A/N – A special thank you to Twiliteaddict and Gasaway Alley for your editing magic. I could not do this without your talents!
Okay readers, I know it's been a while, but I am back, and extremely pumped to finish From the Ashes. This chapter is in Eleazar's point of view. I hope you enjoy.
I was a marked man.
I knew with absolute certainty, my cover as Eleazar Morales, retired and respected Volturi Guard would be forfeit once Sulpicia learned of Xandru's treachery. It would not take long for her to reach the conclusion I was his connection to the OurosBouros, The Brotherhood of the Eternal Return, a secret opposing fraternity she thought she had eliminated. Only the sire would have enough thrall over a newborn to nurture their human memory without splitting their mind.
It would also not take long for Sulpicia to realize I was the thief who had stolen her precious bottle.
Before news could arrive in Volterra of Aro's defeat, I had taken advantage of the reduction in guards to smuggle Sulpicia's prize toy out from under her nose. The delicate glass bottle seemed harmless enough, but inside was a very disturbed and very powerful Djinn. The Djinn, who was created by the Sun god Ra to protect his daughter Hathor from her twin sister, Sekhmet. Knowing the Djinn was not an even match for the Warrior goddess, Ra stripped Sekhmet of her godhead, and she became known as The Forsaken. Revenge being a dish best served cold, The Forsaken spent centuries training herself in the darkest magics to replace her loss of power from losing her godhead. She re-invented herself as Sulpicia, wife of the Volturi Lord Aro, and with her husband's deadly vampire army, Sulpicia stole the Djinn from her sister, nearly capturing Hathor in the process. Entrapping the Djinn in a magical bottle, Sulpicia made him her slave and cursed him to never remember his love, Hathor.
Xandru's position as Aro's left hand and favourite pet, enabled him to get close enough to study Sulpicia's patterns. He had discovered when Sulpicia took to the Oubliette to exorcise her infernal caprices through torture and black magic, she was so caught up in the throes of bloodlust she was completely oblivious to anything but her quarry. I waited until she locked herself in her deadly den after Aro's departure for America, and used my ability to ghost unseen into her private chamber, and re-claim Hathor's Djinn.
I felt the sickening, cold fear rise up again, spreading across my body like mortal disease. This constant, needling anxiety of waiting for the other shoe to drop, made me want to fetch my wife, Carmen, and hide away, especially since that other shoe was a four-inch stiletto with a very pissed off ancient goddess in it. This feeling of dread was amplified by my inability to consistently block the negative soul sucking energy from the spirit in the damned bottle I carried.
The moment I left Volterra with the bottle, sheer terror of which I had never felt its kin, coursed through me, as I wondered how much power Sulpicia would unleash in looking for me. What would happen if I was caught? I resisted the undertow of fear by remembering Xandru and his sacrifice. Could I do no less for my son, whom I sired and mentored? Xandru had ripped time and worlds apart to find the Striga Legacy, his mortal bloodline.
His memory strengthened me, lighting the darkest caverns of my cowardice.
Three days after Xandru's death, the loss of him ripping through me like a fever, I found myself shuffling along with a group of tourists towards the Temple of Hathor, praying the glamour to disguise the subtle shimmer of my exposed preternatural skin would hold.
As I walked beneath the lintel of the Gate of Domitian and Trajan, I could not help gazing upwards, noticing right away the hieroglyph representing Hathor's symbol – a sun disc resting between the horns of a cow. Hathor was an Egyptian goddess of Creation, but to the OurosBouros, she was The Source, whom we were sworn to protect. For centuries, our allegiance to her was absolute, wrought with sacrifice as Sulpicia rooted out our hiding places. The Volturi and their guard murdered Brother after Brother, the only remaining members were Xandru, our High Priest, Amun, and myself. Our best cover was pretending we did not exist, that Sulpicia had indeed succeeded in eliminating the Brotherhood along with the Striga bloodline.
I had wasted no time contacting the High Priest Amun, once I had finally procured the Djinn's bottle. He insisted on checking it over himself, sending a private plane to Paris to retrieve me, with instructions on how to proceed once I arrived in Egypt. Clutching the bottle to my chest, I recalled Amun's dogged insistence capturing the bottle back from Sulpicia was crucial to our mission within the Volturi camp. If the Djinn could not be repossessed by the OurosBouros, every sacrifice made by every Brother would be for naught.
There was no way I would let Xandru's death be for naught.
For such a long time, the Brotherhood's situation seemed hopeless until Xandru found the long awaited Champion, predicted by his Striga forbears. Isabella Swan was the great- granddaughter of his long lost sister, Leda. She was to become The Golden Eyed Queen, a powerful chimera created in combining witch, shifter and vampire DNA. Isabella was a miracle prayed for over centuries. Though still undergoing her transformation, soon she would rise from the ashes of her victory over the Volturi to complete her destiny. And even though the actualization of the first stage of prophecy gave me hope, my heart still mourned the loss of my Brother, my son. I wished he could be here to taste the victory he wrought with Isabella. He would be pleased to see the Djinn finally being returned to it's rightful place.
Rightful place?
Where was the Djinn's rightful place, now? What could possibly be done for the damaged Djinn after years of slavery for a sadist? Despair gripped me with razor claws again as the Djinn projected his caustic energy with renewed intensity the closer we got to the Temple.
Of all the places Amun could have told me to bring the Djinn, The Temple of Hathor was certainly not what I had in mind. The Temple was too public, too open and impossible to defend should Sulpicia catch up to me. I truly had to struggle to camouflage my disdain as I looked about at the security detail for this national treasure. They wore street clothes with antiquarian machine guns strapped across their bodies, and a few guards were actually goading the tourists into having their pictures taken with them, proudly displaying their weapons. The shameless hustle of it all disgusted me. The irony of finally meeting my High Priest in this tourist-infested ghost of a once proud and mighty temple to my goddess began to rub me raw.
I did my best to blend in with the small band of tourists, even though my mood was taking a nosedive. I searched for some much needed perspective before the scalding paranoia burbling beneath the surface boiled over. Emotions this thick and heated were not something I was accustomed. Since my ability to block the preternatural talents of others seemed to be shorting out like bad electrical wiring, I had to keep assuring myself it was indeed the Djinn amplifying my emotional turmoil, and disrupting my shields. Somehow this knowledge anchored and strengthened my will, combatting tirelessly the restless, unsettling mania rooting through my spirit like a rabid parasite. I thought the hardest part would be stealing the Djinn from The Forsaken, not physically carrying it. If I carried this bottle much longer I wondered if my control would erode like the paint from the Temple walls.
Djinn were particularly volatile spirits, and I should have considered chances were good a Djinn who had been Sulpicia's slave for centuries would not be an easy mule. I pitied the poor souls Sulpicia had ordered the Djinn to destroy. But, the Djinn I pitied more. He was robbed of love, even the memory of it, therein crushing any chance of hope- chained to work for a mistress who dealt in death and destruction!
Pity aside, I could not wait to get rid of the thing, even though I spent centuries planning the Djinn's emancipation. I wondered again what Amun would do with it. He would have to do something with him before returning him to The Source. After all, the Djinn had no memory of her, and was too volatile in his present state to be trusted around the goddess. Knowing personally how strong Sulpicia's magic was, I highly doubted Amun could remove the curse...or was it possible he was that powerful of a mage? He should be if he was The Source's High Priest. With all of the Brotherhood except for Xandru and I wiped out, our exile as spies did not afford me much opportunity to learn much about Amun and his origins. All I knew was that he was a very powerful, immortal sorcerer chosen by Hathor to be our leader and her right hand after her Djinn had been stolen. Needless to say, I was looking forward to finally meeting the elusive, enigmatic High Priest and use my ability to discern for myself how much power he truly had.
Thankfully, Amun had booked me in with the last tour of the day, so even if my glamour protecting my identity as vampire gave way, the sun was not so punishing as it began it's descent in the sky. The pace of our group as it ambled towards the promising shade of the Temple, however, was agonizing for me. Everyone happily snapped pictures, moving along like stunned cattle. The only sign of life in the group was Jaru, our flamboyant, but exceedingly brilliant, tour guide. His crisp, perfectly enunciated English cut through the idolatrous din of the tourists. His easy manner and penchant for theatrics made the tour bearable even though my nerves were tenuous.
"Come with me now my friends...are you following? Yes? Keep up, my ducks and there will be plenty of time leftover later to explore and take pictures."
He was a slip of a man, his wiry frame hidden beneath the voluminous folds of his black Bedouin caftan. With his ebullient personality, he charmed the tourists while keeping a sharp eye on stragglers, herding them like a well-trained sheep dog. Jaru's most interesting prop was a tall ebony staff with an ornately carved gold snake winding from tip to top. The pommel was the snake's fearsome head, with fangs bared and eyes jewelled. It was ferociously bewitching. As he walked ahead of us, he swung it back and forth like a drum major in a parade, occasionally using it as a pointer for various ruins surrounding the temple, describing what their purpose once was with a showman's flair for the dramatic in his animated storytelling.
Outside, the Temple's structure weathered the elements with much more grace than the eroding archway and ruins surrounding it. Imposing pillars supporting the portico were adorned at the top with the Goddess's cow-like face. Her wide eyes, bovine ears, and a Mona Lisa smile serenely observed the desert landscape, now claimed by a booming tourist industry. Her bright paint had been long removed by time abrasive sandstorms, however, with her denuded face the strong, stoic stone attested to the devotion and skill of the masons who sculpted her. I could not help but be filled with pride despite my sour mood.
Leading us inside the structure to the Hypostyle Hall, Jaru delivered a well-rehearsed history of the temple as we all stood dwarfed amongst even more of the gigantic towering columns,all adorned with the goddesses face, and a dizzying array of hieroglyphics. Birdsong filled the quiet space with life. The flap of their wings and swoop of their bodies amongst the pillars could be seen and felt, giving an edge of excitement and vivacity to the solemnly spiritual space. There had to be thousands nestled within the eaves. Though aged and worn, I marvelled at the miracle of this temple to attract life. I stood in stunned bewitchment of the powerful dizzying artistry of the ancient glyphs carved into every square inch of usable space. Our guide allowed time to digest the overwhelming beauty of it all, watching us with a smile of satisfaction and pride, answering questions before continuing on.
"Placed on foundations of much older structures, the ambitious Emperor Tiberius ordered the temples' construction just before the birth of Christ, to curry favour with the Ptolemies. Napoleon found her over eighteen hundred years later, partially buried in the desert sands, housing beggars and thieves from the harshness of the desert. The infamous general pulled her from her dry grave, and resurrected her spirit and beauty. Over two centuries of careful restoration are the result of the magnificence surrounding you, dear friends. Now, if you look up, which I see most of you are doing, you will see the revelation of the ongoing painstaking work of removing the centuries of smoke damage from fires lit within the temple."
In varying cordoned off areas within the hall were ladders and scaffolding with dozens of workers carefully cleaning the ceilings. The phrase "whistle while you work" took on interesting connotations as the chirping, joyful birdsong blended in tandem with squeaks of ladders being used by the workers. Their delicate, methodical efforts peeled back the smoke-stained veil of time, revealing a pale shade of sky blue background within the cartouches. Red ochre sun-kissed the skin of gods and goddesses. Black kohl glared solemnly as the Eye of Ra, it's foreboding stare unforgiving and absolute.
"Every temple was astrologically chosen, to harness the powers of the heavens. They were vessels, receptacles of celestial energy. The priests of the temple would channel this energy to the civilizations built around them. When the temples of the Egyptian Empire fell, Egypt fell. You see my friends, when you cut the heart out of a country's spirituality, the people fade." He paused for dramatic effect. The silence from the tourists served to enhance the sound of the wind chasing about the large pillars. Pleased he had achieved the effect he desired, Jaru tapped his stick on the floor and waved his hands towards the eastern wall. He marched towards it, his staff pointing at one of the larger murals.
"Follow me, yes, follow me. You see there?" With his beautiful walking stick, he gently tapped the figure of a male Egyptian god standing next to Hathor. "This man with the face of a bird and the tall hat...it looks like two large feathers on top of his head. You see him, yes?" Jaru smiled a wide crocodile grin, goading his flock to respond and ogle the treasure he was so anxious to show them. "Does anyone know who this is? You will find him on every great temple across Egypt. He is the only god of the Egyptian pantheon who walked the earth as a man. I will give you hint...it is not Jesus, though those images were inscribed sometime near his birth!" Jaru snorted over his secret and barely understood scholarly jibe. Then the guide's eyes lit up as he found his volunteer.
"How about you there? Beautiful young lady with the pendulum. How smart of you to bring it! This is a place of power, hmmm? The ancients thought so. Yes, yes, they certainly did. The heart still beats strongly here."
He pointed towards a young couple, covered with esoteric tattoos and jewellery. The man was poring over the hieroglyphs with his camera while his partner dangled a pendulum at the threshold of the temple. The clear, quartz crystal spun in a wide circle, even though the fingers and hand holding the chain it swung from remained still. " Honey, get this on camera! It's reacting to leyline energy," she whispered. The male positioned his camera to shoot the swinging shard of crystal. Jaru waited patiently, smiling like a parent amused with a child's fantastical indulgences.
The young woman looked to the guide with fascination flushing her face, while the pendulum swung. Her free hand reached to clutch a small cartouche pendant hanging from a leather thong around her neck.
"It is Ra, the Sun God."
"Very good! Very good. Yes, my friends, here we see Ra, God of the Sun. It is from him the feminine aspect of Hathor was born. As he is the God of Consciousness, she is the Goddess of Dreams."
As the guide rolled his r's with showmanship flair and gesticulated in a flurry of passionate storytelling, I wandered away from the group, growing impatient and wondering where Amun would meet me. Weaving about the columns, I heard my name whispered from above.
"Eleazar."
Spinning around to the left, I looked up to see one of the workers, descending a ladder quickly and quietly, his eyes fixed on me. He moved with unearthly grace considering his size. He had to be at least six and half feet tall. Upon reaching the ground, he smiled and beckoned with a jerk of his head for me to follow him. We moved out of the Hypostyle hall towards the Hall of Appearance, which then led to the Sanctuary. His speed quickened, and I almost had to jog to keep up. No one seemed to notice us, which, hopefully meant my powers to blend in were back online. I could hear Jaru continue on with his stories in the Hypostyle Hall, while the workers went about their careful cleaning.
When we reached the Sanctuary, a holy place where a golden effigy of The Source in the image of Hathor once stood, my large, mysterious guide turned to face me and held his arms out, palms facing upwards, and whispered, "For those who have eyes to see, Let them see."
A shimmering blue wave of magical energy surged from his palms and passed over the worker's face and clothing, morphing into the High Priest, Amun. He wore his trademark, white linen Armani suit, golden scarab cufflinks gleamed from the button holes. I was reduced to my knees by the force of the powerful kickback released when he removed his clever glamour. The jolt flashed for only a moment before it fizzling out to nothing but static. I desperately tried to gauge how much magic he could muster, but he was too quick to slide shields in place. He was beyond skilled to be able to keep me out. It was then I realized he released that slip to remind me why he was chosen by the Goddess to be second in the command. If the blowback literally blows a man back, I decided on my knees was a good place to be to give respect where respect was due.
"My Lord Amun," I bowed my head in deference. "I have completed my mission and freed the Djinn from the clutches of The Forsaken."
"Please my Brother Eleazar, we have no time for formality. We are long past such archaic dogma. War is afoot and the first tastes of victory are ours!"
I looked up to see his dark eyes flash the iciest blue for a split second as he revelled in his proclamation. Offering me a hand up, he clasped mine firmly in the traditional grip of the OurosBouros. As I stood, he pulled me in for a firm, manly hug.
"I'm so sorry for your loss. Xandru was a devoted Brother and servant to The Source. Finding the Golden Eyed Queen and eliminating Sulpicia's army was a mission only you and he could have accomplished by sacrificing much together. You and your son's loyalty will not be forgotten. Whatever you need, whenever you need it Brother Eleazar, it is yours."
I tried very hard not to weep. The validation was a soothing balm over the burn of my loss. I reached into my jacket to hand Amun the accursed bottle.
"All I ask is that you relieve me of this my lord."
Pulling the bottle free from my inside breast pocket I could not resist voicing my concern, edged with the dangerous paranoia the Djinn fuelled, "Forgive me for asking Lord Amun, but is it safe to give this to you here?"
Amun's smile was slow and predatory, filled with the confidence of one who had the situation completely under control. He spread his hands wide to encompass the space and said something in an ancient language. My system iced over in the recognition of it, panic piercing my heart- the language he spoke was the exact dialect Sulpicia used while doing her dark magics! In all of my travels during the millennia of my existence, I had never heard its like from another mouth until now.
Had I been fooled? Was this a trick orchestrated by The Forsaken? I buried the bottle again within the folds of my jacket. Dread rooted me to the spot, even with the reassurance of Amun's smile.
Amun pointed his index finger at the floor. I sucked in a breath of disbelief as I witnessed orange sparks shooting like a laser from his fingertips. Speaking in his strange tongue he carved a perfect red square onto the stone. It glowed in response to his voice before transforming into an opening with stone steps leading to a level beneath the Sanctuary. The stairs descended in a dizzying curl to the dark bottom. The eerie similarity between these steps and the ones to Sulpicia's Oubliette- coupled with the language Amun had just used to invoke his magics, continued to paralyze me with doubt.
Turning his gaze on me, Amun creased his brow in confusion when he recognized the fear in my eyes. Somehow, I managed to answer his unspoken question.
"You spoke in the same language...as Sulpicia! Who are you really and where are you taking me?"
His face softened and he looked weary for a moment.
"Stay your fear, Brother Eleazar. I speak the language common to The Source and her sister, The Forsaken. I can hardly guess at how difficult this journey has been, how much we have asked you to risk."
He approached me slowly, his hands raised in gesture of peace. "You have been marked and hunted by an ancient goddess of War, Disease and Pestilence. Though stripped of her godhead, her magic is as potent as mine...if not more. Hearing me speak and do magic similar to hers, it is understandable it would give you pause. But think upon this-being that I am the goddess's current protector, would it not seem appropriate for me to know her language and possess the knowledge of similar magics?"
His reasoning made sense, and yet, I sensed he was keeping something from me within that nugget of logical truth. His ability to block, and why he felt the need to do so, continued to play to my mistrust. What was he hiding?
"Please Eleazar, your suspicion is influenced by the bottle you carry..."
I sighed heavily. I knew this to be true, however fear continued to beat furious wings in my throat as I looked down the spiralling stone steps into fathomless emptiness.
"What is down there?"
With his face the picture of serenity, Amun smiled, as if he was about to share a great secret with me.
"Answers Eleazar. Are you ready for them?"
Was I?
The roar of paranoia and fear rolling within my head was deafening, but if going down those stairs and trusting my High Priest was all I had to do to get rid of the Djinn, I was ready for anything.
"Yes."
He nodded in approval and grabbed a torch from the wall at the top of the staircase, lighting it without saying a word. Amun began to descend the stairs with me trailing along behind him. Along the wall were hieroglyphics, and from what I could tell from the sparse light bouncing off the walls, they were in pristine condition- as if they were just completed only days ago instead of eons. I could not help but trail my hand along their tempting texture; somehow the action calmed the rioting emotions inside of me. Amun looked over his shoulder at me with a conspiratorial grin.
"So much beauty. It's a shame to be secreted away down here, yes?"
"No, this is a place of protection. Someday I would love to know the stories on these walls."
He stopped mid-step and turned around to face me.
"Nothing would please me more than to tell them to you." Winking he added with an eerie whisper, "Perhaps that shall come sooner than you think. Come, we are almost to the bottom."
The staircase eventually ended in a small circular room with torches lit along the walls. Ahead, a large golden door bore the image of Hathor encrusted in precious and semi-precious stones that winked and sparkled in the ambient light of the antechamber. The detail of the mosaic of the Goddess was extremely intricate. I had never seen its like in any museum and I have been to hundreds of them over the course of my centuries. Realization dawned that beyond this door was The Source.
She was here? In an underground crypt?
Flashes of anger in regards to the security and defensibility of the compound surfaced and I wheeled on Amun.
"I thought you were bringing me to a safe magical space where you could check on the Djinn without something horrible happening. Or worse, have something horrible come for us! What guarantee do I have the Djinn's energy won't taint her sanctuary as it has my own mind?"
"So much fire and protection for the goddess! It is no wonder your devotion has enabled you to survive this long. Answers you shall have, my faithful friend."
With a satisfied nod, he spoke the strange language again. Blindingly bright light surrounded him and before my eyes, Amun morphed into the living, breathing embodiment of the hieroglyphics I'd admired not twenty minutes ago in the Hypostyle Hall.
Amun's nose lengthened, darkening to pitch black, before hardening and forming into a shiny beak. In a literal blink of his eyes, they mutated into the sharp, predatory stare of a falcon. His ornithological face complete, Amun opened his beak and let loose a sharp screech to the sky as his royal staff appeared in his left hand and a large golden ankh in his right. Feathers sprouted from his dark skin, covering head, neck and shoulders. His torso remained humanoid and his clothes dissipated, until all he was wearing was a white linen Egyptian-style apron with a gauzy silken robe in bright, jewel-toned turquoise. Around his upper arms, wrists and ankles, small cobra-like golden snakes reared their heads and swayed gently as if in thrall by some fakir's music in the distance. Before they settled, they gave an agitated hiss, found the end of their tails and locked their jaws around the tips, transforming into harmless gold adornments.
The final, glorious touch of his transfiguration was a golden ball of fire appearing over the top of his head, expanding until it burned bright enough to throw light all the way to the top of the stairwell. A large copper-coloured snake broke through the centre of the fiery orb, and wound his way to the top before finding rest upon the mystic swirling heat like it's earthbound progeny on a sun warmed rock. With a resounding crack that caused ripples of energy to roll out in waves, he slammed his staff forcibly onto the stone floor. Sparks flew, singeing my clothing, and for the second time today, I found myself on my knees before him.
Amun's falcon face morphed back to a version more similar to his human likeness. His blue eyes, so much like Sulpicia's, were lined heavily with kohl like the gods and pharaohs of old. When the blazing god before me spoke, his mighty voice was a telekinetic scream in my head,
"Eleazar Morales, you have the guarantee of the god who created that Djinn. They called me Atum when I remained motionless, containing the absolute information before the creation of this Universe. They called me Ptah when I set in motion the information that created the stars, the planets and the natural kingdoms upon them. And when I created the consciousness of man, they called me... Amun-Ra."
Chapter 11 will be following within two weeks. Thanks so much for reading, it feels wonderful to be writing again!