The queen sighs, moved by Theseus’s resolve. ‘I never thought I would meet a man who is as selfless as a woman,’ she says. ‘You would honestly put aside your own wishes in favour of what might be better for your female offspring?’
‘Is that not wise, your Majesty?’ The banter is taxing on Theseus’s heavy heart.
Hyleana leans forward on her throne. ‘It is most wise, Theseus.’ Her voice is gentle and filled with admiration. ‘You are a beautiful aberration among men, and I cannot bring myself to destroy a babe with the potential to be another such wondrous exception to the rule.’
Hyleana holds high my sleeping child, allowing the cloth to fall away to reveal a boy child.
The gasps of all present are near deafening. I am bombarded by shock and relief at once.
‘I will spare the life of your son and heir, Theseus,’ Hyleana decrees. ‘Come and claim him.’
The sight of my son being delivered into his father’s hands brings an end to my endurance. The shock of the birth, the Nagas attack, my rescue and absolution overpower me and I collapse onto the cool stone of the temple floor…
The rotation angle of my atomic structure altered direction and my conscious self was delivered into the central chamber amid Amenti’s halls once more.
This time the experience was more bearable, just as Sinclair had promised, and yet there was so much information to digest now that my consciousness had been freed of the all-consuming effects of the hall.
‘I recognised so many of the players in Antiope’s tragedy,’ I said with some excitement. ‘You, of course; and Melonippe was Susan; and although I never saw Lady Charlotte Cavandish in her younger days, I feel I recognised her soul-mind in Hyleana, Queen of the Ha-mazon. I met her once before: she was the healing lady of the desert, Denera,’ I suddenly realised. It was no surprise really that such a highly acclaimed psychic as Lady Charlotte Cavandish would turn out to be the first of the Dragon Queens, Lilith, who was indeed Zalman’s partner on the Amenti Project. This revelation pleased me immensely, for it meant that one day in the future I would be reunited with my old mentor.
Now that I had regained my third root race consciousness, I remembered the story of the founding mother of the Ha-mazon race. ‘Is it true that Lilith gave birth to a half-breed Draconian, who went on to claim leadership of the Dracon?’ I asked.
‘That is unfortunately true,’ Sinclair said. ‘The beast took the name Poseidonis for a long time, but has had many other names. And what other pearls of wisdom did you glean from your latest experience?’
‘Are you testing my comprehension again, Captain Sinclair?’
‘I merely wish to demonstrate some of the effects Amenti’s halls are having on your conscious memory,’ he replied winningly. ‘For example…’ He held out his hand and a labrys manifested there, the double-headed axe favoured by Ha-mazon warriors for its ability to decapitate a Dracon opponent.
He handed the weapon to me and I laughed. Then I noticed how comfortable the large axe felt in my hands and realised I knew how to wield it. I began to execute one of Antiope’s training exercises and Sinclair took a few steps back. ‘I am doing it!’ I cried, filled with excitement. ‘I killed Dracon with this weapon.’
‘You did?’ Captain Sinclair sounded surprised.
I was puzzled. ‘The way you have been talking, I assumed you knew what had transpired.’
‘It is true that this was a key lifetime for me also, and we did fight a common enemy together, but I did not spot a Dracon during my entire incarnation as Theseus, King of Attica.’
‘What?’ I lowered my weapon, confused. ‘Are you saying history has been altered?’
‘I couldn’t say.’ Sinclair glanced to the next porthole, which was yellow in frequency. ‘When you have traversed all of Amenti’s halls, I will investigate the anomaly.’
The next porthole led to the age of Atlantis and I eyed it with reserve. ‘Do you think I will be fortunate enough to be deposited at the height of the continent’s golden age of learning?’
Sinclair winced. ‘You and I did not come to Earth to take part in the good and prosperous times.’
‘So…it’s back to chaos and catastrophe I go,’ I said, taking a step towards the third, yellow-gold, porthole.
The captain grinned. ‘Look how much knowledge and awareness you obtained from your Lemurian debacle.’ He had a valid point.
REVELATION 21
POSEIDONIS
ROOT RACE FOUR—PHYSICAL (11,000 BC); THE ATLANTEANS
I stand in line with my parents behind a host of other hopeful aspirants waiting to be presented to the Master Scribe, Hermes, as a candidate for his instruction. Master Hermes, the architect of the Pyramids and many other monuments, is something of a mystery. He has been alive for as long as my people can remember, teaching those in the civilised world—beyond the borders of Poseidonis—the many things necessary for a useful and purposeful life. Some say he is the son of a god, as old as time itself, who has assumed human form. Others claim he is a mortal who found the secret to eternal life, and yet others think that the Master is so enlightened that he has reached an everlasting state of being.
Master Hermes rarely takes on students, but he has travelled across many nations this season to canvass all children aged thirteen. It is said the Master seeks two particular individuals, one male and one female, prophesied by himself to be his protégés for the foreseeable future—a position that holds the promise of being a future counsel to kings and pharaohs.
My people are the Pelasgian, a Mediterranean tribe who inhabit the land from Argos to Dodona and the Strymon. I was born into a rich, landowning family and am considered bright for a female. Now of an age when I must marry or pursue some other gainful pursuit, I am grateful for the Holy Decree that orders my parents to present me to the Master Hermes, for marriage interests me not.
To my surprise, and my parents’ delight, the Master greets me as an old friend whom he is well pleased to see after some time apart.
‘Praise the great plan, I have found one of you at last! And the other must be close, for you are never far apart.’ The Master takes hold of both my hands and peers deep into my eyes with his own of pale violet; I feel that I am staring at an angel. ‘I know your destiny, dear sister,’ he tells me, ‘and if you will come with me to Egypt, I foresee that we will be of great aid to one another and to all the known world.’
I cannot imagine what aid I could offer to Master Hermes and the world at large, but I am very excited by the opportunity. My parents are thrilled, both with the honour bestowed upon me and the financial compensation they receive for the loss of their daughter.
‘Your name from now on will be Aleka, which means the defender of mankind,’ Master Hermes announces, and I am promptly handed over into his care to begin a new life of learning across the sea. I am not at all apprehensive about my future, for with such a mentor it can only be a wondrous experience.
Our departure is delayed whilst the Master interviews boy after boy in search of the second soul he has prophesied. Only when the temple priests assure the Master that he has seen every thirteen-year-old boy in the district does he finally concede it is time to move on—but not back to Egypt as hoped. We must head for the next town, and the next, until the Master’s prophecy is fulfilled.
‘Why is it so important that your prophecy be realised?’ I ask as we make our way along the seashore towards the next town.
He stops still and I stop beside him. ‘I hope to avert a terrible disaster,’ he tells me, then walks towards something that has caught his interest. I follow his line of sight to see a young man crouched down on the sand, scaling fish on a board.
‘How old are you, son?’ the Master asks as we approach.
The boy continues about his task without looking up. ‘I am thirteen years old.’
‘And why were you not brought to see the Master Hermes in the temple, as requested by your priests?’
‘There was no point in taking me to s
ee the Master as I am blind.’ The lad finally looks in our direction; his glassy blue eyes are confirmation of his disability. ‘The Master would surely not consider a blind boy worthy of his time and knowledge.’
‘Quite correct,’ agrees the Master as he places his hands over the lad’s eyes. ‘See me now?’ He takes his hands away and when the boy parts his eyelids I see that his pupils have turned a vibrant blue.
‘Yes,’ he gasps, his shock and excitement landing him on his behind. He squints and shades his eyes from the soft evening light. ‘I see light, my lord… I see colour! I see…’ he looks my way and strains to focus harder ‘…shape.’
‘Very good,’ says Master Hermes. ‘Now you must come with me to Egypt. Have you any parents I need to consult?’
The lad shakes his head. ‘I have brothers, but they will not argue against a holy decree.’
‘Then why the concerned look upon your face, lad? Is your current life so satisfying?’ Neither the Master nor myself can understand the boy’s reluctance.
The lad gets to his knees to beg the Master’s pardon. ‘No, your Holiness, I am greatly honoured by your interest, but I am not worthy for I cannot even write my own name.’
‘Of course you cannot,’ Master Hermes says, ‘as I have not yet told you your name. From now on, you will be Manetho. In hieroglyphics this means “gift of Thoth” and I shall teach you how to write it myself.’
At first I like Manetho: he is humble, studious, friendly and good company. During the course of our ten years of study together, however, he becomes increasingly competitive, secretive and proud. We are both made privy to secret structures, doctrines and powers that not even the High Priests of Memphis are aware of. Answerable only to the Pharaoh and Master Hermes, Manetho and I are revered as servants of the gods wherever we go. The Master awakens dormant superhuman powers in us, which are realised by undergoing a series of ancient activations that the Master refers to as time codes. These giant, ultra-colourful works of art are located underground in a cave across the sea to the north-east of Egypt. There is a shortcut to the hall of codes from beneath the Great Pyramid, which we utilise often. By concentrating on the geometry of the complex symbols within these ultra-colourful pictorial codes and invoking the compatible mantra, a conscious recognition of super-conscious memory is eventually triggered. A side effect of this process is the unlocking of our psychic potential.
There are rare times, like today, when I find Manetho tolerable. He is excited and in good cheer because the Master has requested that we meet him in the hall of codes and this can only mean one thing—today we finally integrate the last of the twelve time codes. We know that this event will mark the end of our training with the Master, for with this initiation we will make contact with our super-conscious selves and discover our true destiny in this life, as prophesied by the Master when he first came in search of us.
Master Hermes looks very grave when he joins us in the ancient subterranean hall. ‘Time has caught up with us,’ he declares, ‘there is not a moment to waste.’
He directs us towards the final time code painting and I follow him obediently. Manetho is not so pliable.
‘What has happened?’ he demands.
‘Afterwards,’ Master Hermes says, but Manetho is already probing our Master’s mind for answers. ‘Manetho!’ the Master growls in warning, for he is not focused on suppressing what he knows. By the time he has psychically shielded his knowledge, Manetho has his answer and his face fills with horror.
‘The dark forces of the Emperor Poseidonis have launched an attack on the peaceful merchant nations that border our homeland,’ he cries out in shock, already retreating from the chamber. ‘I must go to their defence!’
Master Hermes forestalls Manetho’s departure. ‘I foresaw this event,’ he says. ‘It is why I went in search of you, why I trained you. Integrate the final time code and then will you know how you may best be of aid in this affair.’
‘You knew this would happen and yet you warned no one?’ Manetho is incensed. ‘I have brothers who will be called to arms—’
‘Until a situation manifests, it cannot be construed as reality,’ the Master says, endeavouring to calm his student. ‘In telling the nations involved that they may be attacked by the forces of Poseidonis, I would not be telling them anything that they haven’t been aware of for thousands of years.’
‘And yet our training timed out fairly neatly.’ Manetho refuses to be pacified.
‘Will you not trust me just one more day?’ Master Hermes appeals. ‘Let us finish what we started all those years ago.’
Manetho does not look well disposed towards the suggestion. ‘For all I know, that last code might relinquish my will to you, or some other alien being!’
‘Manetho, you go too far!’ I was horrified that he could imply the Master was not human.
Manetho ignored my protest. ‘There is only one thing I wish to know,’ he said to our mentor. ‘Does your divine plan involve saving my brothers?’
‘Their mortal lives you cannot save,’ the Master says regretfully, and Manetho heads straight for the nearest exit. ‘But you can help save their immortal souls and the lives of all those who will be embroiled in the forthcoming holocaust!’ Master Hermes calls after him.
I run after Manetho and catch him by the arm, pulling him to a standstill. We may be rivals but we are also friends. ‘Watch me do the activation,’ I plead. ‘Then you will know if it is safe.’
‘I do not have the time,’ he says.
‘Surely a few hours will not—’
‘The warriors of Poseidonis are black magicians!’ he interrupts. ‘The Nagas are with them, plus their low-density spirits, summoned forth into the world by the blood sacrifices of innocents! Who can help my brothers, our homeland, if not I?’ He gazes into my face, and the frustration and determination I see in his eyes stifles any further protest I might like to make. Is this stabbing pain in my chest my own heart breaking, I wonder.
‘I shall miss you, Manetho.’ Tears well in my eyes as I realise the truth of my words.
‘You never needed me,’ he says, and I am surprised as he is usually so full of himself. He moves to depart, but then returns to embrace and kiss me.
‘I always wanted to do that,’ he says, then lets me go and leaves me dumbstruck.
As I watch him vanish into the labyrinth that leads to the porthole back to Giza, I sense the Master come to stand behind me.
‘I pride myself on my psychic aptitude and I never even suspected an attraction,’ he muses.
‘Will his training keep him alive?’
‘Perhaps.’ Master Hermes seems no more certain of the outcome than I am. ‘Now, however, the fate of the human planetary consciousness rests firmly upon your shoulders, Aleka. Time to contact your super-conscious,’ he suggests.
With a deep intake of breath for courage, I nod that I am ready.
The last time code is the most complex to integrate and the process is a lengthy exercise of visualisation and harmonic stimulation. Afterwards, I feel I am on sensory overload and am quite euphoric.
‘Rest now,’ the Master instructs. ‘You have done very well.’
‘But I do not feel as if I made contact…’
My knees give way beneath me and I collapse. The Master catches me and lowers me to the ground.
‘Do not resist the influx of consciousness,’ he advises.
Wave after divine wave rushes into me via the energy centres of my subtle body and I am filled with a greater awareness of being than ever before. Manetho was right to fear that this activation would submit his will to an advanced alien being, but he did not fathom that it would be his ultimate self.
My eyelids part and I see the Master through my new multidimensional perspective and recognise him as Prince of the Anunnaki. ‘Mathu.’
‘Solarian.’ He seems greatly relieved to be addressing my true self. ‘We have a serious security issue that only the scientific acumen of the Amenti Council can
avert. I suspect that we need to change the frequency codes protecting the Arc Porthole passage.’
Half of me is shocked by his suggestion, and the other half is shocked that I know exactly what he is talking about.
During an attempt by the Emperor of Poseidonis in the distant past to abuse the Sphere of Amenti for unsafe energy practices, the Sphere was moved from the inner Earth realms of the Anu to the heart of a planet in the Pleiades system. A bridge between the worlds was incorporated into the Amenti system, and this passage was known as the Arc Porthole. This bridge would enable the Sphere to return to Earth when it again held a consciousness high enough to host the Blue Flame of Amenti.
‘Can Amenti’s staff isolate the main crystal generator beneath the City of Poseidonis,’ Mathu goes on, ‘leaving only Poseidonis with a direct link to the Arc Porthole?’
‘Only if we decommission all the surrounding generators,’ I reply. ‘But without these power sources, civilisation will be cast back into the Stone Age and the resulting hardship is going to have a very detrimental effect on the human evolution project.’
‘So will not having a planet to evolve on,’ Mathu points out.
‘Have the agents of darkness become a security threat to the Sphere of Amenti?’ I ask, wondering why the need for the upgrade on the Arc shield codes.
Mathu shakes his head. ‘But I suspect a threat at any moment.’
I recall the news that sent Manetho rushing off: that the Emperor Poseidonis’s seafaring force has attacked the nations surrounding Egypt. Mathu knows that the real prize Poseidonis seeks is the ultimate power source—the Blue Flame of Amenti
—access to which can only be gained from beneaththe Giza plateau.
Two phases of the moon after his departure from Giza, Manetho does return, grieving the deaths of his brothers, but glad to bear news of the defeat and retreat of Poseidonis.
‘Are you sure about this?’ The Master is wary for he knows the Emperor is cunning; like Master Hermes, the Dark Emperor has been in existence for as long as anyone can remember, proof that he is not pure human.