Chronicles of the

Children of Destiny

 Terra

by

Daniel Thomas Andrew Daly

© 6173-6178 SC (2011-2015 CE/AD)

Stories:

Terra

The Gospel of Jesus

The Gospel of Tarcisius

The Olde World

The Seraphim Meludiel – The Song of Eternity

The Garden of Eden

Family and Fate

Stars

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, Georgia had often felt that her God and Father would make a greater use of herself one day.  He had never said so specifically, but had placed within her spirit and heart, so she sensed, a plan – a destiny – a work – of great importance for this child of God.

 After the creation of mankind, Georgia had taken an interest in the life of Methuselah.  He was an interesting human.  His father, Enoch, she had met as he had been taken to the Realm of Eternity at the age of 365.  And then he had been shown his responsibilities towards mankind in the future paradise they were to inhabit.  She herself, having visited the outer rim of Kalphora, had been curious about the ‘Portal’ – the first of what was planned to be many.  This Portal was a link – a doorway – a passage – a vortex – to the ‘otherworlds’.  Beyond the rim was the nothingness – but, so Davriel and Gabriel had informed the community – out in unimaginable numbers of cubits beyond the nothingness – there existed a number of new worlds.  New realms, new planets, new domains and dominions.  Presently, there were 7,000 such places.  These were the firstworks – the first of what would be new homes.  At Zaphon, Michael had presented the scroll which listed the new names.  They had been studied by many of the community.  Michael had entrusted Cindradel and Georgia to be responsible for learning the names of the new realms, for the purpose of assisting Enoch, when necessary, in his administrative responsibilities.

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 where 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.  Their 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 or Sheol, 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.

 *   *   *   *   *

The Never

‘It is called the Never,’ said Michael to Semyaza.

‘What is it?’ asked the fallen angel.

‘Redemption.  Of sorts. It is what you are used to in many ways, for it is dread, and despair, and a harsh life.  And you will wander here with your fellow Cherubim for many years, till your time of punishment is complete.’

‘We barely repented,’ snorted Semyaza in pride.

‘You acknowledged your sins, and Enoch was satisfied with that.  But his judgment is not divinely mandated as being eternal.  It has not the full force of the judgment of God in it.  It was only you getting what you deserved for a while.  The lord gives a light for those who ultimately turn from their evil ways.’

The fallen angels standing betwixt Michael and Gabriel took the flagons of water, and with their blinds gone from them and no longer in chains, they wandered off.

‘Water is probably in that direction,’ said Michael pointing.

‘Or maybe in that one,’ said Gabriel pointing in another.

‘You are all heart,’ replied Semyaza dryly.

As they lurched on Michael turned to Gabriel.  ‘They’ll be here a while.’

‘Till they have learned their lesson,’ replied Gabriel.

‘The smell of sulfur is fowl,’ said Michael.

‘Made for the fowlest of angels,’ replied Gabriel.

‘That much is very true,’ responded the firstborn of Zaphon, watching the fallen straggle forth to their partially redemptive new abode.

The End

Lamech son of Methuselah

Methuselah was in the garden one afternoon, picking vegetables. ‘Soup again, huh,’ said Lamech.  ‘You know, though the Lord God has yet to give us permission to eat animals, I have beenChatting with Noah and suggest he inquire of the Lord and establish some new teaching from God for us all.  Animals, if weGive an offering to God first, might just be acceptable as some of the new teaching for our community to consume thereof.’

‘You like the fried chicken, don’t you,’ replied Methuselah.

‘It’s finger licking good,’ replied Lamech.

‘Yes,’ said Methuselah, bending down to pick another tomato and put it in his bag.  ‘You and your obsession with fowl.  But you are fowl sort of individual, so you must be acting naturally enough.’

‘That is what it is all about.  Harmony with nature,’ replied Lamech.

‘The truths of Lamech.  I must learn about  your generation one of these days,’ replied Methuselah.  ‘It might perhaps teach me some noble truths, but I fear that your buddies out there are starting to test the Lord’s patience, and going into behaviors which are quite questionable.  They are not exactly that friendly at times these days.  The line of Cain has some right proper ragamuffins in it.’

‘Noah has his eye on that Cain girl Naamah.  He thinks she is attractive,’ replied Lamech.

‘I have never been comfortable with the idea of mating with the daughters of men,’ replied Methuselah.  These Nephilim are indeed mighty men, and their ways are strong and fierce, and while they serve the Lord somewhat, they are so savage at times in their declarations of what they can achieve.  They’ll build a tower to the heavens one day if they get their way.’

‘The Bene Elohim perhaps have to move with the times,’ replied Lamech.  ‘It’s a happening world, but I do know what you are saying.  Some of the practices I have noticed, especially in Nod, are very severe.  Lots of bullying these days amongst the teenagers, and fisticuffs and boozing is all over the place.  I think it’s a phase they are going through, personally, but I am not sure.’

‘Might not turn out for the best,’ replied Methuselah, reaching down to pick up another tomato.  ‘And while God banished us from Eden, and surely is satisfied with this harsh land we have to work to the best of our strengths to gain much from, maybe he will get even more harsh in judgment.  I do fear for the future at times.’

‘Noah is a top lad,’ replied Lamech.  ‘He will show them the way.  He will be a light of Elohim to redeem us all.  This ground, one way or another, perhaps through calling on the Lord, or a sacred mission, he will redeem it, and we will have water in abundance.  I am sure of that.  Water in abundance.’

‘Be careful what you wish for, child of mine.  You just might get it.’

‘Fried chicken with tomatoes again tonight old man?’ asked Lamech.

‘As you wish,’ replied the aged one.

The End

The Raven and the Dove

The Raven sat on the branch, contemplating the scene below. Three tireless workers, and the older father figure, toiling away, working on the big boat. The raven heard the term, often, 'Ark of Salvation', which it seemed to understand as referring to the Ark but, as Raven's were not as smart as humans, was not quite sure.

The Dove, sitting up the branch a little, also surveying the scene, turned to the Raven and asked. 'Why is the boat so big? Are they planning on travelling far, do you think?'

The Raven considered the question before responding 'God only knows.'

Months came and went, and the Raven and the Dove, having come aboard the Ark, were up near the side window, which the old man had opened that day, as it had finally stopped raining. 'Freaky,' said the Raven, looking out. 'There is water everywhere.'

'It is all the rain, dear Raven,' replied the Dove.
'You know, Dove, if this is the only boat and all the others have drowned, then I don't think I will ever leave the boat. It will probably end in no good, if you know what I mean. Leave this boat and who knows what trouble you could get in to.'
The dove considered the Raven's point, yet replied. 'I will take my chances. I mean, how possibly bad could it be? What, would they kill me or something?'
'Maybe,' said the Raven. 'But this God thing the old man speaks about, I think he sent all the rain. You better not be too cocky, or he will punish you as well.'
'Oh, I am not worried. There are plenty of doves here, and I think we will be fine.'
'Whatever,' said the Raven.

And time passed.

And the old man opened the window, and let the Raven go. The Raven flew out and looked all around, finding no safe land anywhere, so returned to the Ark. The old man took him back in, and petted his head lovingly. The Raven looked at the dove. 'I am never leaving, you know. Never leaving the old man. He has taken care of us when everything else was destroyed.' The dove nodded, starting to understand.

A little later on the Dove was released, found an olive leaf, but in considering the words of the Raven returned to be safe and sound.

Yet, in the testing of the dove, the dove was released again, and decided, because of the newness of the world - how it had been refreshed - that it would leave the man and take its chances. It would see just were its own freedom in life could take it.

Yet the Raven remained. And as years past, and as the communities of Ravens and Doves grew once more, the Raven kept in mind the lesson of the Ark and the Flood and, seeing the Old man's descendants sacrifice doves regularly, it wondered to itself just how long it would take before the Dove realized that, at the end, when the second and final punishment came, that there would be only one safe place then, and that was with the old man and the Ark.

THE END

Noah and the 7^th Rainbow

Noah had been collecting rainbows. Well, maybe, that was a strange way of putting it. Rainbows. You could hardly collect the sign of God’s great covenant with him and his children. They were made of colours – how could you collect colours? They sat in the sky, on rainy days, happy, lovely, beaming their glory. Beautiful. And now he had collected 6 of them – 5 more since the first magnificent, glorious one, he had seen on the day of the covenant. And now he waited for the seventh rainbow.

In heaven, there were 7 Seraphim Angels of Glory which watched over the children of Noah. These were the 7 Noahide Angels. They were not the 7 Archangels in waiting, which one day God would send to the people of Israel. Nor were they the 7 angels of the Man from Nazareth and his followers, or the 7 angels of the Prophet from what would become Mecca and his followers. Those latter groups of 7 angels were made, before the days of creation, put aside for those peoples of the books, to guide them in all their tribulations.

But the 7 Seraphim Angels of Glory were Michael, Gabriel, Raphael, Uriel, Raguel, Phanuel and Saruviel. They were the eternal Noahide Archangels of Glory.

And Saruviel, the seventh angel, dropped down to see Noah seated upon the rock with his wife Titea, looking out at the raining valley, and with his great power, upon the will of the Most High, brought forth the sun and clouds in a particular manner, and the 7^th Rainbow of Noah’s life shone forth in all its glory.

‘There,’ said Titea. ‘The 7^th Rainbow. You can now rest in peace.’

And Noah said ‘Amen.’

The End

Elam and Asshur’s Lesson

Grandpa Noah was in the vineyard one fine day, picking grapes. Young Elam and Asshur, his grandsons through Shem, were also busy picking some grapes. Just then, Elam yelled out. ‘Grandpa Noah! Quick! There is a Lion,’ said Elam, pointing to a lion which was approaching them. Noah told Elam and Asshur to stand behind him, and he reached for his spear. The Lion came closer and closer. The situation was tense. And, suddenly, it sprang at Noah. Yet, brave Grandpa Noah, spear in hand, pierced the Lion in the heart, and it died, slowly bleeding to death.

Elam looked at the dying Lion. ‘It might make good food, Grandpa. What do you think?’ Noah looked down at the dying Lion. ‘Lion’s are unclean animals, young Elam. The covenant our great God has made with us does permit us to eat unclean animals, yet I feel it is perhaps not always for the best. And, of course, we may never eat the blood of any animal.’ Asshur looked at his Grandpa. ‘Why can’t we eat the blood?’ Noah came over to Asshur, scruffed him on the head, and replied. ‘The life is in the blood young Asshur. It is what sustains and gives us life. God has forbidden us eating it because of that reason.’ ‘I see,’ replied Asshur.

They dragged the Lion to the edge of the Vineyard and placed stones over the body to hide it from vultures.

‘What was it like before the flood?’ Elam asked his grandfather. Noah, wiping the sweat from his brow, looked down at his young grandson. ‘They were violent times, young Elam. Violent times. People hated each other. They stole from each other rampantly – nobody’s possessions were ever safe. And even some of the wicked men worshipped carved idols made of animals and sea creatures, even the stars and moon. They worshipped these idols and mistakenly believed that these were the spirits of life who ruled the world. Often, such men insulted those of the LORD who tried to teach them the right way, even insulting the glory of the LORD. They blasphemed his holy name and despised our ancient traditions. Men would sleep with other Men’s wives, and even with each other which the LORD hates. It was, young Elam, in truth the most immoral of times in our history. And because of this – because the wickedness was so great – God judged the world and sent the great flood.’ Elam nodded, soberly taking in that information.

‘Grandpa,’ began Asshur. ‘What can we do to make sure the world never becomes like that again?’ Noah looked at him firmly. ‘The LORD commands us to make Law Courts. To have judges who judge our communities to ensure that we obey God and live in peace with each other. My child, we must have mercy and patience with those who transgress God’s holy laws, as he is merciful and patient with us. But, if they continue to disobey, we must punish them to preserve the law, order and peace in the world. By doing such we bring happiness to the world – we continue to make it a better place – returning it to the glory of Eden. Dear Grand-children. Every time you look at the Rainbow, think on these laws, and with your children and your children’s children, teach them, everlastingly so, to be faithful to God and the laws of holiness.’ Elam and Asshur looked up at their wise grandfather, smiled, and returned to picking grapes. And another day passed in the life of Noah and those who God had redeemed from the rest of mankind.

THE END

Japheth's Concerns

Japheth, one afternoon, in the vineyard of his father, was looking at the grapes. Some grapes were looking ripe, and they had picked them most of the day, he and his brothers. But after the first gleaning, Noah had come up to him and stayed his hand.
'There are many of us now, son. Our community has grown, and some of my great-grand-children are not hard workers.'
'They are lazy, father,' said Japheth sombrely.
'Which, I guess, is how the Lord made them. Yet leave the grapes. Let the poor always choose from after the first gleaning, and let them always be at peace that our family will provide charity for those less able.'

Japheth's own grand children, and there were many, had amongst their numbers a few who were not entirely given over to the labour's he'd endured building the ark. There, they had saved the world, and mankind had been born anew, but some took this so much for granted. How hopeless the heart of so many of God's own children.

But as he walked along, and looked at the grapes, and looked at the barrel full of grapes, the Lord spoke to his heart.

'See, child, how there are some fat and healthy grapes, without blemish, pure and enjoyable to eat. And see also how some are less healthy, and blemished, and of poor condition.'
'I do see that,' said Japheth.
'In a way, that is life. There are those who strive and succeed, for they are healthy, and made well and shine in the image of their heavenly father. But there are others, less fortunate, who do not have the abilities and skills of others, and are less fortunate and less graced with passion for life.'
'The blemished,' thought Japheth to himself.

'Yet all are grapes, and all make wine,' said the Spirit to Japheth's heart.

Japheth learned mercy that day, realising not all God's children were given what other's were. Yet all were family, and all deserving of the love of God and their brethren.

And another day passed in the life of those redeemed amongst mankind.

THE END
 
 

Ham on the Grog

'Stuff him,' said Ham.
Titea softened, and straightened her dress, and sat down with Ham on board of the rotting ark.
'Your father is concerned, Ham. That is no attitude to have.'
'I saw him naked, you know. Stupid Shem and Japheth covered him up, but I saw the old man. Thinks he's too holy to show himself to the world.'
'You would mock your father's holiness,' she queried.
'Not his holiness,' said Ham. 'He doesn't have any. We worked for a century on that ark. And over and over again we check for holes and leaks, all to satisfy the whims of the Almighty.'
'Do you think those precautions were unnecessary.'
'He has an attitude. Authoritarian. Shem is just like that. More so, I reckon. Up himself.'
Naamah spoke up. 'Noah, when he was young, saw a lot of the heart of man, Ham. The Almighty chose our family from the world, and we were saved. Do you think he can afford to be anything but careful.'
'Stuff him,' said Ham, yet again.
'He'll curse you,' said Shem softly, eating a bit of meat.'
'Go drain the blood of your lamb, and Noah can get stuffed,' responded Ham.
A figure, which had been sleeping, stirred. Noah sat up, rubbed away some gunk from his eyes, and looked at his son Ham.
'You don't listen to Titea either,' said Noah. 'Your own daughter, and you don't even take her wise counsel.'
'She married you,' said Ham. 'She's no daughter of mine.'
'Your insolent,' Noah said to him.
'He's right,' said Canaan, to Noah. 'You are an authoritarian. You have no grace. You and your blasted God have no grace. Father tells me what it was like before the flood. You thought yourself better then them all. You refused to save those who might have been. If you had cared. If you hadn't been so blasted holy.'
No glared at his grand-son Canaan, and a curse settled into his thoughts. But that curse was uttered later that day, in Shem's presence, and Shem remembered it, but refused to speak of it later to Ham and Canaan. Neither was he terribly impressed with the attitude of Ham, who had been on grog far too much of recent times.
Canaan suddenly got angry, stood and looked at Noah. 'Your an old fool,' he lashed out of him, and stormed out of the ark.
'Forgive him,' said Titea to Noah softly.
But Noah had fixed an opinion of his son's, and would not relent of his anger.

THE END
 
Magog's Indiscretion

'I don't like the way he is looking at her,' said Noah. 'He should know better. Titea is embarrassed.'
'I don't think Magog is an idiot,' replied Naamah, mother of Shem, Ham and Japheth.
'I don't like it,' said Noah.
Magog found himself alone with Titea, one afternoon. She was gathering grapes in the vineyard, and he touched her from behind.
'No, Magog. It's wrong,' she replied.
'Noah doesn't love you. Not like I do,' he said. 'Lay with me. I will sire you an empire. I promise you.' And with such vain words he
wooed her, and she succumbed.
When Boath was born 9 months later, Noah had calmed down. He loved the child, and knew him as his great-grand son. But his anger
at Magog's transgression was known to the whole community.
'Forgive me,' Titea pleaded her husband Noah. 'But you have given me no offspring, and now, it seems, you won't again. For your
zest seems hampered.'
'It is not to lust at all times. It is for the chosen of the Lord to abstain also, and show chastity. You have ruined my name.'
'Then do not let the details abound into perpetuity,' she responded. 'Let me be a figure for Boath's generations, and let that be its
own tradition, my beloved. I will keep my faith with you now. I will not succumb again.'
Noah cradled her, and looked over at the sleeping Boath. What grand nation would such a child father? Who, indeed, would be
the generations of Boath? Who indeed.

The End

Living in a Green Castle

‘Green Castles,’ said Melchizedek.  ‘One day I envision Salem full of green castles.’

Nimrod was old.  ‘Babel could be green,’ he pondered.

‘That project stunk,’ replied Melchizedek.  ‘You had no real ambition to see it through and get the job done.  ‘The gods of thunder tore down that tower one way or another.  Even mighty Elohim may have had his hand in the project, I sense.’

‘Elohim is a god with no real strength.  Doubt he truly exists,’ replied Nimrod.

‘Salem is founded on our Bull Deity,’ replied Melchizedek.  ‘I have had words with that Hebrew scholar, Abram.  He assures me Elohim is the true God, and speaks to him.’

‘I don’t trust the man,’ replied Nimrod.  ‘He serves an agenda which will destroy our pantheon one day, and dishonour the gods.’

‘Then you must build a green castle, rather than brick and mortar.  Gardens of delight, to the skies and beyond.  It may appease the wrath of the gods of thunder, fire and blazing fury.’

‘I’m getting old,’ sighed Nimrod.  ‘I am not sure the time I have left for this world.  I fear sheol will soon greet me, and make me rest in its embrace.’

‘Willl you cross the river Styx, then, and sail down into its calm embrace, and be eternally at slumber?’ asked Melchizedek.

‘There is no life beyond that,’ said Nimrod.  ‘It is a fool who believes such things.’

‘Hebrews believe it,’ replied Melchizedek.  ‘They say Elohim is the Lord of the afterworld, and has a heavenly paradise for those who serve him.’

‘The ancient one, Shem, spoke of that,’ replied Melchizedek.  ‘I remember legends of his being spoken when I was young.  Apparently this flood was truth, but we find no evidence.  I think it a tale the fathers invented to entertain us at night.’

‘You likely speak true,’ replied Melchizedek.  But Green Castles will keep you happy in which you can build your fortifications, and enjoy the challenge of a deluge or to.  Surely mighty Babel will not succumb to the wrath of rising waters, or any other such conundrum of the elements.  You sitill will build her proud, one day.’

‘My descendants shall.  I have charged the Chaldeeans to ensure the project goes ahead.  It will be done properly gradually.  And green castles, hanging gardens I thinik, shall bedeck my proud glory, and none shall overcome her, no Hebrew Prophet, or any such speaker of miracles and enchantments.’

‘It shall of course be as you say,’ replied the King of Salem.  ‘It shall of course be as you say.’

The End

Terra

The Anchynte World

(2490-2495 SC)

(Dedicated to Robert E. Howard)

The Darklight

 On the outskirts of Never, lived the Kareesh.  The Kareesh drank water from deep wells, water which came from the heart of creation.  The Kareesh drank this water, and wandered far away from Never, into the desert land.  Into the desert land.

Baltarak was old, and in many ways young again.  King of Armorica in the power of Heaven’s Might, Baltarak had all he wished, and bedded any fair maiden which caught his eye.

But at the bottom of the well of Symbothra, he entered the Never.  And the Never cascaded into the wilderness beneath.  The underground world.

The earth above was red, deep ocreish red, from the ‘Kraad’ sandstone, which took any meagre source of light brought to it and enhanced it, reflected it on eternally.  A torch lit would light the realm e’er.  Nobody doubted this.

Cept the Kareesh.

They believed in the darklight, which would dim the Kraad, and bring darkness again to the underworld.  Yet not in Never did Darklight exist.  So the Kareesh, on manhood, wandered to the desert, having drunk deep water, to search for the Darklight.

So they  might once more sleep.

A wizard had cursed them, to wander forever, in search of the darklight.  And until then they would never rest, for they had offended him greatly.  And, in his own words, ne’er a Kareesh could yet find the Darklight anyway, yet surely it also must be their own.

Baltarak had fallen into the well, and was dead in the heart of Never.  Yet a Kareesh took pity and brought him into his home and nursed him back to health.

‘Truly you are a brother to me,’ swore Baltarak.  ‘I shall find the Darklight as your own, yet not.’

And he drank deeply of the water of Never.

And he searched….

And he searched…

And he found the darklight, beyond the wastelands, in the deepest hole of the deepest pit, a black majestic piece of crystal.

And he returned to his host.

And they placed the darklight in the heart of Never.

And the curse was broken.

And the Kareesh slept once more.

Yet the Wizard knew…

Yet the Wizard knew…

The End

The Darklight 2

The Wizard awoke.

'I'll curse that Baltarak. He shall wander the wastelands, till he is no more.' And the curse was wrathful.

Baltarak's blade fell from his side. 'Ho, why does it fall?' he queried, and looked at his scabbard. Rot had set in and the blade had fallen. He picked up the blade, and looked at it. It was covered in nasty green grime. He tried rubbing it off, but then started coughing.

A week later he was sick, fowl mooded, and in bed. The vomiting had not departed for the last 3 days.

'Ye are cursed,' said Zanzan.

'Curse you and your curse,' replied Baltarak to the Hesdorean.

'Tis the Wizard. His wrath is well known. Only slaying him will end the curse,' replied Zanzan.

Baltarak eyed Zanzan. 'Then a wizard's dead head I'll deliver ye.'

Baltarak, still sick, set out on his steed, but nobody knew where the wizard hid. And then he dreamed one night, and a Kareesh maiden said to him 'The Wizard dwells in Castle Vanity in the heart of Armorica.'

Baltarak travelled, and found Castle Vanity in the middle of a lake, and he swam the waters, and climbed into the tower.

But the wizard was gone, and the castle was bare, and Baltarak vomited once more.

On his travels a few days later he found an old wizard, one he knew from youth, who gave him an elixir, and the curse lifted, but his mood remained fowl.

'I know the wizard ye seek,' said Radfarr, the old wizard. 'He is a fowl student of mine, turned to darkness. Yet, I am afraid, you will not find him with ease. He knows the way of mystery, and dwells in illusion. A tired adventurer you will be before you track him down.'

'Then a tired adventurer I will be,' said Baltarak, and resumed his search.

But he searched Armorica in vain, and a trail to Crossdennia was a dead end, and Baltarak left off his wrath for the time being. For fair Crossdennian maidens beckoned him once more, and Baltarak being Baltarak........

But that is another story.

The End

The Darklight 3

Baltarak looked at the Crossdennian maiden. She was not the most attractive of lasses he'd bedded, by no means. But she was neither plain. Of moderate to decent looks. Marni was, though, a solid sort. He had gotten to know her well over the last few weeks, on hiatus in Crossdennia before resuming his adventures. She was a reliable sort, and faithful to his presence - she was never far away, and seemed to hang on his every word. Very devoted. Men wanted that in a woman. Devotion. The loyal sort. The marrying sort. Naturally the breasts needed to be firm - and large - with good thighs and nice legs. They were requirements in the instinctive list Baltarak carried around in his head in his adventures for the one to settle down with. Perhaps this Marni could be as such.

'Yo, maiden. Where are you?' No sooner had Baltarak spoken those words than Marni came a running.

'Master,' she said, kneeling down at his feet.

'Will ye wash my feet,' he said. 'I have not bathed for a week, and they smell fowl.'

'Of course, my lord,' she replied. As she gathered a bowl and filled it with water, Baltarak watched her steady Crossdennian mannerisms. Noble. She was noble in the way she carried herself, as if she expected much from life and much from the people she associated with. And, perhaps, much in a husband. Yet she liked him, and looking at her, with her decent physique and acceptable looks, he wondered if he would ask her.

'Did you dream?' she asked him, as she washed his feet with the true gentleness and strength of a Crossdennian lady.

'I dreamt of fowl wizards, and strange creatures running around a lake,' he replied.

'Dreams are often portents. And lessons,' she said. 'They speak of what has been and what could be. In symbols and crypticity.'

'Do not baffle me with your fine words. Just wash.' And she smiled at him, and he smiled back.

The weeks turned to months, and he had not left the village, and had been working with the blacksmith to pay his way in the village community. Marni would come and visit him each day, bringing meat and bread, and he would relax at the midday meal, and look fondly upon her. For he had decided to act upon his impulse, for perhaps the time had come to settle down.

It is a shame, when a man has found love, that it is taken from him. For the wizard, the one who had cursed him, found the village, and learnt of Baltarak, and he found out of Baltarak's love for Marni. And, not being seen, he found Marni alone.

'You are his bitch,' he said.

Marni did not respond, but gazed with Crossdennian strength at her adversary.

'Then you will die,' said the wizard.

'Before you kill me, may I know your name?' asked Marni.

The wizard chuckled. 'Why, Merdak, the abominable.'

'Then, Merdak, I curse your name to the fowlest of hells.'

'My fate is sealed,' he said dramatically. 'But I am afraid yours is too.' And he fixed her with a glance, and spoke a word, and she fell over, writhing in pain, and soon it was too much, and the spirit departed.

Baltarak found his love later that day, and when she did not respond to his jesting prodding, he picked her up and looked at her. And then he knew she was dead. The villagers spoke to him, upon finding out, and they spoke of the wizard, and they told him it had been Merdak the Abominable. And that truth settled into the heart of Baltarak.

The hellfire which raged in his eyes would not be appeased any time soon.

The End

The Darklight 4

He tracked the wizard through heat. He tracked the wizard through snow. He tracked the wizard, through rain. He tracked the wizard through clear skies and sunny days. Radfarr rode alongside him as they searched, and the name of Merdak became well known in the world as the wrath of Baltarak the Crossdennian. And then, in the far frozen north, they heard word that a wizard lived in a castle in the frozen crags beyond the village, and apparently it was whispered he was Merdak the Abominable.

'Baltarak, ye are a savage, and I fear the pain Merdak shall suffer at your hands. So look in your heart, and just behead the fool and have done with it.'

But Baltarak just glared back at Radfarr the Wizard.

They found the castle, and Baltarak climbed, and then lowered a rope and dragged up Radfarr. They came inside, and there he was, drunk, sleeping on his throne. A sickly servant looked at them and yelled 'Merdak. Intruders!'

Merdak awoke, but his eyes were bloodshot, and he could do nothing as Baltarak closed in, dragged him to his feet, and held a knife at his throat.

'What do you say before I kill, you abomination?'

Merdak looked into the eyes of wrath, and bowed his head. 'I guess I'm getting what I deserve,' said the wizard, and said nothing more.

Baltarak looked at Merdak, and he thought of his beloved Marni, and her cruel death, and the torments he had been through, and he looked with hatred at the wizard, who did not resist. And then, deep in his heart, he heard a song of his mother, and remembered that his mother loved him. And looking at the wretched creature before him, he realized, in the end, this abomination too had a mother, who even now loved his son.

So Baltarak threw Merdak on his throne, and left the castle by its front entrance, and the name of Merdak the Abominable was heard of again no more.

'Aye, ye are a Crossdennian proud and true,' said Radfarr, as they journeyed homewards.

Baltarak's steely gaze was the only reply.

The End

Pelagus’ Misadventure

‘Master Pelagus.  I have the mule ready, as you requested.’

‘Let us be off then, Tolico.  We shall have this adventure one way or the other.’

So Pelagus and his servant travelled north for a number of weeks, into a dense region, were old tribesmen gave them fierce looks, but let them be.

‘It is here,’ said Tolico.  ‘In this crag there is a way down,’ said the servant.

They dismounted the weary mule, and tied him up to a branch, and climbed the crag, and found the cave which led beneath.  Torches were lit, and they travelled down.  And they came to The Never.

‘It is a place of the underworld, were lost souls are tormented one day,’ said Tolico.  ‘It has been prepared from ancient days by the gods of judgment.  Elysium may be all our destiny if we serve in truth, but I fear Elysium must be counteropposed by the vindication of servants of the gods against those of ill repute and dark choices.’

‘Enough with your morality play,’ replied Pelagus.  What strange light keeps this world lit, I ask?  It is like day, almost, and the earth above us seems hard to discern, lost in mist of haze it would appear.  As if this is a world of its own.’

‘It’s strangely hot,’ said Tolico.  ‘May it in chance be becoming hotter in time, for the judgment of those who fall?’

‘I think it may,’ replied Pelagus.  ‘Now let us complete our purpose.  There are gems and stones here coveted by those from our land.  We shall spend several hours and gather what we may chance find.’

And they searched, and gathered pieces here some and there some, till there sack was full enough in the estimation of Pelagus the scribe.’

‘We shall depart now,’ said Pelagus.  ‘I fear this place, now.  It has a dreadful feel to it.  It is not a place of eternal slumber in any decent reward.’

‘I guess the wicked are to be punished, it would seem,’ replied Tolico.  ‘There broken bones and bodies sweating in wrath of this netherworld.’

‘Elysium’s vengeances must be counter-opposed indeed,’ replied Pelagus.  ‘Let us be gone.’

The adventurers rose, and returned to their mule, and journeyed home.  And none knew of their time in the Nether, as the sands of time rolled on by.

The End

Redemption of the Fallen

‘You smell Semyaza,’ said Tolico.

‘Well the Never is a pretty shitty place, Tollie,’ replied the head of the fallen.

‘Yes,’ sneered Pelagus.  ‘It is.  Lot’s of lovely gems and thing, but these strange beasts before my eyes are indeed a sorry sight.’

‘Yes.  We suck,’ said Urakiba.  ‘We have learned, in this strange new world, our faults, and our shortcomings, and God is glorious, and hallelujah, and we are humbled and, uh, what’s the next line Ramiel?’

‘Uh, we are repentant,’ responded Ramiel.

‘Right,’ nodded Urakiba.  ‘We are repentant dear Tolico.  We have learned from our mistakes.’

‘You sound quite rehearsed,’ stated the servant Tolico quiet honestly.

‘Oh no, let me assure you, we are now honest men.  True and faithful servants of God.  The God of Israel, I have been informed in fact.’

‘Yes,’ sneered Pelagus.  ‘The Jews.  Quite a race of decadent souls.  Given to whoring after the Canaanite deity.  No respect for Jupiter.’

‘Jupiter indeed,’ said Semyaza.  ‘You must tell us all about him.  And show us this way you claim you know to exit this fowl world.  Lead on, master Pelagus.  Lead on.’

‘I am not sure we should trust them,’ whispered Tolico to Pelagus.  ‘They smell bad.’

‘Yes,’ replied Pelagus.  ‘The mules dung is preferable I think, but we shall make a profit, if we are wise, from this bargain.  Tell me, Lord Semyaza or the Fallen Angels, you say.  What’s in it for us?’

‘Riches,’ said Semyaza.  ‘And faithful servants.  We shall be eternally devoted to the house of Pelagus.  This we swear.’

‘Good enough for me,’ replied Pelagus.

And they led them on, out of the Never, and the fallen ones followed them all the way to Rome, were Pelagus put them into his employ, with labour for his guild, and they served faithfully for five years, before Semyaza requested they be allowed to now craft a life once more of their own making.

‘You have honoured your words,’ said Pelagus.  ‘I will remember that Semyaza the angel is a man of honour.’

And their ways parted, and the angels travelled to Mt Zaphon near Syria, and stood atop it.

‘What do we do?’ asked Ramiel.

‘Wait,’ said Semyaza.  ‘If we had not served Pelagus those five years Elohim would disregard any claim we have amended our ways.’

So they waited.  Days passed, and weeks, and finally Michael, casually albeit, showed up.

‘You appear tolerable for return to the Realm,’ stated Michael.  ‘God has judged that you are under a sentence of 15 years of Torah devotion if you insist on returning now.’

‘Fine,’ replied the firstborn of the Cherubim.

And they ascended, and the fallen were redeemed, and life, as they say, went on.

The End

* * * * *

Terra

King Lemuel and the Sultry Maiden

'She's attractive,' said Lemuel.

His mother glared at him. 'Not another one Lemuel. You should know better by now.'

'I haven't bedded as many as you make out the court to believe,' replied the King.

'I'm sure it's more,' said his mother dryly.

'Very amusing old woman,' replied the Monarch.

Lemuel spent a night of passion with the sultry maiden, and took her virginity. In the morning, down the by the pool, she sat there, humbled, playing on a harp, singing to the King.

'I think I should give you the strength of my loins from time to time,' said Lemuel.

'Is that wise, you think, o King? Surely you must take me for one of your wives, having humbled me, o Lord.'

'You are right. It would be the noble thing to do.'

And doing as such Lemuel claimed yet another bride for his Kingdom, and this maiden was delightful to his soul, yet truly it seemed he was not always following his mothers advice, and it seemed it could well be his undoing.

The End

Terra

King Lemuel and the Wrath of Mother

'You should have withdrawn. It would have been wise,' said the mother of King Lemuel.

'A man must follow through with his desires. I had begun the intercourse, and couldn't really say no.'

'So she is pregnant,' rebuked his mother. 'And you haven't yet made an honest woman of her.'

'The wedding is schedules for the new moon,' said the King. 'She is a fine philistine maiden. Delzeabel, daughter of Acrimona. She will be a good one for us. I am sure.'

'You had better be sure of that. What, this is the 17^th wife now. Far too many Lemuel. Your genitals need treatment I would imagine for a severe case of coccylitis.'

'I have no coccylitis,' exclaimed the King. 'I am clean. Both physically and spiritually clean. I am a good son, mother of mine. Your name will not be ruined. The child will be legitimate by its birth. I will make sure of that.'

''See it is as such,' replied the mother of the King.

Being a king of the middle east was never easy. You had all sorts of issues to deal with – treaties, feuds, wars, merchants, fussy clerics. And for Lemuel, king of a state of the old world with a proud heritage, and with a personal inclination for fine maidens, it was a neverending job satisfying his mothers demands for a good reputation. They married on the new moon, as promised, and the child was born later on, and Lemuel held the boy in his arms, smiled at his wife, and his mother, despite her strict ways, relented, and welcomed the new addition into the family.

The End

Terra

 Daniel the Cherubim

(3384 – 3450 SC)

 The prophet Daniel sat down in his abode within the palace of Shushan.  As he had done so for the past several years, he had been composing a series of legends about the ancient kings of old Israel, to the purpose of inspiring his fellow Israelites in exile.  Of course, the list was fictional, mainly intended to inspire and delight others, not meant to be taken as historically correct. Today he had reached the 45th king amongst the great and grand list – the king which bore his own moniker – Olde King Daniel.  Sitting at the desk which Nebuchadnezzar had had made for him, he picked up his quill, dipped it in some ink and, taking a leaf of papyrus, began writing down his latest tale.

‘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 Israel.  ‘45th, huh?’ Gabriel smirked.  ‘Yeah, Michael, 45th.’  ‘But how the heck could he come to such a number.  I mean, the co-incidence is amazing.’  ‘Yes, I know Michael.  Daniel is the 45th of the male Seraphim, and the prophet who bears his moniker has placed him as the 45th king in his tales.’ ‘I think, brother, that our Father has had his influence on this prophet.’  ‘So he is under the influence of the Spirit?’  ‘I would suggest as such,’ responded Michael.  ‘Yet I was under the impression God would not interfere with our human sojourn in any great degree.  I see he has perhaps altered that.’  ‘Not so much altered, but amended.  Anyway, I think,’ said Michael, ‘that we should visit this particular prophet.  To give him particular knowledge of certain future events Father has shared with us.  And I think you should be the one to speak to him Gabriel.’ Gabriel looked at Michael, considering his words, before responding.  ‘That is highly irregular, Michael.  Father always speaks with prophets directly himself through the power of his spirit.  It is why they record their writings in ‘The name of the LORD.’  ‘I know, Gabriel.  So I would ask you to ask this Prophet to not state in any way that these words are the words of the LORD.  Instead state that they are written in the book of truth.’  Gabriel looked at him.  ‘The book of truth?  Do you mean the Torah of truth?’ ‘No, Gabriel.  That is Father’s work.  The book of truth is a work that a number of us Seraphim have been working on.  Davriel, Rophiel and a few others have been collaborating with myself on this work.  We have Father’s permission to undertake this work and it is in harmony with the destiny he has laid out for us.’  Gabriel stared at him, astonished.  ‘But, what is it?  What is this book of truth?’ Michael looked at his brother, considering his words.  ‘I will not share that with you at this time, Gabriel.  There are only 7 of us who are privy to its details.’  Gabriel’s face expressed a look of disappointment, but acceptance as well.  ‘Well, can you tell me who the other 4 Seraphim are?’ Michael thought on his response.  ‘Yes, I suppose.  They are Daniel, Cimbrel, Elenniel and Krystabel.  I will ask you, though, to not ask them for specific details regarding its contents.  They will share what I have shared, but will probably not divulge more than that.  Now, in regards to our Cherubim brother Daniel the prophet, I wish you to share these specific details with him.’  Michael continued then detailing to Gabriel various events which were to take place on earth in relation to the people of the prophet Daniel.

*   *   *   *   *

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 Silver City, located beneath Azion, the Golden City, smirked a little at Samael’s comments.  As Samael had become famous for in the Council of Infinity, that court of law which ruled Azion and Nadrazon, he had displayed scathing and ruthless words of attack – designed to intimidate, thwart and defeat his opponents.  The Council, now, had three major parties.  The Democrat’s, headed by Sandalphon as Chairman of the Party and Samael as Chief Minister of the Party.  There main opponents were the ‘Conservative’ Party who, as time had passed, and some of the Democratic ideals of the Democrats were gradually, in a very conservative fashion though, but gradually looked upon as acceptable in forms of Government.  A main idea based on ‘Democracy’ that the Conservative Party had adopted was the notion of the ‘Republic’.  The Republic was to be a form of Government not necessarily based around just one main leader, but in what the ‘Republican’s’ called a true and proper democratic structure, administered in a hierarchical fashion, with degrees of responsibility and differing roles given to each main minister.  Thus, the Conservatives were often also known as the ‘Republican’ Party.  Logos, in a spirit of generosity and mercy, had allowed as much individual freedom to be displayed amongst the party faithful and, in a philosophy he had developed based on Sandalphon’s democratic ideology, he had called this idea of individual freedom ‘Liberty’ and thus the Republican party were also known as the ‘Liberals’.  Samael often commented that their side of the bench did the real work, especially in developing proper and true democratic ideals – ideals which, under the oppression of the Logos and his authoritarian outlook they had ‘Laboured’ for, and thus adopted the unofficial title of the ‘Labour’ Party as well.

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.

THE GOSPEL OF JESUS

T
So having being born in a humble manger, the son of Mary and Joseph, Jesus grew up and was well known as a godfearing child of a holy Jewish family. Jesus was strong in the Lord and loved his father Joseph and his mother Mary with all his heart. He worked with his father as a Carpenter and carefully learned all the ways of the trade. He was quick to pay attention to even the most minor of details and would listen faithfully as Joseph instructed him in the ways of Jewish living and being holy towards God.  
Jesus cried greatly when Joseph died, and when they were at the grave his mother Mary said 'Fear not, dear Jesus. For your father has gone to heaven to be with his heavenly father, the father of us all. Remember that dear son. God is your father, and he loves you greatly.'  
'I will remember,' responded the boy Jesus.  
As Jesus grew, he grew strong in the faith, and was full of courage. The Holy Spirit of God watched over him, instructing his mind and teaching him the proper ways of godly conduct and how to teach men the way of the Gospel of God. The Holy Spirit blazed in the young man Jesus' heart, and as he worked and grew everyone in Nazareth thought of him as a most special and gifted child of God. But there was something different about him. Something different his mother Mary noticed. He was special, was Jesus, as the Angel Gabriel had told her. He was special and had a gift - a gift for all men in Israel and, one day, to the ends of the world. And as he continued to grow in learning, wisdom and understanding, Mary knew she must share her son's message to be a Holy Mother to the world, to spread the message of God's beloved peacemakers, children of God, children of peace, bound together in bonds of love, and unity.  
   

Jesus was chatting with Nicodemus one day.  
'Why do your disciples call you the Son of God,' he asked Joseph's son.  
Jesus replied 'Did not the prophet Malachi teach that we all have one God, the Father of us all?'  
'Yes, yes he did,' responded Nicodemus.  
'And did not Moses write in Exodus that Israel, as a people, are God's firstborn son?'  
'Exodus 4:22 I believe,' responded the knowledgeable Nicodemus.  
'So wherefore are the Pharisees so uppity in their defiance of a son of Israel who righteously claims his God-given inheritance? They and their holy Hashem. Does not scripture even degree God prefers to be called by his real name? Nay, the Pharisees distance the people from God and put him on a pedestal when he is all of ours loving heavenly father.'  
'True,' responded Nicodemus.  
'Yet I will say more than this. Are not the gentiles children of Noah, our father also, and is not the God of the Rainbow covenant also their God? For he is the heavenly father of all the children of men who seek his name and his glory. For a nation which does not know God shall drink new spiritual wine and likewise call upon the presence of the Almighty.'  
And Nicodemus was amazed.  
   
'Why do they call you Messiah?' Nicodemus asked Jesus.  
'Have you read Jeremiah chapter 33?' asked Jesus in response.  
'In younger years,' responded the member of the Sanhedrin.  
'It is clear,' continued Jesus, that not just one King of Judah fulfilled the Messianic role. For after the prophet declares Zedekiah the Messiah, the one whose name means 'The LORD our righteousness', he reminds us that David shall never lack a man upon the throne. For their are many Messiahs, and the Governor of Judah, my ancestor Zerubbabel, likewise fulfilled the role of Isaiah 11. For did not God grant Zerubbabel his signet ring as Haggai reminds us. And did not the prophet Zechariah teach that Zerubbabel would prosper by the Spirit of the LORD? For God's anointing was verily upon him.'  
'But why do they call you Messiah?' asked Nicodemus.  
'Psalm 89 teaches us that David's house fell. For such was the warning from God to Solomon. And Zerubbabel could only aspire so high for his generation. Why should the son of Joseph think more highly of himself? For those who abase themselves shall be exalted and those who exalt themselves shall be abased. A son of David knows his own heart, and my Christhood is of love, for what more Glory can I seek than that?'  
And Nicodemus considered his words.  
   
'So, you know all things do you?'Peter asked Jesus cautiously.  
'The Son of God is a revelation in and of himself. One day you may know what that means.'  
'Why do you speak with Nicodemus in private, Rabbi?'  
'A gentle heart has Nicodemus. And of the Sanhedrin he is. He is accustomed to special treatment.'  
'Yet God respects no man?' queried Peter.  
'And a wise heart knows when to go both with the grain...'  
'And against it,' finished Peter.  
'There will come a time my friend when the Sanhedrin will not always be so accommodating to the likes of us. Meekness is not unwise at the moment. A dark day approaches.'  
'You say that. But what do you mean?'  
'I have made it clear,' responded Jesus.  
They continued on the road and they reached Emmaus. 'A place of retreat,' said Jesus softly, though Peter heard him.  
Jesus turned to Peter. 'The church throughout the ages is special to me. Francis the First, who father speaks of, is the end of an era in many ways. The end of Christian zeal for the holy. By then the church has become what it will remain, and the liberties it allows it will allow and continue so and the strictness it maintains it will maintain and continue so. A prophet will teach an end of these High Priests with Francis.'  
'Yet the line will go on?' asked Peter.  
'Till the end of the age,' responded Jesus of Nazareth.  
'How long will the church age last?' asked Peter.  
'How long is a piece of string?' responded Jesus, a soft smile on his face.  
'Very funny, master,' responded Peter.  
'You are my first high priest in a very long line, Cephas. Upon your shoulders you must bear a nation.'  
'Yet how will I carry them all?' asked Peter perplexed.  
'You need not worry, for I will be carrying you.'  
Peter smiled.  
'Peter.'  
'Yes master?'  
'Feed my lambs.'  
And they spake not again that afternoon.  
   
'Worship the Son of Man if ye must, for I know ye will,' and his disciples took that as approval. Later Peter spoke with Jesus in private. 'What did you mean? Who then should we worship?'  
'The Son of Man came to worship God, not himself.'  
'But who then should we worship?' asked Peter.  
'Is it not Jehovah the Father of Glory,' said Jesus coldly, yet he forbade Peter to speak of the matter with the other disciples.  
A little later Jesus shared a parable with his disciples. 'The Son of a grand and glorious king was sent by his father on a mission to spread his message of a kingdom of love far and wide. Yet the Son was so successful they received him as their Glory rather than the heart of love which had commisioned him. Tell me, who deserves the glory?'  
And they talked among themselves and, as one, praised the son for his great success. Yet Jesus looked at Peter, who nodded softly in response.  
   
'And you really believe yourself the Christ?' asked Nicodemus.  
'Do you know better than I?' responded Jesus.  
'We know who our Christ is. God shows him to us.'  
'Then you are mistaken,' said Jesus.  
'And for that we will likely suffer, I suppose,' responded Nicodemus.  
Jesus said nothing.  
   
In a meeting of the Sanhedrin.  
'He knows. He has been told,' said one.  
'Deep down, perhaps,' said Nicodemus.  
'He has authorized his own death,' said another. 'His claims of Sonship climb in his followers every day. To divine ideas. He must be rebuked.'  
Nicodemus remained silent.  
The High Priest spoke, 'This Jesus of Nazareth is also a child of Israel. Yet none of us, Nicodemus, is exempt from our proper respect for the holy one upon high. Not even this Jesus of Nazareth.  
And Nicodemus silently agreed.  

'So thou art Christ, art thou?' Nicodemus asked Jesus. 'My fellows speak of a Messiah to come, but I know the Scriptures. I know the teachings of Isaiah and Haggai and Zechariah and others. The Governor, Zerubbabel, he led Israel back from exile and established the second temple. He is indeed the Messiah, though few confess him.'

Jesus nodded, and handed Nicodemus a glass of wine, taking a sip from his own glass.

'This is a good gathering,' said Judas Iscariot. 'The wine is good.'

'Drink well, friend,' said Jesus, looking at his betrayer, knowing his wily ways. He turned to Nicodemus. 'You know the prophecies of Jeremiah?'

'Indeed I do,' replied Nicodemus.

'He promised that God would always make a King in David's line available. In every generation. If one should seek that glory, than King he would be.'

'Yes. I suppose,' replied Nicodemus.

'These are my followers,' said Jesus, indicating those gathered in the room. 'And there are yet more besides. What more acknowledgement do you require?'

'Yet they revere you as a very god,' said Nicodemus.

Jesus spoke quietly in the ear of Nicodemus. 'And for that, one day, the ecclesia will suffer, and lose faith, and descend into Sheol. Yet a wise remnant will remain, and know the truth of my humanity, and with them I shall be friends, and teach Gospel Truth, and have true fellowship. They shall know my true self in those days.'

'As you say,' replied Nicodemus, gazing steadily at the man from Nazareth.

The Gospel of Tarcisius

Do you think there is a resurrection in the future, Nicodemus asked Jesus one day. Jesus looked at the Rabbi. Some say I am the Christ. I descend from Zerubbabel, who built the second temple. Surely my bloodline is messianic. What do you think? Nicodemus considered that. It is true. Zerubbabel has been considered a messianic figure. Art thou of the House of Christ, then? Jesus replied, It could well be. In my deeds and actions I follow the exmple of the prophets in their utterances. I attempt to be Christ-Like, and follow the figure the Son of God truly should. This has been the purpose of my Gospel ministry in many ways. A son of Israel, with God, who is our heavenly father, as Malachi the prophet teaches. If King David, as the psalm recalls, can be called the firstborn Son of God, should not I, Jesus of Nazareth, with a comprehensive ministry of Gospel truth, should not I, descendant of David, descendant of Zerubbabel, attempt to be Christ, if such a thing were available. I can not say with absolute truth that I am Christ, but I know my disciples often think this, and at times I do not disuade them from that, as I do like the glory of the idea. Who wouldn't? A Christ could be born in every generation, couldn't he? Jeremiah taught that there would always be available to the House of Israel someone to sit on the throne of King David, and for Levitical priests to offer sacrifices. I am attempting that idea – to be the Levitical Priest and Christ of David, and offer my own life in sacrifice. Is that noble? Or is it vanity? And the sacrifice I offer is my own life, and my own ministry, and my heart, flesh, blood and soul. I offer it for my followers, a dear bride to me, for such is my love and affection for them. It is birthed, these truths, in scriptural principles. In ideas of the Holy Torah. It may not be the purpose of the Torah in every way, but it has been a source of inspiration for these ideas none the less, even if in my own way and own understanding which I do pray is acceptable to God, as I pray the words of my mouth and meditation of my heart always will be. These words I say to you, they are inspired from the Covenant of God, the Rainbow itself is a heart of my words in my own way, for even in Holy Noah do I find inspiration and words of truth. But what can I say? Maybe I am a heretic, Nicodemus. A poor fool. A Christ complex perhaps, and nothing more. But, if in my foolishness I can draw men to God, and give them life and meaning, and be a holy way to the Father, perhaps such a fool I should become? How do you say? Nicodemus looked at him. Can we not all be holy fools at time, dear Jesus of Nazareth. We are only human, aren't we? Only human. Jesus stood there. A resurrection is a possibility. I can not say with absolute certainty, for the scriptures are the true word of God, but I sometimes ask how Isaiah came to his words, and whether his own heart had much of a say in the making of things. Perhaps resurrections of the dead in a future kingdom of Glory can not really, truly be. And life, this thing called life, just rolls on and on, through time, world without end. Amen. But maybe, just maybe, in the dim and distant future, at the end of the Age, maybe then there will be a resurrection of the dead. Maybe I will be received in glory that day, when God Almighty judges mankind, and the trumpet rings out and the holy angels call God's own chosen people home, who have served him throughout the age. It is something I shall teach, a second coming if you like, to my followers, and I think I shall, for I shall defend what the scriptures say, regardless, for verily they must be kosher, mustn't they? But of the truth of things, well, what is truth? What is truth? And they sat, and watched the Jordan flow on by, and were at peace in the heart of the Kingdom of God.

Caiaphas spoke to Nicodemus. This Jesus. He is not the Christ. He is a charlatan, parading his Israelite status as God's son with us, as if he was in Egypt itself under the wrath of Pharaoh. Nicodemus responded, yet, I think, Malachi and his teaching is true enough in our generation. Each generation does not always follow faithfully the righteousness of that before it, but at times we learn new ideas and our own truths. Perhaps this Gospelator, Perhaps this Gospelarian, this Jesus, has ideas which might suit us in time. Caiaphas shrugged. What of it? A man from Nazareth is hardly schooled in the wisdom of Jerusalem. Nicodemus replied, yet all Israel has its Torah and all Israel can learn the ways of the Mighty one upon high. Caiaphas said again, He is not Christ. He is a troublemaker, and we will make a sure end of him. Nicodemus replied, something tells me he is already aware of that, and provokes you to do as such. He fancies himself a sacrifice for sins, or an example of serving God for salvation of others to the very giving up of your own life, such being the dedication. Caiaphas thought on that. An interesting idea. Human sacrifice is not quite what God is looking for, but if the fool wishes to parade in front of Israel with his congregation for the next thousand years, then such will he do, I suppose. Nicodemus replied, it will go on? This Church? Caiaphas replied, we shall not be rid of his Gospel or message or followers any time soon at all. He has dug in deep. He has affected souls. He has taught his message with authority and power, and they shan't forget him any time soon. Nicodemus looked at Caiaphas. You don't like the man. Caiaphas replied, he is not to my taste of things. I find him arrogant. Conceited. He rubukes us pharisees and scribes as if he is the apple of God's eye. As if he is the font of all Torah knowledge, the Logos of God, I think they call him at times. Philo's message. If he had a bone of humility he would end his charade, repent, follow Torah, and leave the wisdom of God to Solomon and others properly trained. Nicodemus replied, so you say Caiaphas. So you say. Caiaphas spoke up. When this Prodigal Son of Israel finally acknowledges the wisdom of Torah, and gets over thinking he must be the one to set a new standard from his gospel, verily he doth say, to enter the Kingdom of God, then he will find his grounding and his truth. The Torah is the wisdom and stability of God in a world full of idolatry and hedonism. When our child Jesus finally realizes this truth, and abandons his vision of a Kingdom Divine, he will find his salvation. Nicodemus considered that. We have teachers, yet, who speak wisdom also in our generation, and the Torah can grow and can be enriched. Maybe Yeshua has something to say to us. A wine which is new really needs to be matured for many years, and it may take two thousand years or so before this gospel wine finally has enough wisdom to be understood by our community. Or it may take two thousand more. Maybe he shall be Christ in Glory, or fool supreme. But I will give the lad a chance to prove himself, and when I part this world, I will watch for any second coming of the glorious Jesus of Nazareth. Caiaphas smiled. Pigs will fly in the heavens before such occurs, I am sure. Nicodemus chuckled. So you say Rabbi. The Prodigal Son of Israel may be wasting his Gospel without refining it, if he doth verily face the cross of his fantasy, for if he had the patience to mature and wait till a greater age, say 40 or so, when deeper wisdom can be learned, and had children, he would be more revered than the miracle worker that he is known as. Yet, in the end, one day I think he will be one of us, and his Church will be with us in one way or the other, and then we may perchance drink of this spiritual wine of the Gospel, and verily find if there is wisdom indeed within. Caiaphas grinned. Getting drunk on the wine of Nazareth is not my style either, I will declare. In Judea they grow the best grapes, for who would drink from the vine of Galilee? Only a fool I tell you. Nicodemus replied, Yet we are one people, one Israel, with one God and father over us all. Even Nazareth must speak its mind on what it thinks wisdom divine. Even Nazareth must. Caiaphas poured himself a drink of wine and looked at Nicodemus. If you say so, Nicodemus. If you say so.

Jesus spoke with Peter. A rock is hard, Cephas. Don't let Satan delude you. Be hard. Be rock. Peter replied, I've served you this far. If I need to the foundation stone of your church itself, I will do the work, if that is what you want of me. But what do you want of me? Jesus replied, holiness. Purity. Goodness. Teaching modesty of behaviour to the church, for a husband to respect his wife, and a wife to serve her husband as Eve served Adam, in all godly humility. I do not say to you do not kill. I say this to you, why should you be so proud in yourself that you have refrained from murder. It is a rather basic code to boast I haven't killed anyone. Surely you can do better than that. Not, not only do not murder or kill somebody, but give them a break and forgive them, and help them in life. Be hospitable to them. It is a hard saying, charity, and it costs us of ourselves. And I want perfection, for God is perfect, perfect in his love, and perfect in his charity. I know, in my heart, you will be lukewarm at times, and I really should spit you out of my mouth because of it. But you know, when you ask for forgiveness I will give it to you. How can I not. You will feed my sheep, you will shepherd them, you will be faithful to them, and even in your cold and hard and dead times, one thing I do know, they will not kill very much at all. It shall be rare in the church. I know we will have a decent code of holiness in the end, and that the church will keep faith in truth and God and holiness, and not descend to sodomite behaviour, and refrain from murder and violence. Yet I know their humanity also, as God knew those destroyed in the flood. But shepherd them I say to you and when you teach them not to kill, teach them to love also, for that is the heart of the Gospel. It is the only rule, in many ways. Love. For it covers a multitude of sins. And those who love deeply and truly will not kill, and they would not covet and steal others cherished belongings, because they love them, and in the church we are family and we are one, and we share things because of that love. And if the church does sin I will pray to the Father to forgive you, for you are but sons of men, and not divine sons of God. And ensure you teach abstinence of things offered to idols, for we serve the true God, and not a dumb piece of wood or stone. And of blood, we should not partake of creatures strangled, and eating the blood of animals can not be good, for the heart of the covenant of Noah forbids such things. Do not abuse a man, and take him from his place in life, where God has his stationed with his family and his love, his work in life in serving the Kingdom of God and his righteousness, for kidnapping is no lawful or holy behaviour, and how can a man who is my follower ever think that I, in the standards of holiness I desire, how can he ever think I would allow such a vile thing as kidnapping, or other lawless behaviours. You and I know truly the law is holy and good, and there is so much wisdom therein, so much to be trusted and followed and a life built upon. And we should always study the scriptures and learn from them, and in loving God and your Neighbour, the very way you cherish your own soul, so much of the heart of the Torah is taught. And that is the new commandment I give you Peter. That you shall love others as I have loved you. Strive for the church, for salvation comes from Israel, and I send you into the world, with the commission of the gospel, to teach mankind and the fallen gentiles the way of God, and the light which God placed in Israel. For we proselytise and we missionize and we seek out the lost sheep of all the children of Adam and Eve, to build the Kingdom Divine, the Everlasting Kingdom of God, for the glory of Jehovah, for the glory of his love, and for the glory of everlasting life. Peter replied, I shall not fail you.

Why do you say you are wiser than Solomon? Asked Nicodemus to Jesus. Jesus replied, Solomon was a ninny. He was faithless. He knew the Lord, and his glory, yet went astray later in life. The proverbs of Israel are great wisdom, which can never be doubted, and all righteous Israelites do well to study and base their life on such truths of human nature and human society, but I know in the heart of my heart, I shan't stray from God this life. Torah is in me and Gospel has enriched me, and I know I serve the Father from heaven itself, and am truly one with him, for I seek the lost as God sends the prophets to seek the lost, and the Gospel has a heart for the poor and lost and downtrodden souls. These are the riches of love, and those who love God are known by God and know the riches of God's mercy and the riches of God's love, for God is love. And I have surrendered to this Gospel, and made my life empty of glory, abasing myself in humility, to teach those of Israel who hear my voice the Love of God, and search the heart of mankind for all who want and desire this love. And on this the Church will be built, and will endure, and the gates of hell shall not conquer it, for it is wiser than the wisdom of Solomon, even though his truths are equally as eternal. Nicodemus again asked, The Torah, the Law. Should we not obey this? Jesus replied, if you must observe all rules in legalism, then that is what you shall do, but I know the frailties of every heart, for who can ever say they have not sinned? Nay, all have sinned and fallen short of the glory of God. So strive for every rule, and obey every jot and tittle, and eternally justify yourself on this legalism if that is what ye must do, but have a perspective at least. You are not God, and you are not perfect Nicodemus, so which is easier to say, death to that soul for that sabbath violation, or I forgive you, and go and sin no more? Which is wiser to teach, I ask you? Nicodemus replied, I see your point, Jesus. I understand your teaching on this issue. Jesus replied, God desired mercy more than sacrifice, he did teach the prophets. Who am I to dispute the will of God? Are they not the very words of Jehovah himself. So why do the scribes and pharisees condemn me for teaching the heart of what God himself teaches? I charge them with hypocrisy time and time again for the miss so many of the points of the Torah, to justify their own legal codes, and their own legalistic ways of doing things, and they make their boast therein. The Church shall be truer to the Torah in the end, that is what my heart and soul and mind tell me, and what I attempt to justify. Nicodemus replied, And if you fail? Jesus looked at him. Well, I am only human, aren't I? I guess that God shall verily have to forgive me then, as I forgive others. But I see the heart of his will, which I serve, and the Kingdom of God will grow through the church on this truth.

Andrew was speaking with Thomas. You know, Andrew, Jesus is hard to believe. I think he really thinks he's the Christ. Andrew smiled. Well, isn't he Thomas? Thomas replied. I doubt it. Unless I saw some sort of sign, some irrefutable proof, I just would not believe it in the end. He calls me doubting Thomas, which is his quirky humor. I have been following him a while now, and still the Son of Man mocks me, and calls me little of faith. Andrew grinned, O ye of little faith Thomas. You'll work it out. Thomas replied. He took me aside, once. Last year. For a week. And he taught me a whole Gospel full of ideas. I will have that one day. The Gospel of Thomas, teaching the wisdom of Jesus. You other apostles will obviously reject it, for Jesus told me as such, but it also will go on forever, for heaven and earth may pass away, but the words of Jesus will never pass away. Andrew looked at him. The Gospel of Thomas? I doubt ye even call him Christ. Thomas replied, and maybe I shall not. He may end up the very Lord and God of my heart and faith, but he may never really be Christ to me regardless. To me, blessed are the solitary and the elect, for they are the ones who have their hearts in the Kingdom of God, like Jeremiah formed in the womb, and they shall return to it. My own dear Assembly, the Assembly of the Gospel of Thomas. That is our heart and spirit. Andrew replied, wise indeed. Almost as if they are verily predestined for such glory. Thomas replied, and perhaps they were, and perhaps God knows the end from the beginning, as the Prophet teaches, and perhaps Jesus knows that, for through my own studies I certainly do. Andrew replied, Jeremiah was called to plant Kingdoms and uproot Kingdoms, through the ministry of the Word of God, taught through the Holy Spirit. And Jehovah used Jeremiah to do as such in wisdom and truth, and I delight in studying that prophets words, as the Church likewise should always rejoice in studying, but I ask you, Thomas, will you plant Kingdoms and overthrow Kingdoms through your mighty Gospel? At first I doubt it, but maybe one day you shall. Maybe one day. Thomas smiled in response. Maybe one day, dear brother in the Lord. Maybe one day.

The End

The Olde World

 Skandar the Wise

Skandar had a well developed sense of humour. He understood his fellow tribesman, and when they asked for swords, the blacksmith made swords. When they asked for shields the blacksmith made them shields, and when they asked for a dagger to shove up his arse, which many of the husbands of deflowered daughters verily boasted upon his lascivious personage, he told them where they could shove their daggers. Skandar was a proud dark age citizen, and collected things. Things like different designs of mugs the town potter crafted, using her imagination regularly for unique designs. Also things like coins, which had of late come into great fashion through the world, and he’d a fair number of foreign coins now, which he accepted for coinage in his trade, the village being at a crossroads of cultural trade, and he viewed them most regularly, his bastard 15 year old saying they were ‘fab’. But most of all Skandar collected virgins, of which he delighted in their defloration. He was a scoundrel sound and true. One day the village wizard decided it was time for justice. There was presented to Skandar’s forge a lovely young 15 year old, blonde and beautiful.
‘Aye, ye are a looker, lass. Up for a shag?’
‘Twould be lovely,’ responded the fair maiden.
So they shagged in the back of his forge, then the spell was broken. It was in fact the grisly and ancient Gwertel the Witch who he had been shagging, and he verily vomited quite abruptly.
‘Aye, hag. Ye’ve had the best of me,’ commented Skandar.
‘Same time next week?’ she asked.
Skandar, wisely, did not reply.

The End

The Seal of Knowledge

'Gwertel, you are a witch of ill repute,' said Skandar.
'Let me tell you a story, which concerns the Enchanted Forest, and an adventure you might partake of,' said the haggard old Jezebel. 'When the worlde was young, Shem and Japheth formed a pact, and asked father Noah for a drop of his blood, which was placed on a rag. And then they ventured west from Ararat, and taking with them a shield, they came to the Enchanted forest, and built a cairn of stones. It is the same cairn I visit in the centre of the forest. And in the middle of the shield, covered with praise of God, they had a cup of metal, in which they placed the drop of Noah's blood, and they praised God and prayed for 3 days, fasting all the while. And then Japheth was agreed upon to form a hidden priesthood, kept in the druids and astrologers and witches secret lore, and they formed the seal of knowledge. Moses the lawgiver was approached in his teens in Pharaos court, and a drop of blood obtained by a wisened old wizard, and likewise our lord Jesus also. Twas Constantine who provided the final drop of blood, the lore of Roma in his essence poured forth, and likewise added to the seal of knowledge, which lies in the cairn, in the centre of the Enchanted forest.'

Skandar, when he was alone later that week, packed his provisions, and ventured to the cairn, and found the seal of knowledge. And he cut his finger, and poured a drop of his blood into the cup.

And the Angel of the Lord appeared, and granted Skandar the knowledge of the Ancients, and thenceforth he formed shields and swords and daggers of even greater and more cunning perplexity, and became the most famed blacksmith of all Europa. And his legend, and his arts, and his designs live on to this very day.

The End

Adam

'Adam was a blacksmith,' said Skandar the Wise.

'Nonsense,' replied Grotlock, the village wizard. 'He was a sorcerer.

'And Eve was a Witch,' said Gwertel, grinning out through her missing front teeth.

'Ye gods,' said Grotlock. 'If she was as horrendous as your vile image it is a surprise mankind was ever sired.'

'I'm sure she was lovely,' said Skandar. ' But I say again old fool, he was a blacksmith. It is the most noble of professions, fitting for the most exalted amongst us.'

'Making tin cans and dodgy swords,' said Grotlock. 'I fear the first man would laugh at such diabolical pretensions of greatness.'

'Bah, fool,' said Skandar.

'I am sure he was a chieftain,' said Vitalrix, the village chief. 'He led the early ones of mankind, and was king amongst them. I am sure of this.'

'That may well be the case,' replied Skandar. 'For what blacksmith is not, in truth, a chieftain. A king amongst men.'

'A tinker of faulty nails and knives which can not cut through butter,' snidely commented Grotlock.

'By the mages of the Enchanted forest you are a grisly old one, aren't you,' said Skandar, glaring at the old wizard. 'I am sure magic then was as illegal and immoral as it is to this very day.'

'Yet our whole forest relies on its enchantment for its protection,' said Gwertel the witch proudly. 'And Eve cast spells aplenty I do say.'

'Bah,' said Skandar, and left the village inn for work was a calling for the afternoon.

He beat away at his forge, and, thinking, wondered what indeed the first man did to occupy his time. Did he fight dragons, and kill goblins, and slay fowl trolls? Was he the wisest of all men, knowledge of God himself? Or, in the end, was he a simple farmer, of a simpler day, when witches and wizards and blacksmiths had yet to be invented? He was sure, in the fullness of time, he would find out. One way or another. But for now he pretended the first man a blacksmith, and whistled away a tune, working another day of life in the mysterious and wonderful Enchanted Forest.

The End

The End

The Heir Apparent

Gwertel. The village witch. Witch of the dreaded Coven of Darkness of the Enchanted forest. Respected. Feared. Disdained. Mocked. One of the many of the Mages of Darkness of the Enchanted forest, female and male, who hid away from the rest of Europa, in the large dark forest, protected by spellery, to preserve their kind in a world were the Pope in Rome ruled, and witches and the like were put to death. Gwertel had with her her protege. The Heir apparent to her position in the village. The young and comely, and quite buxom, Darlentra. Darlentra was in training, learning the ways of witchery, and paying keen attention to the wisdom and lore of her feared and respected elder.
'Remember,' said Gwertel. 'Those muggles beyond the Enchanted Forest have no true appreciation of our arts. We are a hunted kind, a feared kind. Ancient Merlin of Britannia, when he doth visit us, reminds us often that Kings like Arthur, who had mercy, are these days few and far between in Europa, so keep to our sacred forest, and leave her naught, less the need be of dread import.'
Darlentra nodded obediently.
'I like you, Darlentra. Now pay attention. Last week you were instructed in the making of a health spell, to reawaken the passions and libido of youth. I have all the reagents here before you. Prepare the spell.'
'I shall endeavour to accomplish your wishes,' responded the beautiful Darlentra.
Gwertel watched as Darlentra busied herself, almost wanting to intervene at times when she put a little bit to much of this ingredient in the brew, and little to little of that, and had grave questions when the young witch went to the back of her abode and retrieved an odd looking bottle which she no longer remembered what was filled with, and poured it in quite liberally. The spell brewed a while, and Darlentra indicated it was ready. Gwertel took a sip. After a moment she smiled, but then, first, she belched. 'Deary me,' she said. 'Then she farted,' and the stench was quite fowl. 'Oh my,' said Gwertel. And then she held her stomach, said 'Oh dear,' and proceeded to vomit up last night's fowl stew. When she had recovered she looked at Darlentra. 'Perfect,' she said smiling. Darlentra seemed pleased.
'Now remember, young witch. Skandar the wise would bed every fair maiden this village, nay Europa, has, if he could have his way. Give not into his vile temptations.'
'Nay, I shan't,' replied Darlentra, thinking on the blacksmiths muscles.
'And that old fool Grotlock. He is a nasty old Sorcerer. Beware his hand, for he will have you on this and that task of his own, should he get the chance, and ye will never have rest.'
'I will remember,' said Gwertel.
'And always be ready to serve the village, for our keep and wellbeing depends on them.'
Darlentra smiled obediently.
Gwertel smiled back, through her missing front teeth.
'Now, after that toxic gruel, I think I am in the mood for mushrooms,' said the witch to her young apprentice.
'You and your mushrooms,' said Darlentra. 'I fear they will be the death of you.'
'Nonsense and poppycott,' replied Gwertel. 'I have years left in me. Now where is that basket of mine?'
And so, the two witches, looking around the house for Gwertel's basket, got on with their lives, and another day passed in the life of the Enchanted Forest.

The End

The Mushroom King

Galdon was king of the Mushrooms. He had stem spasms occasionally, and was showing his age. His coloration was not the best. Living in ‘Musroomia’ was a pleasant life — 5 millions mushrooms, and not a rabbit in sight — the dread enemy. Galdon usually stood his ground in the centre of the mushroom patch — as a mushroom you didn’t normally travel very far — and he surveyed his kingdom each day and night with pride. The other mushrooms paid homage to their king, praising his benevolence and his magical abilities to keep the dread rabbits from invading their kingdom. Life passed by each year, and the mushrooms aged with grace, until one fine day, Gwertel, the witch, was out looking for mushrooms to make mushroom stew, and stumbled upon a part of the enchanted forest she had never been to before. The mushrooms all shivered, as Gwertel decapitated them one by one. Finally, Galdon standing alone, he faced his adversary. ‘I curse thee wicked witch. We shall have the last laugh.’ And then he was cursing no more.
Ironically they did have the last laugh. Gwertel got sick on the mushrooms, which turned out to be a poisonous breed of toadstools in the end, and she died, and was buried by her coven, laid to rest in a formerly happy mushroom kingdom.

The End

The Archangel Raguel

'I am the Archangel Raguel,' said the shining Seraphim.

Skandar gazed at the glory before him. 'What forth, my lord, does thou comest to my humble workplace for?'

'A Seal is in thee. And in thy seed,' said Raguel. 'The name of Darvanius is well known to us, Skandar Darvanius, and I have come to speak wisdom to thee to guide thee.'

Skandar Darvanius bowed, and asked 'The Seal of Knowledge. Late Gwertel taught me of it. What is its purpose?'

'It is a Seal of Power. For a chosen purpose,' said Raguel. 'A special destiny. One day, in the dim and distant future, a child shall be born among thy descendants. On a cold and bitter morning. And the world shall fear him, and his name shall be great. And he shall rule in triumph and he shall rule in glory. But there will be those who oppose him, so steady thyself son of Adam, for much instruction on wisdom and wealth does thou require still yet. We know of thy growing skills and talent, for the Seal is the wisdom of the ages. And we shall bless that skill and we shall bless that talent, for it is a glory bestowed on you, and the Most High would see you not squander it in vanity.'

Skandar bowed. 'Teach me Mighty Angel.'

And so Raguel, in appearance to the villagers nothing but a bedraggled vagrant, taught Skandar, and guided him in both his craft, and guided him in his knowledge of the world, and taught him those things necessary. For one day a mighty child of Darvanius would arise in the world. And who would not know of his fear, and who would not know of his wrath?

The End

Gwen of Locksley

'It is the year 1200 AD. And Christ's return is yet imminent. And, while father Robin reluctantly allowed me to go forth, a woman of passion, yet still a maiden, with ye on your travels to enlarge my world, I am not sure, dear Merlin, I like this dreadful place. I smell magic everywhere. I smell it on you all the time also.'

'Aye, it is an Enchanted forest, dear Gwen Locksley, daughter of the Hooded One,' replied Merlin the Magician. 'But fear not. I shall protect thee.'

'I do hope so,' replied Gwen. 'These villagers. I can not say I understand a word of their language, despite the best of your instructions, but they are so different. A smile on a face, a chuckle, I see quite constant. As if they are all amused by the happiness in life.'

'They are a merry sort,' replied Merlin. 'But come. The village chieftain, Vitalrix, has invited us to dinner.'

And so, leaving the village in on a miserable and wet afternoon, Gwen, daughter of Robin of Locksley, the hooded one, far away from home, and in the company of an ancient figure known myseriously as Merlin, who apparently knew King Arthur, walked out into the rain, put on her own hood, and came to the biggest dwelling of the village, the apparent abode of its chieftain, Vitalrix.

A lady met them and ushered them in, and soon enough they were around a fireplace, eating broth, with the chieftain gazing upon fair Gwen, for she was quite comely. The chieftain spoke with Merlin, and smiled at Gwen.

'What did he say?' asked Gwen.

'It is - of no import,' replied Merlin.

Yet Vitalrix spoke at length, and Merlin finally turned to Gwen Locksley. 'He is very impressed with you. You are quite a fair maiden, in his own words.'

'Wonderful,' replied Gwen.

'He also asked, putting it bluntly, if you are up for a quick shag.'

Gwen stared at Merlin, shocked, and then looked at the chieftain. He was practically leering at her.

'By Jesus Christ's holy cross,' said Gwen. 'Tell the leech to bed a goat.'

Merlin spoke to the chieftain, who chuckled, and replied.

'He said,' began Merlin. 'He hasn't bedded a goat since his teenage years.'

The look on Gwen's face said it all.

The End

Babylon

'Babylon. It is all father goes on about. We are at war with whore Babylon, this beast of Islam, as he calls it. And crusade away they all do, fighting the Saracens. Men. They are all the same. You know it's been like this ever since Nimrod built that damn tower of Babel,' said Gwen Locksley. 'Unite mankind and build a tower. Wonderful idea for unity and everything, but the fool does it in pride, and the Angel of the Lord comes down and scatters mankind and divides our tongues. Why I can't understand these blasted villagers.'

'Wasn't it the Lord himself who came down and scattered them all?' asked Merlin.

'Same difference. The Angel bears his name. Bears his authority. The power of God is in the Lord Michael, and he does God's will implicitly.'

'The Lord Michael,' repeated Merlin. 'Fascinating.'

'I wish I was in Babylon,' said Gwen. 'Living amongst the beautiful hanging gardens. Having tea with Nebuchadnezzar, and debating prophecy with prophet Daniel.'

'Prophet Daniel?' asked Merlin.

'A child of Judah. Of the nobility,' replied Gwen.

'I see,' said Merlin, continuing to eat his breakfast.

'But Babylon is all men. And all pride, now,' said Gwen. 'Islam. The new religion. The religion of the prophet. Indeed. Yes, I am sure that El Shaddai approves of them.'

'Jehovah is concerned for all mankind, is he not?' asked Merlin.

'If you want to call him that. Not sure if that is who he really is. Think it a Jewish thing really. Elohim. God. That is who I really believe in. El Shaddai. God Almighty.'

'As you say,' replied Merlin.

'Yes. Babylon,' said Gwen. 'Not stuck here in this blasted Enchanted Forest, with wolves as leaders, and buxom young witches. A witch? With breasts like that? It's an abomination.'

Merlin smiled at Gwen. 'Jealous?' he asked.

Gwen's hands went to her own humble breast. 'Don't be foolish,' she retorted instantly.

'Anyway, anywhere would be better than being stuck here,' said Gwen.

'All good things in time,' said Merlin, and continued on eating his breakfast as Gwen dawdled on about Babylon, and its glorious hanging gardens, nobility, and strange prophets by the name of Daniel.

The End

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 Kate 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

Davriel

5910 – 5970 SC (1940-2000 AD)

Adam had grown up.  And more than that – he had prospered.  The tradition his father had continued of neglecting a surname, instead naming him ‘Adam Bar Elihu’ or ‘Adam son of Elihu’ seemed difficult at first, but it certainly was the traditional way of things.  The ancient way of things.  And, in his twenties, celebrating Passover on Mt Gerizim with his family with the rest of the Samaritan community, Adam bar Elihu began understanding just how important those ancient roots were.

Adam spoke to God constantly in his early years.  He spoke of his dreams, his aspirations, his desire for the prosperity of the Samaritans, and all sorts of things from his life and adventures.  Whatever God thought of all of this Adam could not really say, but he did wonder.  Regardless, he was sure, sure all the time, that God was there, that God was with him, that God – was.

And it was God, who, in time, became the centre of the heart of this Samaritan child.

In the community Adam stood out in many ways.  He was intelligent – very intelligent – and he had a very orthodox and traditional way of approaching his faith in the God of the Torah.  He had been called ‘Moses’ by some of the other lads in the Samaritan community from time to time, so impressed were they with his legalistic approach to Torah faith.  But they also respected him for his compassion, for he came around to many Samaritan homes in late teens and early twenties, doing the work of a priest in training almost, teaching Torah, encouraging the community in their walk with God, doing his very best to be all things to all people.  In some way, in ways quickly noticed by the High Priest of the Samaritan community, Adam was different.  Adam was special.

The Samaritans, as a sect, represented what they believed to be the original and oldest religious pathway amongst mankind – the original Torah faith of Moses and ancient Israel.  In their own Samaritan Torah, slightly different here and there from the Jewish ones, they found justification for their beliefs and way of life and, faithfully they felt, followed God and walked in his holy mitzvoth.  They celebrated Passover properly and did those things which were meant to please God, following his ancient commandments.  They were the Shoferim – the law keepers – and they were, so they believed, in the heart of God’s purposes for mankind.

Within the Samaritan community, though, was a prophetical idea of the prophet which Moses spoke of.  The prophet they called ‘The Taheb.’  The Taheb’s role was described in scripture to speak the words of God and be that next light after Moses.  Further more he had to find the lost Ark of the Covenant and bring the world to the Light of the Torah.  That was the Taheb’s role.

They did not believe in the Jewish Messiah.  The Samaritan’s only accepted the first 5 books of the Hebrew Bible, the Written Torah.  And while they did not really disdain their Jewish compatriots greatly, they knew they were set apart from them.  In both they way they were treated separately and, in truth, largely ignored apart from being an object of curiousity by the larger Jewish community of Israel.  But that didn’t matter.  They served God and were faithful to him.

The Samaritans, naturally, circumcised in the name of Abraham’s covenant, and believed their roots went back to the ancient kingdom of Northern Israel at the times of the divided kingdom.  This the Jews disputed, claiming them of mixed blood from Assyria.  It was a disputed topic, and naturally neither side really appreciated listening to the other.  Whatever else, the Samaritans certainly believed they were part of God’s chosen people and, in keeping the Torah and circumcising, seemed to demonstrate this very truth.

There numbers had once been tiny and, even today, they numbered only in the hundreds.  But better times, slowly, had been coming.  They had many males born to them, and needed women, and were starting to marry foreigners to boost their population.  But another solution was needed.  A solution which, so the High Priest believed, only the Taheb could provide for them.

It was Adam – Adam Bar Elihu – who, as he grew, in fame and favour throughout the Samaritan community who, so the High Priest had a growing suspicion, was God’s long hidden answer to his community’s prayer.  And, in the year 2000, before the whole Samaritan community, in a special ceremony, they anointed him their grand ‘Taheb’ for the High Priest had received a vision from God that this man was the chosen one – the special one – the one destined for glory.

And so Adam led the Samaritan community then and, with his growing influence, and sudden fame amongst the Jews for the community’s claim about him, he began his message, his ministry, his work, and sought to change Israel and the world, towards becoming children of the Kingdom, with passion, determination, hope and persistence.

*   *   *   *   *

Terra

Samael of Infinity

5975 SC – 2005 AD/CE

Repentance.  Actual repentance was indeed a part of the Torah of Infinity.  Samael knew this.  But he had also known another truth – he was a headstrong angel who often set his own agenda – often at odds to his heavenly father, and thus while the truths of repentance against the ways of sin were somewhat acknowledged by the venerable Samael of Infinity, the actual acknowledging of such behaviour in his own particular conduct was not always as forthcoming.  Not always.

Today, perhaps, was different.

Samael, for the last week, had been thinking over history – his own history in the Realm of Infinity and the behaviours he traditional observed in latter years of the realm.  Behaviours of sarcastic ways, as he was wont to put it, and delightful humour.  And while his brashness was admired by Sandalphon and the like as appropriate humour against the painfully serious and humourless tones of Logos, Samael had been coming to see, in his heart, that perhaps, just perhaps, he had not always had the best of receptions to his more charming personality traits.  In fact, often the opposite.  Often, he could recall from memory, he was called the Devil himself.  Certainly, Samael knew in his heart he was no paragon of virtue – but neither was he particularly fond of the darkest of ways of evil either.  He could understand evil, and had seen some of Satan’s own machinations on the subject but, ultimately, Samael had something of a moral heart in his own way.  Challenging, certainly.  But there was a moral basis, in the end, to what Samael, angel of Infinity, represented.  That had been a choice of the heart in youth, and something he still abided by.

But he did not pretend to be perfect, and had not greatly striven to be as such.  Perhaps, though, he had not striven enough at all.  Perhaps he was, as some might call him, lazy on his spiritual virtues.  Slack.

Oh, he was a clean and tidy enough angel, and didn’t go around in the slack ways of Garanel, with food all over his clothing, and crude jokes.  But, he now acknowledged, he could be sometimes too harsh in his judgements upon people.  To harsh and condemning in the words he might want to use to express this feeling.

And perhaps this wasn’t good enough.  Perhaps, in truth, things had to change.

He’d had a long time now, in his earthly sojourn, to consider his ways.  Many years.  He’d had visitors again, now, from the heavenlies.  Finally, after 2000 passed, God had forgiven his son much of his wrongdoings.  And he knew his sojourn would have an end – another 1000 years, potentially.

But, thinking about why he was here in the first place, exiled from his brethren, he had come to a conclusion on the matter.  The mast of glory, God himself, had found him lacking.  Had found him wanting.  Whatever he might possibly say about the wisdom of God, he was still just that – God.  And he had created and ruled the universe so, obviously, he knew a thing or two.  And, perhaps, because of that very truth, Samael had overstepped the boundaries – the unwritten boundaries of behaviour which, perhaps, he should have known about.

He had long been a rival to Logos but, in the end, why?  Why oppose him?  Why be so obstinate?  From all his experiences in his sojourn on earth he had grown accustomed from various occasions to the ways of children.  And one thing he knew so true, children could be childish, selfish, wanting their own ways, often at odds to the wisdom of their parents.  Had he been like that?  Had such – childishness – overcome the heart of Samael of Infinity.  Had he been nothing but a brat in the end.  He truly hoped not.  But, then again, he had been exiled.  He had been exiled.

Perhaps he needed, simply, to grow up.  To get over childish ways, and to show respect to all his brethren, including Logos, in ways he once had in the time of his youth.  To love them first and foremost as his beloved brethren, and grant them the kinds of graces he would expect for himself anyway.

Perhaps it was time for Samael to become a man.

He sat there that morning, in front of his shack, thinking these thoughts.  Thinking about maturing and growing up and becoming what he was supposed to be – an angel – a child of God – mature.  He sat there, thinking these thoughts, and perhaps, in truth, the heart of Samael was making choices of adulthood.  Time would tell, though, what other things God had in store for this particular child of his.

*   *   *   *   *

Terra

Davriel

5977 SC (2007 AD)

‘Adam bar Elihu.  Son of the Most High God.  Your honour and dignity is known well to us.  Receive this plaque of honour, beloved Taheb, as a sign of your honourable Sonship as Emmanuel – God with us.’

The Samaritan High Priest unveiled the plaque, which was found at the base of the new Synagogue at the base of Mt Gerizim.  Adam was beside himself.

‘This, this honour, is truly wonderful,’ began Adam.  ‘The title, Son of the Most High God, has been worn by Israel as a nation for so long, and I am very grateful you have bestowed such generous honours upon me.  But our work, fellow Samaritans, is only beginning.  It is only just begun.  Today our Torah is finished – in its new English, French and German translations.  The Samaritan Torah in translation for those communities.  And our charity stores number 365 throughout the world already, and are still growing.  In fact, today I can announce four new ones: one in New York, one in Sydney, one in London, and one in a town in Wales called Crossden.  And each charity store, as per our tradition, will have a twin hostel located nearby, for the housing of lost and broken spirits.  Love – pure and honest love – is the answer, my fellow Samaritans.  Through the covenant of our father Noah, we will continue to reach the world, to enshrine the Rainbow Brit into their hearts, and teach them the wonderful truths of a blessed life filled with the Torah of Yahweh, our blessed and holy redeemer.  And now – soon – the next phase of our mission before God.  In all truth, despite our communities constant yearning in prayer, I can not find the heart of God to show me if and were the holy Ark of the Covenant truly exists.  If it is, God forbid, lost to us forever, then I have reached the decision that in true faith and in a true spirit of a New Covenant, we start again, and rebuild the Ark afresh, anew.’

There were some gasps in the audience over that statement.

‘Yes, we have the specifications clearly marked out in Exodus, so we may, upon our Lord Yahweh’s blessing, start again, rebuild the Ark, rebuild it perfectly, and honour our beloved creator in doing this.  And the Stone Tablets?  Were else, but quarried from the very rock of Mt Sinai shall they be, and inscribed with the holy commands by the very best artisan available to us.’  He paused then, as the audience murmured of his plans, and looked out at the gathered Samaritan Israelite community.

‘It is only the beginning, children of Israel, and redemption is at hand.  The redemption of the world.  Our faith is sure, our mission undoubtable, the reward unmistakable.  Let us all praise Jehovah, and give him thanks for the wonderful graces poured out upon us.  Let us all praise our king.’

And they did so, for over an hour.  And as the music played, and Davriel sang, his heart rejoiced at the spirit of joy in the community, as the hopes of Israel were once again reborn, once again paying homage to their Almighty Creator, God and Father.

*   *   *   *   *

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

Samael of Infinity

5980 SC (2010 AD)

Samael looked into his heart, and looked at the way, all those years ago, that he had acted in the Realm of Infinity, and one word, now, after all this time, sprang to mind.  Self indulgent.  Sure, he had loved his brethren.  Sure he had cared for them.  Sure, he had shared himself, and good times with them.  But it was now, looking at himself in the light of a maturity borne through suffering, the character of self indulgent mockery, an aura of ‘I am Samael, and you are merely an angel of God, nothing to be compared to my grandeur,’ which he sensed in the heart of himself, despite knowing his own belief that he had only been having fun with his brethren.  But Logos had never seen it like that.  He never had.  Samael had become the devil, through his own pride, not to suffer righteous rebukes, but to let his casual attitude dominate his heart.  Certainly, humour had its place, but how much?  How much was too much?  When did someone cross the line?  When was it too far?

He thought on Aphrayel, who had constantly remained loyal to him, and known she had always seen his heart.  Always understood were he was coming from.  But not so with the others.  They simply feared him.  Simply avoided him, at times.  Did not want to suffer his subtle sarcasms and mockeries.

And so Samael repented, in his shack in Sherwood forest, letting go of a part of him, an ancient spirit from a realm unknown, which simply could not dominate his heart to such a degree anymore.  For the old Samael was now dead, and a new man was being born.  A new, better, and more honourable man.  A brand new Samael.

And perhaps it was about time too.

*   *   *   *   *

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 Fugging 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 winner’s 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.

*   *   *   *   *

Terra

Davriel

5992 SC (2022 AD)

2 years into the project.  2 years, and Adam was becoming a man.  Somehow, against his better inclinations, Jerusalem inevitably beckoned his spirit as the town for the New Temple for Israel.  Somehow it just couldn’t be avoided.  Somehow the Judean King’s David and Solomon simply persisted in his heart and absolutely insisted on the issue.  He was a Samaritan.  Really, should he give a damn about Judean Kings?  Should He?

He looked at the last chapters of Ezekiel often in those last few years before 2020 AD, and eventually said ‘What the Hey’.  The Samaritans can have a new home in the end, then.  Get along with the rest of the Israelite community.  And thus, finding some new land in a section of Jerusalem which seemed ideal, away from the other older temple, somewhere else on Mount Zion, somewere else for a New Heaven and a New Earth, the Samaritan community pooled its resources, took to the task, were very, very careful with the Prophet Ezekiel’s specifications, and began the most audacious project, perhaps, of all time so far – the building of the third temple.  The task began in 2020 AD by the Christian Calendar, or 5990 SC by Adam’s own personal calendar, the Since Creation calendar he had worked out according to his own interpretations of scripture.

After a while they were noticed.  The plot of land was quite large, and the citizens of Zion – Jerusalem – assumed it to be just another building project.  But as it progressed, and the obviousness of the project became, well, obvious, people started to ask questions.  Just what were these Samaritans up to?

2 years of solid work.  The community was working hard.  Samaritans were growing in numbers, and the rest of Israel were, over the last few decades, accepting them more and more simply as an alternative sect of Judaism.  Old squabbles, it seemed, were a thing of the past.  Glory awaited.

*   *   *   *   *

Terra

Georgia

 5992 SC (2022 AD)

Brigid looked at the school report.  Mostly lower grades.  Thankfully no fails this semester, but mostly lower grades.  Poor little Georgie.  She did her best, but she was no academic.  She never had been.

‘Well done, Georgie,’ she said, praising her daughter, who wandered off to Jayden, and started watching the Nintendo with him.  She didn’t care.  Why would she.  She was only young, with other things on her mind.

She would show the card to David when he get there that evening, and talk with mum about it.  She shared most things with her mother, Mary, but that was the way it had always been.  Poor little Georgie, she thought to herself.  She’ll get there.

Sitting in front of the TV screen in the Bridges house in Calwell, little Georgia Bridges, the 777th female Cherubim of the Realm of Eternity, was lost in her own world.  The boy she liked at school, Zac, had talked to her today, just the once, which had made her happy.  But she knew he was leaving the school after the year was up, which made her sad.  She liked Zac.  He was a cute boy.

‘Give me a go, Jayden.  You never share.’

‘Go away feral,’ said Jayden.  ‘Go play with your dolls.’

She hit him on the arm, and they started screeching.  In the other room Brigid was almost tempted to tell them to shut up, but instead just kept staring at the TV screen, watching a lifestyle show, as Madalene was playing with the little toy computer down on the floor.

‘You suck Jayden,’ said Georgia, and stormed out of the family room, off to her bedroom.

She sat there on the floor, playing with her teddy bear, and looked at the notepad.  She could write a little now, and grabbed the notepad, and wrote down her poem she had been thinking about.

‘Zac is great.  I love him.  The boy always likes a girl.  Zac is for me.’

She took the note, put it inside her money box and hid it under the bed, and turned on the little clock radio to FM 104.7.  And she lay there, on her bed, listening to the music, thinking on Zac, and out in the other room Jayden swore as Mario, again, failed to pass the current level he was on.

*   *   *   *   *

Terra

James

5992 SC (2022 AD)

‘Yes, Doctor.  I feel fine.  In fact, truth to tell, never better.’

The Doctor shook his head.  ‘I just don’t understand it.  You tell me you have an average diet and everything else is normal, yet you just don’t appear to be aging beyond your looks of about 30 years of age.  And at 49 years of age that is simply extraordinary.’

‘Maybe I just have youthful genes,’ remarked James.  Both me and Kate.’

‘Mmm,’ nodded the doctor.  ‘Well, if that is the case, we can soon find out.  If you don’t mind me taking a mouth swab, I can send your DNA to a lab and we can look into the case even further.’

‘Sure, doc.  No problem.’

They went through the routines and later on, leaving the doctor’s office, James Castleton cast yet another glance in a mirror, looked at his perpetually youthful features, and thanked the stars that he was in such incredibly good shape.

Kate was in the kitchen, and James didn’t want to disturb her.  She was chatting on the phone, so he slipped into his den, flicked on the PC, and waited till the screen loaded and then clicked on the Internet.  The email had arrived.

‘James.  Hello.

Things are well, the Church is doing fine, and there are no current persecutions.  Currently.  Brax sat in the congregation last Sabbath.  He sat there, down the back, smiling at everyone, playing innocent and all.  Everyone noticed the holster and gun – he didn’t even try and hide them.  But that is evil, isn’t it.  It doesn’t care what good people think.

I think, that is life with Alexander Darvanius II these days.  Evil incarnate, staring at us, sitting right alongside us, looking into our very soul, but still unconcerned with God.  Still unconcerned with righteousness.  Still unconcerned with truth.

He is the very Antichrist.  We know this now.  The subtleties and deceptions in training his whore bride Babylon to obey his every word, to worship his impressive personality, to behold his undeniable authority.  They gasp at him in his social circles, no doubt.  Overwhelmed by his stature, his true – in their eyes – magnificence.  But it is only their damnation they behold – the fowl stench of the 7 headed beast.  It is only the authority of the Lords of Hate which dwell in his soul, and Brax, one of his henchmen, comes by, taunting us, testing us, daring to boldly declare the Elect of God have no chance in the ultimate war, that all our efforts are trivial, in vain.  But they shall see, James.  On the day of the Lamb’s wrath, they shall see, and fear.  And then, then, they shall know.  All shall know.  And all shall come and worship the lambs blessed bride, and adore us for the truth we have, amongst trial and tribulation, held so dearly close.

Keep faith, James, for the last minutes of the last hour are upon us, and the beast lieth at the door.  Keep faith, soldier of God, for the final testing is at hand, and our faith must be sure.  Keep faith, and may the graces and mercies of God and the Lord Jesus Christ be with you forever.

Your friend

June Middlesworth.’

James finished the email, and turned to the picture of Jesus on the Cross on the wall.  Salvation – the final hour – the day of Judgement.  It was all coming true, and oh, so very soon, the mark itself, and the final judgement of God.  Alleluia, thought James to himself.  Alleluia.

*   *   *   *   *

Terra

Jontel

5992 SC (2022 AD)

46 years of age, General Mtoko Jones looked at the military surrounding Bamako, Mali’s capital.  Here they were – the Malian Liberation Front, the MLF, ready to reclaim Mali for Malians – a day of Glory for General Mtoko Jones.  The master strategist the MLF called him.  The Diabolical One, as he was known by the enemy.  But how could he be anything else.  He had watched, as a new government, a new president, supposedly perfectly moral, perfectly holy, had taken power, and then gone corrupt.  Bribery, sexual liaisons, drug smuggling, paedophilia, even slavery in hidden areas of Mali, all such fowl sins they had been accused of, but they had closed the shutters, and denied everything.  And then the spirit of Mohammed had risen up in Mtoko, and the MLF had been formed, and justice had been the cry.

‘President Coro.  They are at the gates of the citadel.  All is lost.’

Coro looked at his right hand man, and acknowledged the point.  He would not, though, give the enemy the satisfaction.  He went into his study, and looked up at the portrait of himself over the burning fireplace.  It had come to this, then.  The end.  The end of his glory, the end of his reign.  He took the cigar box, the Cuban cigar box of his grandfather, down from the bookcase, and opened it.  The gun was loaded.

Thoughts went through Coro’s head.  Thoughts of his life, and the pit of corruption he had fallen into.  He was hell-headed.  He knew it.  But hell?  It didn’t exist, did it?  Evolution was supreme – there was no God.

He heard the sound of the guns firing, and the bombs exploding, and shortly, one more blast was not immediately noticed by the staff of the presidential building, until an underling, came in, found his president with a hole in his head, and reported it to the others.

*   *   *   *   *

‘Today you have won a great victory for us, Mtoko.  You are our champion.  You shall rule us.’

‘Democracy shall rule us,’ responded Mtoko.  ‘And Sharia, Allah  be willing.’

‘And Allah shall be willing,’ responded his second in command, who ran off to celebrate with the other soldiers around the presidential grounds.

‘Allah be praised,’ Mtoko said to himself.  ‘Mali for Malians.  Allah be praised.’

*   *   *   *   *

Terra

The Gathering of the Elect

5992 SC (2022 AD)

‘Christmas, this year, Nathan James Hitler.  Christmas this year, 2022 AD, should be – interesting.’

‘How so, dear old Callodyn Bradlock?’ the angel Gamrayel, from the Realm of Eternity, the 17th born Male Seraphim of the Realm, in his human incarnation as Nathan James Hitler, asked the angel Samael of the Realm of Infinity, firstborn of the 7 Onaphim Angels of the Realm, whose human name was Callodyn Bradlock through adoption of the name.

‘Let us just say a little birdie has told me many things are coming to a climax, shortly, and destinies, fates and other life mysteries will be answered.’

‘So you say,’ said Nathan, observing Callodyn’s face.

Mtoko Jones, long-time correspondent of Callodyn Bradlock, spoke up.  ‘It will be a wonderful Christmas in Mali this year.  We have so much to celebrate.’

‘Yet you will not be in Mali this year,’ stated Callodyn ominously.

‘How so?’ asked Mtoko, his curiosity aroused.

‘Yes, how so?’ asked James Castleton, seated next to Mtoko.

‘For all of us will be in New York this year, for Christmas,’ said Callodyn.

‘New York?’ queried Don Bongiovi.

‘Yes, New York,’ replied Callodyn.

‘And why exactly New York?’ asked Mary Ciccone, seated next to Don Bongiovi, her arm around her man.

‘Because everyone loves the Big Apple at Christmas,’ said Callodyn, a mysterious look on his face.

‘New York is the home of Alexander.  Alexander Darvanius II,’ stated June Middlesworth matter-of-factly.

‘Indeed it is,’ responded Callodyn.

‘Lucy currently lives in New York.  Working at Redaxxiel,’ said Georgia.

‘Yes.  Ms Smith does indeed live in New York,’ responded Callodyn.  ‘And the wife of Enrique Lopes is instrumental in the machinations of destiny coming to a very soon climax.’

The group all looked at Callodyn, puzzling over whatever he was on about.

The Taheb, Adam bar Elihu spoke up.  ‘You are being mysterious, Callodyn.  Speak plainly.  Our gathering of the elect of God are indeed used to such mysteries, but could you, perhaps, make yourself a little clearer?’

‘Yes, speak plainly,’ said Lee Kim, the Seraphim angel from the Realm of Eternity, seated next to her man, Danny Robinson.

‘All will be revealed in the fullness of time to the gathering of God’s elect children,’ said Callodyn again.  ‘All in the fullness of time.’

The group of gathered elect children of God, the long lived ones, who had come to know each other by the simple grace of time and lack of aging, all stared at Callodyn, but he remained, still, elusive.  He would not speak of the mysteries of God in any great detail most of the time anyway, despite them all knowing he knew the most.  He always knew the most.’

Stefan Federer, the angel Matrel, put his glass of grape juice into the air, and said ‘To Callodyn and his mysteries.  May all be revealed in the fullness of time.’

And the group raised there glasses and said, as one, ‘Amen’.

*   *   *   *   *

Terra

Saruviel

5992 SC (2022 AD)

‘Merriman Nebraska!  What the fuck are we doing in Merriman, Nebraska Alexander?’ asked Brax, looking out the window of the limo at the small town, up in the backwaters of Nebraska, not far from a town called Cody, which was near to a certain Charnsley, were Alexander was born.

Alexander put on the CD single.  ‘You and I’ by Lady Gaga.

‘Fuck, you never get tired of that fucking song, do you Alex?’ said Brax,’ but Alexander said nothing, and stared out the window, with the absolute authority Alexander Darvanius was well known for.

Finally he spoke.  ‘We are looking for someone.  A woman.  She should, hopefully, be still alive.’

‘What woman?’ asked Brax, curious.

‘My mother,’ stated Alexander flatly.

Brax looked at him, but said nothing more.  Nothing need be said.

The song rocked along and the line went ‘My Daddy and Nebraska and Jesus Christ.’

‘Still serving Jesus Christ, aren’t you Alexander,’ said Brax.

‘And you still serve the Devil, don’t you Brax,’ said Alexander, looking right into his opponents eyes, his soul.

‘Till the end,’ said Brax, looking away.

‘They were brothers, or something.  Catholic brothers,’ said Brax.

Alexander said nothing.

‘AD told me about them.  Said he met one of them once.  An ageing man.  Talked about a certain birthmark with ole AD.  A very interesting birthmark.’

Alexander turned to look at him.  ‘Life is full of its little ironies, isn’t it Brax.’

Brax smiled.  ‘Sure the fucking hell is, Alexander.’

The limo drove along for a while, and shortly turned down a street, pulling up to a rather old looking house.  It had ‘Haven’ written on an old wooden plank attached to the fence.

‘This is it,’ said Alexander.  ‘Haven.  The Fellowship.’

Brax got out, lit a cigarette, and looked over the street.  A typical street in a typical Nebraskan town he guessed to himself.  Nowheresville, Nowhere.  How fucking lovely.

Alexander exited the vehicle, dressed in his black suit, with black shirt, and black tie.

Brax looked at him.  ‘So, we knock?’

Alexander nodded.

Brax came to the front door, which had a small plastic plate with a business card reading ‘Haven Noahide Fellowship – Merriman Branch’ written on it.  He knocked, and they waited.

About 7 minutes later, finally, after knocking once more, because they heard music coming from inside, the door opened, and Daniel stood there.

‘Alexander?’ he began.  ‘Um.  Why are you here?  You should have let the mystery go, Alexander.  Some things are too deep even for you.’

‘Mr Daly, I take it.  I recognize you from your pictures.’

Daniel said nothing, staring at his opponent.  Eventually he spoke.  ‘Well, I guess you want to meet your mother, then?’

Alexander nodded.

‘Come in then.’   He turned to Brax, and signalled for him to also come inside.

The inside of ‘Haven’ was a low ceiling, just tall enough for Alexander and Brax without bumping their heads, and they came down the hall, past a room which had a TV and some young children watching it, down past some doorways, through the main living room, down through the kitchen, out to the back verandah, down along it, and into a small den, were 3 other people were sitting, with bibles in their hands.

A woman looked at Alexander.  She smiled at him.

‘Um.  You know who this is, don’t you Jane?’ said Daniel to the woman.  She nodded.

‘Come.  Come, Alex.  Sit next to me.  We have a spare seat.’ Alexander obeyed, coming into the room, and motioned for Brax to disappear.  Brax took out his ciggies, stared at the group confused, and Daniel smiled at him, closed the door, and Brax walked down the verandah, sat down, and stared out at the back yard of Haven, letting Alexander find his home.

Jane put her hand into Alexanders and said ‘Welcome to Haven.  You should find your peace here.’

Daniel looked at the small group, and returned to the front of the small room, and picked up the bible again.  It was a Jewish Bible.  A JPS Tanakh.  Alexander recognized it.

‘Well, I shall continue,’ said Daniel, and smiled at Alexander.  ‘And welcome new guests.  Welcome to Haven.’

And he continued speaking, and Alexander Darvanius II found his peace of mind.

* * * * *

 Terra

 Gamrayel

5992 SC (2022 AD)

Nathan looked at the document.  It was in MS Word format, and it illustrated what was called ‘Haven Noahide Fellowship’s’ official doctrinal understanding of Daniel chapter 7.  Mr Daniel Daly, who was also quite obviously one of the elect of God, had emailed it to him from recent online conversations.  Mr Daly, of course, was a Noahide.  Mr Daniel Daly, promoter of the Karaite Noahide faith, who was Callodyn the Cherubim from the Realm of Eternity, who looked very similar to David Rothchild’s brother, Daniel Rothchild, the Seraphim Daniel from the Realm of Eternity.

Nathan was spoken to, in dreams, by the Spirit of God.  The Spirit talked about those who ‘Crafted Destiny’ and ‘Shaped things to come’, and Mr Daly was one of those who dreamed dreams, and spoke of realities in words which the divine one chose from his heart to accomplish his own eternal objectives.  Shapers of destiny – crafters of reality – chroniclers of the histories of the elect and eternal children of God.

‘Nathan,’ God spoke to him.  ‘Responsibility is just that – responsibility.  To craft eternity, to shape infinity, to remake the worlds of glory in your own image, it is not an easy thing to suffer my dear child.  Are you very sure you want such challenges placed in the heart of a Hitler, with a reputation such as you have?  Are you very sure?’

And Nathan had said ‘Yes.’

And now, a document, in which the Arrogant Horn of the Fourth Beast had been claimed, by Haven, to be no other than Adolf Hitler himself.

And Nathan had sworn.

And gotten over it.

*   *   *   *   *

Terra

Georgia& Zac

5992 SC (2022 AD)

‘New York?’ queried Zac.  ‘Why New York?’

‘Destiny,’ responded Georgia, packing her bags.

‘You always say that.  Destiny.  As if you are a special chosen goddess or something.’

‘And you’re my god,’ responded Georgia, going over and kissing Zac on the cheek.

‘Well this god still needs his shirts ironed,’ responded Zac.

‘Well, find a servant girl, or slave maiden, or something or other,’ said Georgia, zipping up her suitcase.  ‘I am sure it hasn’t been the first time you have played around.’

He looked guilty.  He didn’t say anything.  ‘Hey, babe.  I’m faithful.’

‘Sure you are Zac.  Sure you are.’

‘See you when you get back,’ he said dejectedly.

She came over, kissed him on the cheek, and looked into his eyes and said ‘Now remember I love you.  And if you do fucking cheat, I will have your testicles in a glass jar on the windowsill to remind you of your infidelities.’

Zac instinctively put his hands to his crotch.  ‘Not my jackees.  Don’t say that about my jackees.’

‘Just make sure your jackees are not fondled on the lips of any jillees, ok.  And they should be fine.’

He almost smirked.  ‘I’ll be seeing you then, babe.’

‘I’ll be back,’ she said, kissed him one last time, and made her way down the stairs, out the front door to the waiting taxi, and off on another adventure in the life of Georgia Bridges, elect child of God the Most High.

*   *   *   *   *

Terra

The Gathering of the Elect

5992 SC (Christmas 2022 AD)

Callodyn came out in front of them all, the gathered elect, and smiled.  There, in the large party room of the Hotel, were about 200 of the children of God from the realms of God, all vaguely aware of their past spiritual realities, all gathered here today at the request of Callodyn for a surprise celebration.

‘And here he is, ladies and gentleman.  The man of the moment.  Alexander Darvanius II.’  And with Callodyn’s words spoken, Alexander Darvanius entered onto the stage, came to the speaker, and said, ‘Well here we all are.  Mmm.’ And came down and joined the party.

It was weird for James and June, but Brax started opening up about his childhood, telling stories of his family and his brethren.  And despite them being bittermost enemies in many ways, the Elect Church of the Living God, for a time anyway, found the grace of God in enemies becoming friends, and on that special Christmas night all were one, all were at peace, all were happy.

Daniel and Alexander chatted for most of the night, and Daniel talked with many of his Haven fellowship, a popular subject throughout the night, as well as the concepts of Noahide and Adamide faith – a very interesting subject – the OLD testament perspective on things.

Later on, when people were starting to get a little tipsy, the old Devil Samael had the lights lowered, asked everyone to sit, and on came the strippers.  3 women, 3 men.  The show they put on was quite intense.

June, sitting next to Alexander Darvanius, said ‘Feral bastard Callodyn,’ which made Alexander smile, and begun a debate which raged on the ethics of sexual morality.

And then, just before midnight, having been good boys and girls all year, Santa came in – Daniel – and started giving away lovely presents to everyone.

It was a night to behold.

It was a night never to forget.

It was a special night of Destiny.

And that was the end of many struggles and many trials and many tribulations of the soul.

And the Chronicles of the Children of Destiny, perhaps they continue on forever?  Perhaps they do indeed.  But this story is ended – well and truly ended – and now we will sing a song of love, a song of eternity – and hopefully everything will be well.

Hopefully.

The End

The Seraphim Meludiel

“The Song of Eternity”

Chapter One

31,209 HY

20,209 ROE

5900 SC (1930 AD)

Eternity.  A time beyond measure.  Infinite in nature, impossible to grasp to the mind of mere angel or human for that matter.  Eternity, an endless parade of days, all flowing one after the other, in an endless and neverending symphony of life.  And the song of eternity?  How on earth could one possibly hope to write a neverending work?  But Meludiel, 60th born of the female Seraphim angels of the Realm of Eternity, twin to Ambriel, had begun long ago her eponymous tribute to the Realm of her birth and to her fellow angelicdom, begun by the grace of God and through flowing in the spirit of eternal life, moved by the spirit to reach melody in harmony in the spirit that the eternal God, by his mercy and love, graced her with.  And now the song of the Seraphim had reached its final part for the males.  Today, this very day in the year 20,209 of the Realm of Eternity, Meludiel sat down at her Vibronic in the choir-room of Zaphon, contemplating the lastborn male of the Seraphim, her beloved brother Davriel.

She still thought on her twin, Ambriel’s theme.  It still resonated with her heart.  Its quiet splendour yet constant love.  And for her brother Davriel, somehow, a recapitulation of that theme in a grander scape just somehow seemed the most appropriate way to complete the first part of the Song.  It just seemed right.

But how?  How would she bring grandeur to a melody which spoke of simplicity and the beauty of love.  It puzzled her mind until a word entered her heart.  A word seemingly spoken from eternity itself.  ‘Glory’.

And so, beginning her melody, starting with the familiar theme from Ambriel, the 60th part of the Song, Meludiel pushed into the eternal imagination of her heart and the divine spirit which was upon her and pursued that very ideal – glory.

*   *   *   *   *

Daniel was a mystery to Meludiel.  Truly a mystery.  For so long he had been infatuated with her and then, when her and Ambriel seemed to have finally made up their mind that they belonged together he started hanging around Sharlamane.  And yet, despite Michael and Elenniel now having been married for quite some time, the anticipated marriage between Daniel and Sharlamane had never quite eventuated.  They were, apparently, in a cooling off period of considering the future.  Daniel, who still worked in Zaphon in a financial position, spent most of his free time writing his fictional books about angels, but Meludiel had noticed that he took whatever opportunity he had when Ambriel was away from the keep to spend time with her and flatter her with his latest witty repertoire.  And no sooner had Ambriel returned then Daniel had disappeared again, back off to his work and his books.  But he had let Meludiel know that he occasionally visited Ariel now, as befitted a relationship of respect with his twin.  But they were still quite competitive apart from the occasional truce.

She had grown to love Daniel, now.  Oh, she had always had a romantic interest in him ever since he first approached her with his intentions.  But now, in an older Meludiel, she had begun to appreciate Daniel’s obnoxious ways and his quirky humour.  And his wit.  She laughed at nights at some of the clever things he said and the things he could actually get away with in his conversation.  Ambriel had a word for her brother.  Eccentric.  And Meludiel felt the title ever so suitable.  He truly was an eccentric character.

What all of that led to, now, was almost a defining of the type of relationship with this brother of hers.  She knew Daniel loved her intimately but, it seemed, he wanted her, in the end, for a friend.  More than a lover even Daniel desired Meludiel’s close friendship over the eternal days before them.  This he had stated in so many words over the last few years.  It was for Meludiel, apparently, meant to be an enduring friendship with this particular Seraphim.  A friendship amongst others in the realm which brought her peace, joy and happiness.  And thinking of Daniel and the genuine love she had for this brother of hers she had decided she couldn’t really ask for anything else from him if it had ever been an issue.  He was suited to her as a friend and, so it seemed, such is the way it would remain.

Saruviel was another angel who, in the last thousand years, had drawn close to her.  Not in any romantic way, though.  Not even the slightest suggestion of that.  But, more than he sought in Krystabel, as a consoling voice on spiritual issues.  Saruviel had always had time for Meludiel in younger years when she brought her music to him for his opinion.  And now, it seemed, that relationship was being reciprocated somewhat in his seeking her as a rock in his life to assist him in his spiritual devotions.  From what he had said to her he respected Ambriel as perhaps the most spiritual of the Seraphim but felt easier drawing that comfort from Ambriel’s feminine twin.  So much so that Saruviel was often at dinner with the two of them with Krystabel as a foursome.  But Saruviel would always chat with her asking her opinion on this and that matter.  She sensed, over time, that Saruviel had gone through a long phase of repentance of his earlier rebellious period.  And that, now, he sought healing spiritually and, apparently, saw herself as a chief mentor in that healing process.  Still, if that was the will of God, which Ambriel alluded just might be, she saw no problem in it and in fact was happy to help when and where she could.

Of course, the main man in her life was still her beloved Ambriel.  They were together now, intimately together, and it seemed this was the way the relationship was meant to be.  But there was something.  Something that Ambriel had talked to her about, something which Valandriel had said, which had bothered him.  Something about the real purpose of twins and what was appropriate between them and what, ultimately one day, might not work as well between them as with other relationships.  It was not about love or friendship, so Ambriel had said.  That much was perfectly clear.  Instead it was about a soul-connection.  A soul connection of husband and wife which, in Valandriel’s words, could not work for the twin.  It had bothered Ambriel a lot, Valandriel’s words and, despite Meludiel’s constant comforting that such was only Valandriel’s opinion, Ambriel remained sullen.  It was as if he had in some way acknowledged Valandriel’s points.  But, regardless, he remained faithful and there relationship was as strong as ever.

There were other angels in Meludiel’s life who occupied much of her attention and, that afternoon, having tinkered through some of the melody for Davriel’s theme on her Vibronic, she sat on a couch in the choir-room of Zaphon, sipping on an Ice Tea and gazing out the windows at the scenery of Zaphon.

*   *   *   *   *

Sitting there, absentmindedly talking with Nimorel who was currently at Zaphon with Raphael over sessions of council, Meludiel was lost in thought.  It was morning, breakfast time, and she had just made her way through some cereal with melit water and a glass full of celnoka juice, and was now slowly munching on a piece of toast.  It was right then some thoughts, different thoughts about eternity, came to her.

‘It goes on, doesn’t it Nim, it goes on.’

Nimorel who had been chatting about various affairs of Mitraphora, not really noticing wether or not Meludiel was listening, looked at her, slightly puzzled.

‘What goes on, Meludiel?’

Meludiel came to herself and looked at Nimorel.

‘Life.  Life goes on, Nimorel.’

‘Oh, it always has, Meludiel.’

‘But, its funny, isn’t it,’ continued Meludiel.  ‘Humans.  They have such a brief span in which to express their hearts desires and then they are gone, taken from us, awaiting some grand future resurrection.’

‘Their destiny, I guess.  But what brought this up.’

Meludiel looked at her, and answered, ‘The song of eternity.  It is nearly finished – the first part that is.  The 70 sections for the male Seraphim.’

‘Ooh,’ responded Nimorel.  ‘You have been working on that forever.’

‘It seems like it.  And I guess that is just it.  It is all about that – forever.  Eternity.  And I have noticed in this life of mine that life goes.  It just goes on.  We eat, sleep, laugh, play.’

‘And then we go to bed and do it all over again,’ laughed Nimorel in response.

‘Yes, that we do.  But I think of so many of our brothers and sisters who go through trials and ordeals.  Always, it seems, searching for peace of mind.’

‘I think that is what it is all about, Meludiel.  That is perhaps just the nature of life – especially of eternal life, as you put it.’

‘Yes I guess it is.  I guess it is.’

They chatted on, but those thoughts stayed with Meludiel all that day, thoughts of eternity.  They were simple thoughts, but profound as well.  And they spoke of the beauty and sheer majesty of the eternal life God had blessed her with.  And for that she was grateful.

*   *   *   *   *

Meludiel sat at the vibronic, gently tinkering away, not playing anything in particular.  Narel was in the corner, talking with Gamrayel and after a while came over to Meludiel and sat down near her to listen to her play.

‘Is the song finished?’ queried Narel.

‘Not yet,’ smiled Meludiel.

‘Well let’s hope soon.’

She continued playing around, gently happy about things, when Sharlamane entered the hall.  She came and greeted Meludiel personally and then went and started talking with Gamrayel.  Shortly after that, however, Daniel entered, nodded to Meludiel, and went over to start arguing with Sharlamane.  Meludiel, despite the occasional comment by Ambriel on keeping private conversations private, silently listened in.

‘….that’s not fair, Sharlamane.  You know I love you.’

‘Really, danny.  Really.  You have a funny way of showing it.’

‘I know.  But commitment is not easy for somebody as eccentric as myself.’

‘You can say that again.’

‘But commitment is not easy for somebody as eccentric as myself,’ responded Daniel, a slight smirk on his face.

‘Get serious,’ responded Sharlamane.  ‘I guess you don’t really love me after all.  You were just using me for female companionship.  Perhaps to boost your ego.  I think you still love, you know,’ she said,’ subtley pointing her head in Meludiel’s direction.

Daniel looked over at Meludiel, smiled and waved at her, to which Meludiel also waved back.

‘No, I don’t love Meludiel, ok.  I mean, no, yes, I do love Meludiel.  But I mean I am not with Meludiel, am I?’

‘Not because you don’t want to be.’

‘Now who is not playing fair?’

‘I bet you would drop me totally in a second if Meludiel were available.’

Daniel just shook his head, refusing to admit the point.

‘You always love her more as I see it.’

‘But I wanna be with you, sweetie.  Your that quiet voice which was there when others were absent.  I love you, really.’

‘Then marry me.’

He looked at her, realizing full well the commitment she was after.

‘I, I, I just can’t, ok.’

‘And I know why.’

‘No you don’t actually.’

‘Can you honestly tell me it is not because of Meludiel?’

Daniel looked to her and said, with the gravest sincerity, ‘I swear to you.  It is not because of Meludiel.’

Sharlamane looked a little shocked at that statement, and drew back.

‘Then,’ she hesitated.  ‘Then, what?  Is it me you have a problem with?’

‘No, its not you.  Really, you are perfect.  I wouldn’t have you any other way.’

‘Then what?’

But Daniel just looked downwards and only said, ‘I can’t say.  Don’t push it.’

Sharlamane looked at him, knew he was being completely honest, and put her arms around him and hugged him.

‘I guess you will know when it is right then, Daniel.  I guess you will know one day.’

But Daniel just remained silent.

Listening to that conversation Meludiel was a little bit surprised that she herself was not the object of affection she had perhaps felt she might have been in Daniel’s heart.  But he was ever a cryptic soul, difficult to fathom at the best of times.  But, ever so slightly, she was a little disappointed.

*   *   *   *   *

Oh, she still loved Daniel.  But lying there on her bed in her dorm-room of Zaphon, staring up at the ceiling, she wondered to herself just what was the reason he would not marry.  Perhaps he was not ready for such a commitment?  Perhaps, in the way he was working out his life and values such a commitment would be too much for him at this time and he could not offer the type of responsibility in a relationship such as that which would be required of him.  Or, perhaps, he simply did not love her enough.  She lay there, over an hour, thinking on the situation when, without her knowing, an eternal spirit entered her thoughts and gave her a subtle hint with one name.  ‘Ariel’.

Chapter Two

Council.  They happened often now, not necessarily according to any particular timeframe, and the full council of the 70 Seraphim were currently in session at Zaphon’s houses of Parliament.  It was late in the afternoon and sessions had finished for the day as Meludiel decided to go and see if her twin was yet available.  She came to his Zaphon office but his secretary informed him Ambriel was with the guys.  When she queried what that exactly meant the secretary told her to go up to Michael’s spot on the roof.  She climbed the stairs to the top level, stepped out on a platform and flew up to the roof finding a whole host of the male Seraphim each engaged in some sort of competition.  As she watched Jesus the Cherubim was there, challenging each of the Seraphim to see how far they could dive off the roof and fall right down before using their wings.  And much bravado had ensued because of it.  She noticed Ambriel and Davriel were at the back of the group, seemingly looking on without partaking in the actions, which did not surprise.  But after much persuasion she noticed Jesus eventually convinced Ambriel to have a go, which he in fact did.  Meludiel watched him nervously but he pulled through okay.  Then Jesus turned to Michael and challenged him to try and win, but Michael just smiled back and said he couldn’t possibly hope to compete with such champions.

The object of Meludiel’s attention, for the moment though, was the subject of her final part of the 70th song of Eternity – Davriel.  Looking at him and thinking on his Christian faith she noted his quiet and reserved nature.  How he had a sense of spiritual decorum which, seemingly, prevented him from engaging in such activities.  Perhaps, from her own understanding of the faith, not deemed appropriate behaviour for himself.  She thought on that for a moment and began thinking, perhaps, how that sort of spirit could become part of her theme for him.  Perhaps, after the recapitulation to Ambriel’s theme, something quiet and reserved, something which showed Davriel’s own personal spiritual nature.  Yes, it was definitely an idea worth considering.

As she watched on Azrael was eventually considered champion, and did he brag because of it.  He in fact had landed on the ground and pulled out his wings to soften the blow just a few cubits before.  But Jesus agreed for his insane bravery and the big knock he had taken that he was the undoubtable winner, much to Cosadriel’s complaints.  As they finished up Ambriel came over to her, kissed her on the cheek, and they flew down to the bottom of the keep.  Sitting in the garden for a while she queried him why on earth he would engage in such activities, especially considering Davriel’s refusal.  But all he would say was ‘Sometimes you just have to be one of the boys,’ and Meludiel, after some thought, accepted that.

*   *   *   *   *

Meludiel sat with Ambriel, carefully eating her steak, having cut it up into pieces first.  She didn’t often eat steak.  In fact she didn’t eat animals very much, wanting them to enjoy the short years God gave them.  But while vegetarianism was something which was moderately popular throughout the realm it was not something she was given over to.  She looked around the dining hall of Zaphon.  The room was full, as usual, with the council just finished the day before and a number of the Seraphim still present.  It was good, she thought to herself, when the firstborns were present.  They were, in a way, her more intimate family.

Sitting there, eating her steak, a figure sat down at their table.  It was Daniel.  He smiled at both of them and started eating his meal, only to begin opening up about his current predicament.

‘Its not that I don’t love Sharlamane, you know.  I do.  Very, very much so.  It’s just that, well.  I can’t commit at this time.  If I were to marry I would want it to be with someone who I could commit to for an eternal friendship and love.  And I am not sure I can do that at this stage.’

Meludiel decided to be honest.  ‘Is it because of Ariel?’

Daniel looked at her, a little shocked.  She seemed to have hit the nail on the head.

‘Uh, Ariel?  Ariel you say?  That little minx.  It could hardly be because of her,’ but he looked away to hide his face from them.  Meludiel knew, right then, it was his twin.  Ambriel spoke up.

‘Whatever reason you can’t commit to Sharlamane does not mean you can’t show her your continual friendship – even an eternal friendship which I assume you would want anyway with all your brethren.’

‘Oh, I do Ambriel.  But you know the type of relationship marriage can bring.  Look at Michael and Elenniel.  They are stuck together forever I think.’

Ambriel nodded.  He knew well.

‘And you can’t commit to Sharlamane?’

‘Not in that way.  Not yet anyway.’

‘Then move on, brother.  Move on with your life and don’t cry over spilt milk.  You will only worry yourself to death.’

Daniel seemed to acknowledge that point, but continued.  ‘If there was only some way I could resolve the issue – some original kind of solution.  Well, it would help a lot.’

‘Trust God for that,’ responded Meludiel.

‘Yes, yes you are right.’  He looked at her, smiled slightly and continued with his meal.

Meludiel returned to her steak but thought on Daniel’s dilemma.  It was an interesting affair he was caught up in, but that was how life was in the Realm of Eternity.  Always with its funny little quirks which made life more interesting anyway.

*   *   *   *   *

Meludiel sat at the vibronic.  She had just played the main theme of Davriel’s movement being the recapitulation of Ambriel’s theme.  And now she was tinkering away, thinking on Davriel and his nature, and the kind of musical melody which would suit him.  She remembered the words ‘quiet’ and ‘reserved’ and started a new tune with her right hand, going slowly and gently trying to emulate those ideas.  Gamrayel, who had been in the corner of the choir-room, still hanging around Zaphon after the recent council, came over, sat on a seat next to the vibronic, and listened to her.

‘Davriel?’

‘Yes Gammy.’

‘Mmm.  Draw it from his spirit, right now.  That’s how it’s done.’

She looked at him, puzzled.  ‘Please explain.’

‘Connect to him.  Send out your spirit to connect to him.’

‘How?’

‘Think on Davriel and reach out with your heart and spirit.  Concentrate on him right were he is now and his spirit will connect to you.  She looked at him, slightly puzzled, but remembered his deep connection with spirituality so tried.

After a few moments she felt as if Davriel was almost with her and she started playing more smoothly, thinking Christian thoughts and finding the right notes for the spirit.

‘Hey, this is working,’ she said to Gamrayel, quite surprised.

‘I thought it was time to share it with you.  You are getting to the female parts and, while it is only my own judgement, I felt they needed to speak their own spirit into the song.  You compose the male parts as you see fit from your perspective, but our women need their own voice in your song.’

Meludiel nodded, agreeing.

She sat there for the rest of the afternoon and, as the day passed, she noticed that Davriel’s spirit seemed to have been quite happy with her for a while but had now left for other affairs.  It was all quite new to her, but something she would not forget.  Something she would definitely not forget.

Chapter Three

She watched the gentle waters, noting how the ripples ran with the wind, longing for the shore and eventually reaching its haven.  She looked up at the sky – a gentle blue.  And looking over to the trees on the northern shore she noticed how the gentle breeze blew them in the manner she had grown accustomed to, but seemed today freshly fascinated by.  Really, this was perfect.  She looked at her beloved, Ambriel, rowing gently.  He smiled at her and everything was right in the world.  The two of them were out on Golden Lake, just near Glimmersphon, were they had obtained the rowboat.  They were both dressed in formal clothing, in the old fashions which had been popular in Terraphora for a while.  She was dressed in her long golden dress and had a dainty umbrella shielding her from the sun while Ambriel, in his suit and tie, looked ever so charming.  It was really an idyllic day.

She looked down into the lake and noticed fish swimming avidly.  She had never taken up fishing and somehow interrupting their playful frolicking pleasures just seemed wrong at this moment in time.  It was a warm day, but not to warm, and she pulled down her umbrella and just lay back in the boat, taking off her lace gloves to let her hands run through the water.  Everything was bliss.

‘A Poem for you, dearest Meludiel.’ Stated Ambriel.  She looked at him, listening intently.

He began.  ‘A gentle heart.  Dedicated to Meludiel the Seraphim.  By Ambriel, her twin.’

‘A gentle heart, as pure as gold

A gentle dove, as white as snow

A gentle soul, so kind and true

Forever is my love for you

A quiet peace, surrounds you each day

In work or rest, In happy play

Your soul to me is forever pure

My love for you will always endure

Meludiel the Seraphim

God’s precious daughter, dear to him

I’ll love you truly every day

Forever yours in every way’

He left off speaking and she smiled.  It was a beautiful poem she thought, so typical for Ambriel.

She continued staring out at the waters, relaxing, letting all her worries disappear.

Eventually Ambriel spoke up, interrupting her quiet pleasure.  ‘Is everything as madame-moiselle likes it?’

‘Oh yes,’ she replied.  ‘Absolutely perfect.’

‘Then all is well.’

She continued laying there, her mind thinking on nothing in particular, just enjoying the moment when her thoughts turned to Ambriel.  Looking at him from the corner of her eye she felt, perhaps now, perhaps right now, might be the best time to open up a subject she had kept quiet about for long enough.  Perhaps now would be the perfect moment.

‘Ambriel,’ she began.  ‘Do you love me?’

‘More than life itself, dearest Meludiel.’

‘Yet you won’t marry me.  Why is that?’

He went silent for a few moments, before finally replying.

‘It is something very dear to me.  Something very important to me, and I want to make sure it is the right thing to do.’

‘But why wouldn’t it be.’

He didn’t reply and eventually she brought it up.

‘Is it because of what Valandriel says?  His views on the right type of relationship between twins?’

He nodded.

‘Then explain that exactly to me.  You never really have.’

He cleared his throat, looked at her wishing he didn’t really have to, but knew she needed to hear his objections.

‘You know Israel’s Torah?’

‘Yes,’ she replied.

‘Well, in the Torah of Israel marriage between a brother and sister is forbidden.  Even between half brothers and sisters.’

‘But we are all brothers and sisters hear in the Realm of Eternity.’

‘Yes, I know.  But the twins are particularly close.  Perhaps in the exact same way that brothers and sisters amongst the children of men are.’

‘In which case you think such a relationship between us, the more intimate one of marriage, would be forbidden?’

‘Perhaps Meludiel.  Perhaps.  I have to give it more thought and I will eventually seek our father’s wisdom.  But for now I will not marry you until I know it is right.  And there is one other reason.’

‘Which is?’ she asked.

‘Daniel.’

She nodded.  That answer didn’t surprise her.

‘Very well, I accept your hesitation.  You will know, dear brother, when it is right.’

She turned and looked out at the waters, while Ambriel continued rowing the boat, silently relieved she had not persisted in her objections.  For now, for now only, the matter was resolved and they could get back to their loving relationship of friendship and respect.

*   *   *   *   *

Meludiel walked around the gardens of Zaphon, smelling roses and violets, dressed yet again in her formal wear.  Ambriel was inside, back at his duties, and she had left the choir-room to enjoy a pleasant stroll.  As she walked she thought on life in general and the life, as it had become, that God had led her to.  It was a good life, full of ups and downs, but with a quiet, gentle consolation which brought contentment to her heart.  And walking along she again thought on those ideas which had come to her in conversation with Nimorel the other morning at breakfast.  Life went on.  On and on, in an eternal struggle of existence which, in the end, was not really so much a struggle, but rather the everyday humdrum of activity which life was all about.  And thinking on that she thought on her song and her title.  ‘The Song of Eternity’.  She had gone through all the 70 male Seraphim now, working on the final piece of Davriel’s.  And each piece, in its own way as music often spoke, reflected those things of life which, hopefully, were particularly attuned to each of those male Seraphim.  There thoughts, ideas, philosophies and their character in general.  And thinking that she found herself inspired for the female voices and, after that, after a good long break, eventually the cherubim song.  But that was life, wasn’t it.  Eternal, seemingly.  And while she was vaguely aware that God may in fact add more numbers to angelicdom at some point in the future, the large numbers of the cherubim seemed to speak of eternity.  How so many voices contributed to a beautiful symphony of life – the song of eternity.

And it would take her eternity, she thought to herself quietly.  Eternity to craft out the melodies of life, the melodies of love, the melodies of peace and joy.  And, of course, those other melodies of all those array of ideas and concepts which eternal life spoke of.  But this was her legacy, and somehow she knew she was obligated to continue what she had started.  Besides, she had no real reason to cease what she had begun and it was inspiring and motivating work.  Truly the song of eternity was a blessing to her and she was eternally grateful to her father that, she believed, he had placed the work into her heart.

*   *   *   *   *

She sat at the vibronic, having just come inside from her walk.  She was inspired, now.  Inspired to try afresh to capture those moments of eternity which spoke to her.  Davriel’s new melody had slowly started to come alive and she worked on it, adding the spirit of Davriel she had come to know to each new bar, each new phrase.  Sitting there she was oblivious to Ambriel who had silently come to watch her.  He was near the doorway of the choir-room, watching his beloved, ever so happy to see her at work doing what she did best.  Daniel suddenly appeared next to him and nodded to him, also watching Meludiel from the doorway.  Meludiel played.  She played and played, going again over the recapitulation of Ambriel’s theme and working in the new melodies.

Silently, watching over the small trio, God was happy and at peace.  This was such a life he had visioned, all that time ago, when the Children of Destiny had entered his heart.  Angelic children, at peace, using their talents and embracing life.  It was joyous and beautiful to the heart of God and something he would long remember.

*   *   *   *   *

‘It inspires me.  It inspires me to reach new heights in composition and new ways of enlivening the soul.  Really, as the song has grown I have grown with it and now I am at a crucial part.  The culmination of the male Seraphim which will announce the beginning of the softer voices.’

Ambriel had been listening intently to his twin’s words, a question having arisen.

‘I noticed you were playing a variant of my own theme a lot.  Is that somehow part of Davriel’s theme as well?’

‘It is a recapitulation of your theme, expanded upon and magnified.  The idea came to me from God, I think.  Please don’t be jealous.’

‘It is more an honour than anything else,’ he responded, to which she hugged him for.

He continued.  ‘Have you spoken to Davriel personally yet?’

‘Not yet.  But soon, very soon.’

‘Good.  His words will be invaluable, I am sure.  Well, good night.’ He turned off the switch which lit the lamp on his side of the bed and snuggled down to sleep.  But Meludiel was alive in her mind with song, intent on finding those inspiring melodies to bring to life the grand culmination of the male Seraphim song.

Chapter Four

She finished the chip and looked at her lunch companion.  ‘Well, the 70th song is progressing, but I want to ask you some questions.  Some personal questions if that is ok Davriel.’

‘Go ahead.’

‘Well, to start with, what inspires you in life?  What are the beliefs and attitudes, or the people who motivate you to do what you do?  What is Davriel the Seraphim all about?’

Davriel nodded, stroking his long beard, thinking upon his answer.

‘Rachel is a virtuous woman.  Very virtuous.  I would be lost without her.  In many ways she is my greatest inspiration apart from our heavenly father.  And my fellow Jesus of the Cherubim is very dear to my heart as well.  Those three persons are the biggest influences on my life of any.  My beliefs, well.  If you are familiar with my various torah books you can read through them for yourself.’

‘Perhaps,’ interrupted Meludiel, ‘the core principles or ideas which motivate your Christian faith.’

‘Well, love, naturally.  And obedience to God.  But more than that.  I guess I sum it up like this.  Truth is a vast subject and the truth of moral behaviour can… well a mountain of literature could be written on the subject.  But part of my life as a Christian is learning all that vast knowledge of moral truth and applying it to my life, not only for the betterment of myself, but the betterment of all I come across.  I guess I would sum it up like that.’

‘Yes, I see what you are saying.’  She took another chip, drank some of her lemonade, and continued with her next question.

‘And how would you describe you, yourself?  How would you view your own personality, your own nature?’

Davriel gave that some thought, and took a sip of water contemplating it.

‘Myself?  Mmm.  Now that is a difficult question.  I suppose I have lived with myself long enough to know what I am like, but how to communicate that to others, mmm.  Well I feel I am gradually softening from the harder edge of my younger years.  Becoming more merciful and gentle, which are fundamental virtues.  And the Torah is continuing to teach me holiness which I hope I have become.  I guess a spiritual, moral angel is what I would hope I am, Meludiel.’

‘Oh you definitely are.  But what about those other aspects?  Those curious idiosyncrasies which make Davriel Davriel, as opposed to another angel.  Tell me of them.’

‘Oh, I don’t know.  You may be better off asking Rachel about that.  But I can be fussy around the home.  I like things in their proper order, quite neat and tidy.  I have a soft sense of humour, not really given over to the comedies which they produce these days, but the gentle humour of life.  I do laugh occasionally, sometimes surprising Rachel.  I like reading poetry, especially the older works from earlier years.  And I read a great deal.  Is there anything you want to know in particular about me?’

‘No, no.  That is enough.  I have a better understanding, now, I think.  I think what you have said will help.’

‘Glad to be able to.’

‘Thank you Davriel.  Thank you greatly.’

*   *   *   *   *

She was oblivious to Saruviel entering the room, but gradually became aware of his presence near the doorway, watching her steadily.  She signalled him to come over and as he approached she knew he was going to comment in the way Saruviel usually commented.

‘Davriel’s theme, isn’t it?’

‘Yes.’

‘Mmm.  You have talked to him, asked him questions about himself?’

‘Yes.’

‘And how will the Male Seraphim song Climax?  With Glory?’

‘Uh huh.’

‘Very good.’

‘I think, something very personal to Davriel should be within the final theme, much in the same way you utilised such an approach for the earlier themes.  I am sure you will know what to do.’

‘Would you like to listen to what I have written so far?’  He nodded and sat next to her.

For the next half an hour she played through Davriel’s theme, beginning with the Ambriel recapitulation and then working into the new theme.  All the time she noticed Saruviel watching intently and could virtually feel his spirit all over her, assessing her, judging her in the way Saruviel judged.  He seemed pleased, which was good.

Eventually, what she had written coming to an end, Saruviel stood and walked over to the glass windows, looking out at the cauldron and the northerly aspects of Zaphon’s grounds.  He spoke, ‘A glorious big bang to culminate or a quiet, gentle invitation of curiousness to invite us all to the next part, the female voices?’

Meludiel was a little shocked.  He had read her mind it seemed.  ‘I haven’t decided yet, but you will be the first to know.’ He came over to her, put his hands on her shoulders, and said, ‘Keep at it child of God.  You are a constant blessing to us all.’ He gave her a nod and made his way out of the choir-room.

She sat there, smiling, pleased to be called a blessing, all the time thinking that Saruviel, as every one knew, was indeed a daunting figure at times, something which he had often been for so very long now.

*   *   *   *   *

With Saruviel gone, she sat there and concentrated.  The song was near complete.  In fact, there just seemed to be the final cadenza to really work upon.  She thought on Saruviel’s words and the choice she could make – a great and glorious conclusion or a subtle and softer mysterious ending to introduce the next part.  And the she decided why not make it both, with the quieter conclusion right after the majestic ending.

She got to work, her mind alive with differing ways of finishing it off, and then she remembered ‘something particular to Davriel’.  And thinking on the name of the Song, she thought on Davriel’s gentleness, his restrained behaviour, and as she approached the climax she softened the sound somewhat, something a little more reserved in nature, and then brought in the quiet conclusion which seemed to flow out of her naturally as she concentrated on Davriel’s spirit.  And then she was finished.  Then she was complete, and the male song of the Seraphim of Eternity was done.

She sat there smiling and then, starting again, from the beginning of Davriel’s theme, new the time was now right.  She would have a concert, soon, to celebrate.  The full male Seraphim song.  It would take some time, but she was sure the community was longing to hear the completed work.  And as she continued on with the theme she was quietly happy that she had completed the work and that her devotions had been successful.  Quite quietly pleased.

Chapter Five

She was nervous, but Sharlamane had repeatedly told her not to worry.  But she knew there was a large crowd gathered out in the Zaphon amphitheatre and many others further back around the grounds.  They had spent the last few weeks sending out invitations and nearly everyone had responded affirmatively with the entire Seraphim assembly present.  The time was now, the concert of her life.  Daniel came onto the stage which had its curtains closed and looked at them.

‘Are you ready?’  She nodded.

‘It’s now or never, I guess.’

‘Ok.  I will make the announcement.’

He went out to the front, looked at those gathered, and turned on the microphone.

‘Brothers, sisters.  Angels of God.  Today we have something special for all of you.  Something truly special.  Meludiel is the 60th born female of the Seraphim of the Realm of Eternity, but in talent dare I say it, she is perhaps premiere of all of us.  We are here today to here the Song of Eternity.  Now the song, in Meludiel’s plan, is to take the voices, eventually, of all 140 Seraphim and all 1,400,000 Cherubim.  But, naturally, that will seemingly take all of eternity to complete.  What we have today for your pleasure is the just completed Male Seraphim song – the first 70 parts.  It will take us the rest of this afternoon and much of the night, so you will be up late.  But I assure you this will be something to remember.  And without further hesitation, I present to you, Meludiel, Seraphim daughter of God.’

The audience cheered as the curtains opened, to find Meludiel nervously standing in front of the Vibronic.  Fortunately she only had a few words to speak as Daniel had taken care of the introductions.

‘Brother’s sisters.  The Song of Eternity.’  She bowed and took to the seat of the Vibronic as the clapping diminished.  And then she began.

Michael’s theme, followed by Gabriel’s and then Raphael’s were familiar to most, but as she continued going chronologically through each of the male Seraphim she heard often quiet gasps and little voices of praise.  There was a fortunate intermission after the 35th theme to give her hands chance to rest and sitting on the stage with the curtains closed Daniel just smiled and nodded to her telling her it was going perfectly.  She silently thanked God for all the training she had put in over the years and as the intermission finally ended and she began again she worked with greater attention to detail and an even more perfect spirit.

And suddenly, before she knew it, the grand conclusion and the gentle melody at the end, and it was finished.  The Song of Eternity had come to be.

It was later on that night, sleeping in bed with Ambriel, that he said something which gave the final consolation she was looking for.

‘Song’s come and go, Meludiel.  They come and go.  And who can really say if the song of Eternity will indeed last for all eternity.  Perhaps in the heart of God it may in fact do so.  But I will say this.  Congratulations for the constant effort and dedication for so long to bring the song to life.  It shows a heart which is truly committed and loving.  Thank you.’ He hugged her and then settled down to sleep, turning off his light.  She thought on his words for a few moments, and then, finally, satisfied that all was as it should be, turned of her light, and snuggled down to sleep.

That night she dreamt of angels gathered around her, singing to her, and praising her efforts.  And then, finally, a gentle voice of God whispered, ‘Meludiel, Meludiel, Meludiel.  Mmmmmm.’

“The Garden of Eden”

31,251 – 31,296 HY

5,942 – 5,987 SC

Adam was born on the 20th of November, 1972, at his parent’s home.  They lived in a small coastal town in New South Wales, an eastern state of Australia.  And the town had the most fascinating name of ‘Eden’.  By 21 Adam had received a fair number of humorous comments about his name and, eventually, had even bothered to look up the scriptural passage to confirm the tradition he had been brought up with.  Really, it was quite entertaining literature.  But the funny thing about life, in all its ironies, is that Adam eventually obtained work for the Eden council as a gardener, looking after the various gardens around the town.  And then, one fine day in the early 2000s, the council reached a decision.  In the centre of town they would plant a new garden, lavished will all sorts of fruit trees, and promote it to the world as the illustrious ‘Garden of Eden’.  And, deemed incredibly suitable for the task, Adam was appointed responsible for the planting and upkeep of the garden.

It took a number of months to complete the task, but eventually it was done, and the garden, although youthful looking, was quite pleasing to the eye nonetheless.

It was a decade or so later, and Adam had just turned 45, still single, when one day he was sitting in the Garden of Eden, drinking some apple juice, and reading through a copy of the Bible he owned, something which he had grown accustomed to reading.  Looking up from the bible for a moment, he noticed the statue of the serpent over near one of the apple trees, the tree itself having a humorous sign which read ‘Forbidden fruit – do not eat.’ Adam smiled to himself.  He had once picked one of the apples, tempted to eat it, but out of a sense of lifes ironies, threw it away.  And he occasionally grinned to himself about that time.

But sitting there, contemplating his single life, still wishing the Lord would provide himself a wife, a blonde lady, about 21, quite attractive looking, came up to him with a street map.  ‘Excuse me, sir.  But I am lost.’

Adam looked at her and noticed the map.  ‘What are you trying to find?’

‘Oh, the whale museum.  I can’t find it on the map.’

Adam gave her directions and she thanked him, and left.

A little later on, having finished most of his work for the day, the blonde women had returned.  ‘Did you find the museum?’

‘Yes, but it was shut.  And I really don’t have anything better to do for the rest of the day so I thought I would visit this park and eat some of my lunch.’

‘Your welcome to sit next to me if you like,’ said Adam.

‘Well, okay.’  And the lady sat down next to him.

She looked at the bible he had returned to.  ‘Christian, huh?’

‘Something like that.’

‘Kind of ironic, I guess.  Reading the bible in the ‘Garden of Eden’ huh?’

Adam smiled to himself.  ‘Especially with a name like Adam.’

She looked at him, slightly alarmed, a grin starting on her face.  ‘Adam, hey.  Well that is ironic.’

And they chuckled for a while.  ‘Do you mind if I ask your name?’ he said.

She looked at him, and looked at his face and looks.  She had noticed he was trim and had a good physique, so decided she may as well tell him her name.

‘Well if you must know, it is Eve.’

Adam looked at her.  This time he really didn’t smile hugely, but looked ahead at the garden and said, quite dryly, ‘Well what do you know.’

*   *   *   *   *

Adam and Eve were married in the garden of Eden, of all places to be married, and the Anglican Priest, who despite being very straightlaced, still had a subtle smile on his face from time to time.  After all, it was not exactly an everyday occurrence, a wedding of this sort.