Messiah: The First Judgment

  Balthazar stepped forward and bowed deeply. ‘Your Majesty, we seek the one who has been born king of the Jews. We saw his star in the East and have come to worship him.’

  Herod’s eyes narrowed. He clutched Aretas’ arm and drew him away from the magi. ‘You are a brilliant man, Aretas...’ Herod lowered his voice ‘...to have realized the threat of a new king who would ravage our kingdoms, and to have allied yourself with the very magi who can locate his presence.’

  Herod turned back to the magi and smiled agreeably. ‘My chief priests tell me that the newborn king is to be found in Bethlehem. Go, make careful search for the child. And when you find him, report to me, that I, too, may go and pay my homage to him. My armies are at your disposal, as is my hospitality.’

  He clapped his hands. ‘Our minor disputes – the Dead Sea Valley, Syllaeus – are all behind us. Melech, show my royal guests to their quarters.’

  Chapter Six

  Christos

  The princeling Darsoc stood at the head of the Grey Magi, his cultured, sinister demon sorcerers. Ruthless and cunning beyond compare, the Grey Magi were Lucifer’s finest informants, serving as his senior intelligence corps. Archivists, philosophers, intellectuals. They stood, a hundred strong, their white hoods pulled down over their faces, shadowed in the darkness.

  ‘Shepherds! Pah!’ Alastor, Grand Wizard of the Black Courts snarled to Darsoc. ‘This is no king’s dwelling!’ He turned his black charger around impatiently. ‘You and your magi waste my time!’

  Darsoc stood, not a muscle moving, every sense alert. Alastor threw back his silver turbaned head, his squat blood red cat eyes gleaming with disdain.

  ‘A fool’s errand!’ he spat. ‘We intend to return to the Black Courts in possession of the facts!’

  ‘Then ride, Alastor.’ Darsoc’s words were spun like silk laced with venom. ‘You would not want to disappoint your unforgiving Master ... Grand Magus Charsoc. And forfeit your jewels ... and advancement.’ A small evil smile played on Darsoc’s lips. ‘Or your head.’

  Alastor turned his black charger to face his company of Black Court Wizards. ‘Turn back, there is nothing here – we ride to Persia!’ he cried, thundering away on his monstrous fire-breathing stallion, his blazing staff held high.

  Darsoc threw back his hood. His pale, fine features exuded a strange luminosity. Only on closer scrutiny was it noticeable how his once perfect skin was now marred and how his beautiful grey eyes glinted a dark evil. The gusts blew his long strands of hair across his white cloak.

  ‘I smell the scent of the Revelators on the winds,’ he hissed. He held up a grey gloved finger to his pale lips.

  A tremendous wind blew overhead, accompanied by the sound of a monstrous beating of wings. Instantly the sky was filled with thousands upon thousands of giant white eagles, their wingspans a hundred feet, their collars and talons of molten gold.

  ‘The scouts of the White Knighthood.’ A malicious smile spread across Darsoc’s face as he watched Alastor and his company of Charsoc’s Black Court Wizards ascending into the black skies in the direction of the east. ‘Michael is here...’ he murmured, a gleam in his cruel eyes. ‘We wait.’

  * * *

  King Aretas, Balthazar, Gaspar and Melchior led the great caravan, seated on white Arabian steeds. Balista and Ayshe, Aretas’ manservant, followed close behind. Balthazar gazed up at the star, now stationary, fixed directly above a summit that lay in the distance, then pulled on the reins of his horse, gesturing to the party to do likewise. He dismounted, his heart pounding, swiftly leading the way up the terraced hills of Bethlehem guided only by the solitary lamp that swung from the centre of a rope hung across the entrance of a lone inn ahead of them. He stopped outside the low structure, built of rough stones. It consisted of an enclosure where a small herd of cattle were huddled together, tied up for the night. Above the enclosure were six small stone rooms. Balthazar walked slowly past each low chamber, studying the inhabitants closely, then turned to Aretas and Melchior and shook his head. Frowning, he walked further out to a crude stone grotto attached to the inn as a stable. Four small dogs, their ribs sticking through their mangy coats, yapped at him relentlessly, nipping at his feet. He covered his face with his robe as the pungent stench of waste from cows, mules and camels hit his nostrils, stopping outside the filthy area where the mules and horses were tethered. Hesitantly, he peered inside, then turned, gesturing to the party to follow him. Aretas frowned. Balthazar nodded. Aretas shrugged in assent as Gaspar and Melchior followed Balthazar further inside the stable. There among the hay and straw spread for the food and rest of the cattle, sitting cross-legged on a mat in the far corner of the threadbare room sat a young girl, scarcely more than a child. Her thick waist-length tawny locks framed her fine olive features with its high cheekbones, aquiline nose and soft rosebud mouth. She stared at the guests, exhausted, but her brown eyes were exultant. Her gaze turned to the babe in her arms. As one, the magi fell prostrate. She placed the infant gently back down in the manger, then walked across the straw floor towards Balthazar.

  Aretas watched silently from the doorway, staring at the empty stable, the wooden manger, the only furniture in the room. Balthazar fell to his knees, tears falling down his wizened ebony cheeks. ‘All these years ... these aeons, we have faithfully guarded these,’ he whispered. Kept them safe for the Jewish Messiah prophesied by the great Hebrew Daniel.’ He bowed his head, trembling.

  A pale Gaspar gently laid the gifts at Mary’s feet. ‘The cup of frankincense; the box of myrrh...’

  Melchior stepped forward. ‘The gold rod of Aaron. With these we pay homage to the Messiah.’ He knelt, his head bowed.

  Mary lifted her head, brushing the long dark tresses of hair away from her enchanting face. ‘We humbly receive your gifts,’ she replied.

  ‘We thank you.’ Joseph quietly watched from behind the manger.

  Balthazar raised his hands. ‘That I would live to see this day.’ He lifted his head and turned to Aretas, who still stood pale, and silent by the door. ‘Aretas, come.’ Balthazar’s eyes shone. ‘It is He whom our forbear Daniel longed for.’

  Joseph held out his hand to Aretas, who shook his head. ‘I am not a religious man...’ he stated firmly.

  Balthazar grasped his arm firmly and guided him over to the sleeping babe, no longer wrapped in the snug swaddling bands of his early days. Aretas stood back, his hands held before him. Mary smiled tenderly and held out her hand to Aretas.

  Again he shook his head impatiently. ‘Forgive me ... I do not believe as these...’

  Mary continued to smile at him, her gaze locked to his. She took his brown, hardened hand gently in her small olive one.

  ‘Tell them I do not believe...’ Aretas looked pleadingly to Balthazar.

  Mary looked compassionately at him with her liquid brown eyes as if he were dull of understanding, and placed his hand over the babe’s.

  Aretas fell backward as if jolted by a violent, shocking force. Balthazar, Mary and Joseph stared, astounded, while Aretas’ entire body shuddered as in the throes of a violent fit. His breathing became short and shallow and he flung his head from side to side, raising his hands to his face before crumpling to the floor.

  Balthazar stared down at him in horror. ‘Forgive me...’ He raised his face to Joseph’s. ‘We must assist His Majesty at once – we will remove him from your midst.’

  Joseph frowned. ‘He is in no state to be moved, sire.’

  Mary nodded in agreement, her eyes filled with consternation. She placed her hand on Balthazar’s. ‘There is a space at the back, with the innkeeper. Let us take him there till he is stronger.’

  Balthazar nodded and turned to Gaspar, who stood trembling. ‘I will stay with King Aretas. Look after our caravan.’

  Gaspar nodded, dumbstruck, and exchanged a bewildered glance with Melchior.

  Balthazar turned to gaze at the infant once more, then grasped the king’s hand in his; his fingers were still shaking violently. But it
was when Balthazar looked into Aretas’ face that his blood ran cold, for the young king was staring straight ahead, his eyes wide open. He had been struck completely blind.

  Chapter Seven

  The Revelation

  Lucifer sat bathing his legs in the balmy amber and gold pools that shimmered under the pale, gloomy moons of the West horizon, sipping pomegranate elixir from his golden goblet. He turned to Marduk on his left. ‘These kingmakers, the magi – what did they find?’ He plucked a blue fruit from the silvered vines that flourished in his nocturnal orangeries, slicing it deftly with a small sharp blade.

  Marduk nodded to the palace sorcerers, who stood petrified behind the ornamental pools. ‘The nova was moving, Your Majesty,’ the chief magus replied. ‘They left Herod’s palace at dawn. They were to report back to Herod, sire, as you ordered.’

  Lucifer sat silently, waiting. He placed a sliver of the fruit on his tongue and swallowed.

  ‘We received rumours they did not return, Your Majesty,’ the chief magus stammered.

  Lucifer stared, his mind reeling. Marduk drew his face close to Lucifer’s.

  ‘They left by a different route.’

  Lucifer handed his cup to his cupbearer, his expression inscrutable, and rose as Balberith dried him with a gold cloth. He strode through the Western terraces, Balberith following, through the orangeries back into the throne room, dressed only in his white silk loincloth, then snatched his satin robe from Balberith’s grasp and flung it over his shoulders, enraged. ‘Rumours...’ he roared, waving the sorcerers away. They scuttled down the marbled chamber, past the Luciferean guard and out through the throne room gates. ‘Rumours!’ he bellowed.

  Alastor moved to the black gates, consulting in deep whisperings with Marduk, meanwhile Lucifer paced up and down before his throne, hands behind his back, staring at his reflection in the polished black floor. Marduk hurried back up the nave of the throne room, strangely perturbed.

  ‘Charsoc’s Black Court Wizards are returned, Your Majesty.’

  Lucifer did not look up from his pacing. ‘Grant them audience,’ he commanded.

  Immediately the gates opened to reveal Alastor’s corpulent black cloaked figure. Behind him hovered his company of silver turbaned wizards, their black staffs issuing orange fire.

  Lucifer stood facing his Northern balconies, his back to them. ‘Where is the newborn king?’

  Alastor walked slowly up the nave of the throne room towards Lucifer, the only sound in the throne room his narrow crimson pointed shoes that squeaked with every awkward step. Charsoc materialized at the Black Gates. Silent. Observing.

  Alastor stopped halfway up the nave.

  ‘We found no king, Your Majesty.’

  Lucifer turned, his face contorted with fury, then flung open the massive golden doors of the north wing. The nova had drawn nearer, far nearer to earth and blazed furiously.

  ‘The nova yet burns.’ He clenched his fists in fury. ‘WHERE is the infant king that is born in the East?’

  Darsoc and his Grey Magi entered the throne room. The Grey Magi stood, a hundred strong. Breath-taking. Their strange beauty, bewitching. Tall and pale, their waist-length platinum hair fell smooth as glass over their billowing white velvet cloaks fastened with delicate silver clasps intertwined with live asps. Darsoc slid silently over the lapiz floors towards Alastor and the throne.

  Alastor stopped in front of Lucifer. ‘We found no king of noble birth, sire, but only a peasant babe wrapped in swaddling clothes, before whom shepherds worshipped.’

  Marduk scowled impatiently. ‘Shepherds! You waste His Excellency’s time.’ Lucifer grasped Marduk’s arm to still him, his nails digging deep into Marduk’s flesh. Marduk frowned, perplexed, but obeyed.

  Alastor turned his head back to the approaching Darsoc, then dropped to his knees, ‘No – my Lord.’ An evil sneer spread across his flabby features. He raised his shadowed eyes to Lucifer’s. ‘It is Darsoc who wastes your time with shepherds,’ he rasped. ‘We, the Grand Wizards of the Black Courts, were prudent. We turned back to Persia.’

  Charsoc slowly caressed the silver serpent on his staff, observing Alastor intently, deep in contemplation.

  Lucifer walked over to the huge open doors, staring out a long while at the nova.

  ‘Darsoc – my wicked prince.’

  ‘My Lord,’ Darsoc bowed deeply to Lucifer, then knelt beside Alastor.

  ‘Tell me about these shepherds.’ Lucifer’s voice was solicitous, soothing, his back to Darsoc.

  Darsoc lifted his shadowed eyes. ‘Alastor deemed it a distraction, Your Excellency ... a mere diversion...’ he answered, his voice listless but cultured.

  Lucifer turned and stared at him, his face inscrutable. ‘But you, my loyal and cunning slave...’

  ‘There came a great commotion in the Second Heavens. A vast company of the heavenly knighthood descended.’

  ‘Their purpose?’ Charsoc strode up the nave directly towards the throne.

  ‘They were scouts.’ Darsoc’s voice was measured. ‘Of the White Knighthood of the holy mountain, sire.’

  Alastor shifted his cumbersome frame, suddenly uneasy, looking from Charsoc to Lucifer.

  ‘Of your brother Chief Prince Michael’s Battalion, sire.’

  ‘Michael dispatches his scouts and proclaimers for a peasant babe?’ Lucifer frowned and pushed his hair back from his eyes, momentarily confused.

  ‘Pale Fool!’ spat Alastor. ‘You waste His Excellency’s time!’

  Darsoc moved his platinum head close to Alastor’s silver turbaned one, then pressed his pale grey lips against Alastor’s fleshy ear. ‘I think not,’ he hissed. He removed his silver gauntlets and signed deftly to a tall, pale form, shrouded in a white velvet cloak who instantly materialized next to him.

  ‘I am one of the Grey Magi designated Jequon.’ Jequon spoke in a low silken voice. ‘Chief archivist of the Grey Magi.’

  ‘And what did your archivists document, Jequon?’ Lucifer inquired softly, his back to Alastor.

  Jequon stared down at his long, pale trembling hands, then looked back at Lucifer’s back. ‘My archivists documented the pronouncements of the white knighthood.’ Sweat broke out on his temple. ‘Relay the declaration, Jequon.’ Charsoc commanded. ‘It may distress my sovereign Emperor...’ Jequon bowed again to Lucifer. Charsoc rested his hand ominously on the hilt of his glinting Necromancer blade. ‘Relay it. Word for word.’

  Jequon took a deep breath. ‘That ... that this day a child is born – this day in the town of David...’ Jequon looked up at Lucifer, his courage deserting him ‘A saviour who is...’. Not a muscle of Lucifer’s face moved. ‘Who is ... Christ...’

  Lucifer swung around in astonishment to face Charsoc. The blood drained from Charsoc’s face.

  ‘Chris ... tos,’ Lucifer hissed, appalled. A terrible horror contorted his features.

  ‘...The Lord,’ Jequon gasped, his eyes never leaving Lucifer’s. A strange smile played on Darsoc’s pale lips as he watched Charsoc walk unsteadily towards Alastor, his whole body trembling.

  Alastor stared in shock from Lucifer to Charsoc. ‘An error, my lord.’ He stood to his feet, his chins trembling. ‘An error.’ Charsoc murmured.

  With one savage thrust, Charsoc impaled Alastor on his necromancer blade. Alastor stood choking on his own blue blood, retching.

  Then with one sudden, brutal thrust, Charsoc sliced straight through Alastor’s neck. Alastor’s head landed on the floor with a thud. ‘Errors are never tolerable,’ Charsoc muttered. His blade slipped out from his hand and clattered onto the empty floor.

  ‘Errors are never tolerable!’ Like lightning, Lucifer swung around to Charsoc, his own sword raised directly above Charsoc’s neck. ‘Your magi have failed me, Charsoc!’ Charsoc’s entire body shook uncontrollably, sweat poured from his temple.

  ‘This Nova ... this King...’ Lucifer grasped Charsoc’s long hair savagely in his fist and wrenched him so close that Charsoc could feel Lucifer’s
hot breath burning against his cheeks. ‘This King is none other than Christos! His blood – is it undefiled?’ Lucifer gave another cruel wrench on Charsoc’s hair. ‘You know, as I, the tenets of Eternal Law.’ Charsoc stared at Lucifer, horror struck, his mind reeling. ‘If his blood is undefiled, he will exchange his soul for the souls of Men and wrest my kingdom from me!’ Lucifer roared.

  Lucifer stood, silent for a full minute, then flung Charsoc savagely from his grasp. He stumbled to the floor beside the unfortunate Alastor. Alastor’s head vanished. Then his body followed, disappearing straight to the Abyss.

  Lucifer flung his broadsword down, then strode to the window and threw open the curtains, raging blasphemies at the star still overhead in the Second Heaven. ‘Yehovah’s genius! He sent Himself! Tricked by my own preconceptions, as He knew I would be!’

  He pushed past Charsoc to where Darsoc stood, trembling.

  ‘His Messiah will have no palace, no royal robes. His Messiah is born of dust and clay! Tell me, Darsoc, the destination of the infant king,’ he hissed, his face only inches away from Darsoc’s own.

  ‘I followed ... I followed your royal orders, sire,’ Darsoc uttered in growing dread. ‘My Black Murmurers followed the magi back through the desert towards Persia.’

  ‘The infant is with the magi?’ Lucifer circled him.

  Darsoc held out an unsealed missive, his pale fingers shaking uncontrollably. Lucifer snatched the missive, then crumpled it in his hand, his face contorted with sheer hatred.

  ‘The child has vanished!’ he snarled.

  Lucifer leaned heavily against the pillar, running his fingers through his raven locks, muttering to himself in an evil, peculiar angelic tongue as one demented.

  ‘My brothers deceive me,’ he muttered. He turned to Charsoc, still trembling on the floor. ‘Investigate the circumstance of the infant’s birth. Find out what Jether is up to. Do not dare fail me again, Charsoc!’