Rabbi at the synagogue most savagely on this issue. ‘Art thou the Antichrist himself? Old Rabbi Seinfeld had asked young Nathan,
the wickedest most subtle of grins on face.
Nathan had been shocked.
‘Certainly not, dear Rabbi. I am,
as befits a servant of the Most High God, rebuking your clearly unrepented of
and malicious hypocrisy of heart.
Mmm.’ The Rabbi chuckled a
little. ‘Oh, Nathan. You really are the Devil’s child, aren’t
you.’ Nathan grinned smugly. ‘Well, maybe.’ The two of them had a bit of a laugh, and the
afternoon had been spent listening to various Mozart Concertos.
Later on, young Nathan was
considering the issue of the Antichrist.
Consulting with the Rabbi and a number of Hakham’s over the internet,
Nathan had been working through the Book of Daniel and other prophets of the
Tenakh, to try to understand the basics of the issue. He had, he felt, clearly identified the first
three beasts of Daniel chapter 7. The
first beast was England and the United Kingdom.
The lion. The plucking of the
eagle’s wings had been the American Revolution, America being an Eagle, when
with America leaving Britain, the wings were subsequently plucked. The Second beast, which had caused him great
concern, because as he had initially viewed this as the Bear Russia, he had
been quite literal and felt that Russia did not arise out of the great sea. But, recently, in a spout of revelation, he
had become aware that the great ‘Terran’ land mass of Europe, Asia, Africa and
the Middle-East, was likewise surrounded by the ‘Great Sea’. So his understanding of the prophecy
continued.
The third beast was the
leopard. And that, so young Nathan felt,
seemed yet to really materialize. He
felt, and was convinced, that his God and Father would make the symbolism of
the Leopard most obvious in an emerging empire in the future. Britain was universally known as the
Lion. That was well known. America was always known as the Eagle. Russia had become constantly known as the
bear. The Leopard was, to the best of
his knowledge, yet to become apparent.
The final kingdom – the
eternal Kingdom – belonged to the children of Noah. In harmony with the children of Abraham and
Israel, who were all children of Noah, the eternal Kingdom of God would remain
everlasting.
He understood that the
children of Noah, as representatives of the ‘Oldest Covenant’ had the greatest
of responsibilities in the example they must set to others. Children of Abraham as the ‘Older Covenant’,
Nathan felt, had not as much responsibility, yet earned their pride and rewards
in other areas. The ‘Old Covenant’
belonged to Israel. They were the main
administrators in the eternal kingdom.
Christians, under the ‘New Covenant’ were the main subjects of the
Eternal Kingdom, alongside the Muslims ‘Newer Covenant’ and the Bahai ‘Newest
Covenant’. These were the children of
God, each important and special to him, living out the more ‘everyday’ types of
lives which they usually preferred to anyway.
This idea of differing
covenants and a hierarchy in God’s kingdom was, in truth, much of Nathan’s own
speculation. A contrived view to try and
make sense of the monotheistic world from a broader perspective.
In Nathan’s theology, the
avenue for advancement in the Kingdom seemed plain. Zaphon, the summit of Zion, in Israel, was
where God’s chosen King would oversee affairs.
This was the highest duty and responsibility in the eternal
Kingdom. Only upon achieving the highest
standards of holiness, could this position be granted. The Archangel Michael, he believed, usually
administered this role.
Nathan, through his
internet studies, had become aware of one of the few remaining Christian
churches which had not joined the new united Christian church.
Master Alexander Darvanius,
running affairs from London in England, had begun uniting the major Christian
churches on doctrine and way of life. At
this stage, the Catholic church, the Orthodox churches, the Lutheran Church,
the Anglican Church, the Baptist Church, the Salvation Army, the Church of
Christ, the Methodist Church, the Assembly of God, the Christian Brethren,
nearly every mainstream evangelical and Pentecostal church, as well as the
formerly known as ‘Mormon’ church, had joined the new assembly simply known as
the ‘Christian Church’. Every church was
now largely united in doctrine and teaching.
The Catholics, when the Cross at the head of the centre of each church
building had been replaced by a smouldering cauldron of fire to represent the
Father, and further giving away all Rosaries, prayers to saints, and removing
all statues of prior saints, had been accepted by the Anglican and Lutheran
Church. It had, so Darvanius had
stressed to the Pope continually and unequivocabally, an absolute and
impossible dividing gap for Protestantism which it would never accept in their
churches. Darvanius argument was that,
in the spirit of New Testament tradition, which all churches honoured, it was
not necessary to continue the practices which the Catholics maintained. The pope had eventually, in the sensible
heart of pure ecumenism, and the realization of what such unity could mean for
the church on a world stage, relented of the Catholic churches absolutist
position. They had finally yielded to
their protestant opponents objections.
And then, a fervour had erupted.
So much of Christendom then united.
Old wars, old hatreds and pride, had disappeared in the spirit of unity
and togetherness which had, almost overnight, materialized. So many of the old problems disappeared
almost immediately.
Yet not every Christian
denomination had joined. The Church
worldwide in its new ecumenised form was Trinitarian. This was an irrevocable belief in the church,
the Pope had claimed. Those outside of
this belief, so few in numbers anyway, were deemed to be of little consequence
as to make their conversion not worth pursuing.
For want of a better word, Unitarian Christianity, whose main
protagonists included the Jehovah’s witnesses and various other Unitarian
bodies, were, as Protestants had maintained for many years, viewed upon as
cults. They were outside of the true
doctrine of God.
Nathan had been studying
one church, on the net, in particular that ascribed Unitarian belief. There opening statement on their website went
along similar lines to churches which tried to make out as if they alone were
the true church. It went, ‘As Christ teaches,
Narrow is the pathway to eternal life.’
Yet, in this particular church, Nathan found a growing interest. The church was known as ‘The Elect Church of
the Living God’. They claimed apostolic
descent ‘outside’ of the traditional church.
Apparently, an unbroken line of ministry, persecuted for 2,000 years, by
the whore Babylon, the now united Christendom.
This church, as time passed, Nathan would devote more and more time to
the study of.
* * *
* *
Terra
Matrel
5978 SC
(2008 AD)
He was number one. Stefan Federer was number one. The best tennis player on the planet, and
approaching the all time record for most slams.
But he was still calm. Still calm
under pressure and, whatever else, he would not worry himself about the
situation. Of course, today, sitting out
there in the crowd, was Amiel. Amiel
Dennamere, the Aussie singer, who he had been dating for a few weeks now, and
who was the focus of much media attention.
He was obsessed over Amiel – she was really very attractive and he put
his heart and soul into his tennis game in the last few weeks because of
it. He was going to win Wimbledon this
fortnight, he could sense it. His name
would be on the winners board, yet again, and he would nearly be the all time
champion of slams. Just two to go after
that to take the record.
He sat calmly in the
dressing room, looking at his opponent.
The yank looked calm, exceedingly calm.
Andy Bradlock, yet again he was playing Andy Bradlock. It was the 4th round, and they had
been now scheduled to meet a little later in the draw than the usual first or
second round, so much had Andy been improving.
Roger silently observed him, sensing an air about the Bradlock
champion. It would be a fight, one day,
between them. An exhausting fight. He sensed a contest in which neither side
really willing to yield, but one claimed by sheer exhaustion, would give to the
other on that fateful day. And Stefan,
staring at his opponent, was determined that would not be him.
An official signified it
was time, and the two of them slowly made their way out onto the court. Amiel waved to him, smiling, with the cameras
focused on her. He waved back, waved at
the crowd, and looked at his opponent.
‘Don’t worry’, he told himself.
This one is yours.
* * *
* *
Terra
Kimborel
5979 SC
(2009 AD)
‘You could not rebel
against God, even if you tried Lee Kim.
I mean, seriously – you are that square.
Its go to church three times a week and then prayers Friday night and on
top of that an hour of prayer every morning and scripture, scripture, scripture
– nothing but scripture. I mean
seriously, girl. Get a life.’ Danny Robinson, quietly teasing his
girlfriend, the Korean Lee Kim, was in a jovial mood. While Danny was not exactly a lukewarm member
of the United Pentecostal Church of Chifley in Canberra, Australia, his
girlfriend for the past week, Lee Kim, was anything but Lukewarm. She was a zealot – an alarmingly out of
control zealot to Danny. Not only did
she live, eat and breathe scripture, she went out evangelizing every Friday
night after prayers to try and convert the world to her church. Danny liked her though, she was cute, and had
a good sense of spirituality. But she
was oh so full on and he teased her because of it. Lee looked at him and decided to quote
scripture at him. ‘Love not the world or
the things of the world. If anyone loves
the world the love of the father is not in him.
For all that is of the world, the lust of the eyes, the pride of life
and the sin of the flesh perishes, but he who does the will of God abides
forever.’ Danny looked at her – that’s a
paraphrase. ‘Hey its close enough,
buster. At least I study. I don’t think you even know what the inside
cover of your bible looks like. A bit
scary to you isn’t it. All those big
words. Like sanctification. But I don’t suppose you will ever need to
worry about that.’ Danny was
offended. ‘Hey, sweetheart. I come to church every Sunday. I am faithful.’ ‘You are just a Sunday wannabe, Danny,’ she
said, with a subtle grin on her face. He
came close, looked around to make sure nobody in the church was looking and
said, ‘would a Sunday wannabe do this?’ and stuck his tongue down her
throat. She pleasantly kissed him
back. Hey, she wasn’t perfect and
thought to herself this is were scriptures like ‘By grace ye are saved and that
not of yourselves, not by works, lest any man should boast,’ came in very
useful.
Later on, reflecting that
she had not even the slightest desire to rebel against her beloved God, Jesus
the Christ, the Father of Glory, Lee reflected on the past week of passion with
Danny. Of course, there was not the
slightest chance in hell of them sleeping together. Not until marriage anyway. But she would let him kiss her and she
secretly liked the attention she had wanted for so long anyway. Danny Robinson was cute – very cute. And when he had come into the church she had
quickly gained his attention. And now
she had what she wanted. She just hoped
and prayed it would last.
* * *
* *
TERRA
Aquariel
5980 SC
(2010 AD)
Mary Ciccone, astrologer supreme, and occasional lead singer for ‘The
Wild Banshees’, lay on her bed staring up at the poster of ‘Don Bongiovi’ of
the Bongiovi All-stars on her wall. Mary
was 18 now, and Don had just turned 21, and boy was he cute. But not only cute, but passionate. Of all the rock and roll singers she had ever
heard, it was his Italian blood, like her own, which gave him the passion of
life to put the most incredibly romantic words into life. She would love him, always. She knew that. But she had not the slightest chance in hell
of meeting him. He was a star – a
superstar. And while she played the
local club scene with the Wild Banshees they were anything but successful. Still, she could dream, couldn’t she. She could fantasize. And no matter how much her papa preached at
her, she would go on obsessing about her fantasy dream boy hoping, one day, he
would be hers.
She pulled out her tarot deck and decided to try again. Turning the cards for her fortune, she prayed
a quick prayer to God to bless the cards and make her lucky. And as she turned, the Bongiovi All-stars CD
playing in the background, an angel of eternity smiled at his older sister,
sitting at the windowsill, wondering just when his own turn at life would come.
* *
* * *
Terra
Gabriel
5980 SC
(2010 AD)
Don looked at the stage. It was
going to be the performance of their lives, before their biggest audience
ever. Here in his home town of New
Jersey, right at the end of the tour, the band was ready. Richie Barroda was already up on stage,
picking on his guitar and warming up.
Heptico Lohan, the drummer, was banging away. And Davy Seinfeld was busy on the keyboards. But Alex Johnson was nowhere to be seen. Probably out the back with a chick, Don
thought to himself. Typical bass player.
The Bongiovi All-stars would rock tonight. They would, literally, be the melting point
of rock as the new album suggested. But
Don knew they were destined for bigger things.
He could sense it, just around the corner. They were going to hit big, soon. And he believed, with all his heart he
believed, their first number one was going to be theirs for the taking. It was just a matter of time.
* *
* * *
Terra
Krystabel
5992 SC (2022 AD)
Jenny Taylor, having just turned 21, sat in
her office in Manhattan Island, working in the prestige real estate agency of
Zimmerman and Dalgleish as receptionist, maintained her innocent stare at the
gentleman who had just entered the agency, sitting over in the waiting room,
looking through an issue of Time magazine.
What she noticed immediately about him was his aura – his feel, as it
were, of complete, absolute and utter power – so strong for someone who must
have been barely in his twenties. Jenny
was experienced with auras and animistic spirits. She studied white witchcraft, astrology,
tarot, numerology and many other new age teachings, and being sensitive to
the ‘auras’ of people, especially in the
way the Celestine prophecy taught her to be, Jenny was overcome by the absolute
sense of superiority being exuded by the young man a small distance away from
her. And, so she felt, she now
recognized him. She had seen him on the
news occasionally, always in the company of his father, Alexander Darvanius. This was, of course, Mr Darvanius’ young
protégé, his son, Alexander Darvanius II.
Alexander Darvanius was well known as the great ecumenist who had gone a
long way towards uniting the Christian churches into one main church and,
apparently, his son was set to follow in his footsteps and continue his work.
Jenny herself had been raised by a Catholic
mother but an atheist father. Her mother
had taken her to church each Christmas when she was very young, but by Jenny’s
teens had stopped bothering, leaving spiritual matters to Jenny to figure out
for herself. Jenny had kept faith in God
with her from her experiences, but left all forms of the Catholic religion
itself behind her, apart from the notion that Mary represented a divine aspect
of the mother goddess in some ways. As
such, she had never taken much of an interest in the new spirit emerging into
Christian churches – one of unity – being mainly involved with her own new age
beliefs. But, perhaps to start a
conversation, she could talk with Alexander to see if he was, perhaps, a
suitable new male friend to attach herself to.
She went into the kitchenette, decided
against coffee, and instead brought a glass full of orange juice on small tray,
with a ham and salad roll, to see if Alexander was thirsty or hungry. Coming over to him, he noted her approaching
and put down his magazine. ‘Excuse me Mr
Darvanius. But would you like something
to drink or eat?’ Alexander, noting her
nametag, replied ‘Uh, thanks, but no. I
have just eaten.’ Then spying the orange
juice, and deciding he was a little thirsty, replied ‘but I guess I will take
that juice. I could use something to
drink.’ She placed the tray down on the
magazine table, and sat down on a waiting seat opposite him. ‘It must be exciting. Your work, I mean.’ Alexander, taking a sip from his juice,
glanced at Miss Taylor, noting she was quite an attractive young lady. ‘Yes, I guess. If you must know I am still learning – in
training as it were. Father handles most
of the duties involved in the Ecumenical Monotheist centre and watches over our
business companies. At the moment I work
as a Vice President in one of my fathers firms.
I am mostly sort of a consultant for the business – mainly they just ask
for my signature. But I am learning as I
go. And yes, before you ask, the pay is
very good.’
Jenny blushed a little. The thought had crossed her mind. ‘So how do you go about persuading different
churches to unite? I mean, don’t they
have all different beliefs?’
‘It’s not easy. Believe me, it really is not easy. But to give you a basic idea, father
emphasized that as in the Catholic Church with all its differing orders, so
Christendom really is one great church with differing sects, be they Baptist,
Anglican, Catholic, Presbyterian, Orthodox and so on and so forth. He emphasizes that in the Church he has
envisioned there only need be a central doctrinal affirmation of the Bible as
the cornerstone doctrine of the Church, and that if united on that key point,
differing sects within the church can essentially formulate their own main
viewpoints. Essentially he stresses that
the churches unite on the point of being of the Christian faith, and that the
gospel unites us all, regardless of how we interpret or understand that
gospel. And, fortunately, he is having
success in his work so far.’
Jenny nodded.
‘That is fascinating, Alexander.
So do you go to many churches?’
He looked at her cautiously, as if
considering the person of Jenny Taylor, before answering. ‘Well, yes and no. I do not actually attend church quite as
regularly as my father – it is mostly his obsession with ecumenism that drives
him onwards. I guess I do have a similar
vision as himself but, perhaps, not ultimately identical. But one thing I do recognize is this – the
world needs unity. And achieving that
unity, whatever the means, is absolutely fundamental to the survival of the
human race.’ Jenny found his response
interesting, and decided to quiz him on a fundamental point. ‘You seem to emphasize unity over faith. Isn’t the truth important to you? Isn’t that what Christianity is supposed to
be all about? The truth?’
‘Truth is a bewildering concept, Jenny. Who can say they really understand it, after
all. For me, reality – cold hard
reality, in which pain hurts, being poor sucks, and being homeless makes for a
difficult life, is the real truth of human life. Unless religion can meet these fundamental
needs, then that religion should be abandoned.
If there is any truth in religion – if there is any truth in monotheistic
religion – it must be of a God who cares for each of us were we are at. Unless such a religion shows genuine concern
for humanity, it is a pillar of pride, used to exalt its own members and
hierarchy – something, I am afraid, I feel far too many so called religious
assemblies are truly guilty of.’
Jenny nodded, finding herself suddenly
agreeing quite strongly with what this charismatic young man was saying. It seemed that this beacon of authority had a
sense of concern – a strong sense of concern – for people in their real
needs. And it was something she found
herself immediately admiring about him.
She looked at him as he sipped on the orange juice and decided to take a
chance. ‘Alexander. Would you like to join me at a restaurant for
dinner tonight? Manhattan has many to
choose from, and I am sure the prices will not bother you.’ Alexander looked at her and considered his
response.
‘Quite forward, aren’t we? Or are you a modern 21st century
type of woman?’
‘Perhaps I just think you are a good catch,
Alex. I’m not a woman to let a good
opportunity go when I have it in front of me.’
Alexander smiled at her charming response. ‘Well very well then dear Jenny. I would be happy to have dinner with you
tonight. What time do you finish here
tonight?’
‘Oh, if you drop around anytime after 6
tonight, I will be ready then. But
please don’t keep me waiting all night.’
‘After 6 it is then.’
She nodded, and taking his empty glass,
returned to the kitchenette and then to her desk.
She watched him, then, for a few minutes, and
again later after he had exited from Mr Dalgleish’s office, having concluded
his business. He came over to her,
reminded her of their dinner date, and left the building. Sitting there, staring after him, Jenny
wondered to herself just what she had gotten herself into. It was true – she had a good job and her
parent’s were reasonably well of, so she did not want for anything really. But she knew Alexander was wealthy and, if it
ever came to it, perhaps marrying such a one would be better of for her
situation in life than someone who could not offer her such a lifestyle. Perhaps that was shallow of her, but they
were lifes realities in a way – something Alexander himself might be able to
testify to. Regardless, he certainly
seemed like someone worth getting to know and as the afternoon passed Jenny
Taylor, the Seraphim Angel Krystabel of the Realm of Eternity, looked forward to that evening hoping to learn more of the
mysterious Alexander Darvanius II.
* *
* * *
Realm of
Eternity
Daniel
the Cherubim
5992 SC
(2022 AD)
Daniel stared at the
photograph of Nadiel in his hands. He
only took an interest every now and again in his twin amongst the cherubim
population – only every now again. But
today she was on his mind. Daniel was
still, strangely enough, a virgin. He
had never tasted female flesh in his human life as the prophet on earth having
been made a eunuch upon entering King Nebuchadnezzar’s service. And since his death and return to the Realm
of Eternity he had not known a woman’s touch either. But he thought on Nadiel his twin, still hung
up on his elder seraphim namesake. It
would be nice, he thought, to have a close female friend. Like the way so many others had found romance. But he knew, in truth, such things would
still be long in coming. He was
traditional – very traditional. He
wanted his wife to submit to him as the torah spoke of. To serve him as the weaker vessel, dedicating
herself to her master. He wondered how
Michael the Seraphim seemed to effortlessly win Elenniel’s devotion. It was almost as if there was a silent
unspoken understanding between them of mutual respect and trust. But, somehow, he was the authority. She seemed to grant him this, and Daniel did
not yet understand why. Perhaps he
simply took too much for granted.
Perhaps it was his very verbal expectations of such desires which simply
put off the fairer gender. He had often,
recently, been called sexist in the language many humans now used. And while he didn’t think that was really the
truth he still wondered.
Looking at Nadiel he knew
she really felt little affection for him.
She had never really wanted to spend any time with him, nor had he in
fact desired to spend time with her. In
fact, for so long, quite the opposite.
But he was softening now. And he
was jealous. Jealous of the love between
many of the angels, a love he had yet to partake of. But for now nothing would change. For now this would remain the status
quo. But, hopefully, in time, a more
amenable situation would arise.
The End
of
“Chronicles”