The Ancient Evil, page 44
part #25 of Red Cross of Gold Series
“Then turn back.” Mark Andrew urged him. “The weather seems to be clearing a bit. South would be better a choice. The snow is much deeper further on.” He waved one hand toward the road behind him. The Colonel reined his horse about and consulted with his men briefly. They seemed more than willing to take the two strangers word for it. They did not want to go further into the cold.
“We are going to take your advice, sir.” The Colonel announced after the impromptu conference. “May I ask your names?”
“I’m John and this is my brother Andrew. I hardly see the point of going further in that regard.”
“That is true enough. We’ll be needing nothing further for some time to come, it would seem.” The Colonel nodded his head thoughtfully. “How about a bit of that Scotch? I’m sick of Vodka!”
The small troop of unlikely traveling companions took shelter for the night when the horses tired, in an abandoned train station where they made a magnificent A MAGNIFICENT WHAT?! WHAT’D THEY MAKE?!. A grand assortment of snack foods, bottled water and beverages meant for the defunct vending machines was stacked unmolested in a basement storeroom made of reinforced concrete. Apparently, none of the scavengers had thought to come to the train station after the trains had stopped running. They left the doors open, posted sentries at the entrance to the basement storerooms and built a fire in the middle of the floor. The blustering wind pulled the smoke out and left the underground shelter surprisingly warm. As they filled themselves on chips, cookies and candy bars and began to warm up, the soldiers started removing the outer layers of their clothing, carefully laying them in piles, intending to use the down coats, woolen sweaters and excess layers of shirts as bedding atop the concrete floor. Luke and his father followed suit to a certain degree, but did not wish to expose themselves completely to the scrutiny of the Fox contingent. They kept their heads covered by black knit caps and pulled the high collars of their heavy sweaters up around their chins. The soldiers refused to share in the strange white flakes that Luke and Mark Andrew took from bags on their saddles. The manna provided by the elven King for their journey would have been much more filling than the candy bars, but Mark did not press the issue. He and Luke ate the flakes from their hands and then washed them down with honey mead, also provided by Il Dolce Mio. The Scotch, taken from the basement of the house in Lothian, they gave over to the soldiers.
Luke sat staring at the soldiers in the light of the fire as they slowly and painfully removed their equipment which consisted of every conceivable type of light firearm and bladed weapon that could possibly be carried by one man. The array was staggering as each man made a pile of his weapons near the places they had chosen to bed down. But it was not the weapons that grabbed Luke’s attention, but rather the appearance and condition of the men. They bore hideous marks on their heads and necks and the exposed portions of their arms and hands. None of them, including the Colonel had escaped this latest atrocity without being permanently and perhaps even mortally wounded in some way or another. There were sores, burns, cuts, punctures and missing fingers. Their bandages were ragged and bloody. Some of the injuries were still rather fresh and obviously infected. Luke was horrified at the sight of what he had, at first, taken to be a well-armed, well-fared group of soldiers. They began to silently go about checking themselves and each other, applying what little medicine they had to the various injuries as the two ‘brothers’ looked on in silent amazement. To Luke, it was a miracle that any of them could have been able to even mount a horse, much less ride for hours on end in the freezing darkness, drinking Vodka and chewing freeze dried rations without the benefit of water.
“We were lucky to be in New Babylon when the war started.” The Colonel finished wrapping one of the soldiers’ hands in a filthy rag and then sat down on his parka to face them. He had a gauze bandage wrapped around his head and an oozing wound or sore above his left ear. “The water there is good. I don’t know how they did it, but they managed to keep control within the city walls and around the palace. The Emperor opened his courtyard for the people to receive water rations from the fountain. The lines were long, but the wait was worth it. We haven’t seen any clean water since leaving France. One of the monasteries there had a well that the good fathers claimed had been protected by God. They gave us shelter for a day and then filled our canteens for us. Good men, but dying. They have no food. God gave them water, but He forgot about the food.” The Colonel looked down at his hands which were covered in dirty bandages heretofore concealed under his gloves. “We gave them some rations in return for the water, but we couldn’t do much for them. They assured us that God would provide for them. They were waiting to hear from Rome. They said that a new King was coming and that he would take care of them. Can you believe it? They said that this new King was of the old Frankish bloodline and something about the Holy Grail. I suppose they were on the verge of insanity. The Holy Grail! The folly of men never fails to amaze me.”
“Sir?” Luke Andrew leaned forward and looked into the man’s haunted eyes. “Is everyone… does everyone… are these injuries that you and your men suffer… are they typical?”
“We’ve been fortunate. Our wounds are probably less severe than they appear. We have no clean bandages. All of the stores have been looted. The hospitals are deserted. We need some antibiotics, but there are none to be had. We’ll just have to wait out the infection and hope for the best.”
Mark Andrew pushed himself up and then sat down next to the Colonel. He examined the wound on his head as best he could in the flickering light. McGuffy obliged his curiosity by pulling up the bandage slightly. The gash on his head made Luke gasp. It was hideously infected and so close to the brain. How the man lived and breathed was beyond knowing.
“What caused this?” He asked after a moment.
“We were attacked when we landed in Dover. A band of ruffians wanted our food. They had what I believe were pipe bombs. Crude, but effective. I think I was hit by a piece of flying metal. I’m not sure.”
Mark grimaced at the sight of the open wound under the loose bandage. Only now did he notice that the Colonel’s face was flushed and his hands shook slightly. Fever. It would not be long before he would be unable to go on. The fever gleaming in his eyes would take him, but it was likely that his horse would die even before that happened. The animals could be heard snorting and pawing the bare floor of the station above their heads. No water. No fodder.
Mark Andrew looked at Luke and was surprised to see tears on his son’s face.
“Andrew!” Mark motioned Luke over to his side. “Do you still have the elixir?”
Luke nodded and drew a small bottle from his jacket pocket. The bottle was dark brown and stopped with a cork stopper.
“We don’t have much, Colonel.” Mark Andrew took the bottle from Luke and held it up in the light of the fire. “I think we might have enough to help you and your men.”
“What is that?” The Colonel frowned at the little bottle.
“A sort of cure-all potion. I dabble a bit in herbal medicines. You might be surprised.” Mark smiled at him. “If you would like to try it, I would be happy to share it with you.”
“What do we do, drink it?” McGuffy smiled at the Knight and then eyed the tiny vessel doubtfully.
“No. You would have to trust me.” Mark told him solemnly. “Do you believe in God, Colonel?”
“No. I can’t say that I do.” McGuffy looked about at his men. “I don’t think you’ll find many believers in this group.”
“You don’t have to believe, but you will have to trust me.” Mark shrugged.
“Are you a priest then? I thought you said you worked off-shore?” One of the men, by his collar insignia, a sergeant, spoke up. He had a bandage covering one eye and three fingers missing on his right hand. “We need more than prayers, Mr. John Doe. I don’t think you have enough in that bottle for all of us.” Several murmurs of agreement and a round of derisive chuckles followed his statement.
Mark slipped the bottle in his pocket and raised one eyebrow.
“As you like.”
“No!” The Colonel caught his arm. “It can’t hurt. I mean what have we got to lose? We’ll never make it back anyway.”
The soldiers fell silent and Luke looked at his father in dismay. They had brought the elixir to use on anyone they might find that could be helpful to their cause. He failed to see how these men fit the bill.
“All right then.” Mark Andrew stood up. “Who would be first?”
No one spoke up and finally the colonel volunteered. The sergeant protested that he was the commander and could not be risked. A general consensus was taken and the sergeant was chosen to be the first recipient. Mark Andrew had him lay down on his back beside the fire. He crossed the man’s feet and placed his hands on his chest.
The Knight of Death instructed the others to remain quite during the ceremony.
“Ceremony?” The Colonel frowned at him.
“This is not a simple medicine, Colonel.” Mark Andrew told him. “I told you that you would have to trust me.”
“You’re not going to cut on him, are you?” One of the men asked from near the staircase.
“There will be no need for anything like that.” Mark assured them. He pulled the cork from the bottle and looked up at the dark ceiling of the storeroom.
“If this is some mumbo jumbo voodoo bullshit, I’m out of here!” One of the other soldiers started to get up and the Colonel ordered him to sit down.
Mark Andrew knelt beside the sergeant and pushed back the bandage, exposing his forehead. He placed his right index finger over the top of the bottle and shook some of the precious Red Tincture of the Dragon’s Blood onto his finger.
“Close your eyes.” He told the sergeant. “This will not hurt you.”
The sergeant complied and Mark drew a small cross on his forehead.
“Hear me, Master and Father,” began the invocation, speaking in old Gaelic rather than English. “Creator of the Universe, bless this effort of Thy humble servant, John, Prince of the Grave, King of Terrors, have mercy upon the heads of Thy people in their time of need. Put forth Thine Holy Hand and quicken this liquor for it rejoices the Soul, it renews virtue, it cleanseth the soul, it strengthens youth and removes old age, for it suffers not the blood to be putrified, nor choler to be found, nor melancholiness to be abundant, yea rather it multiplies the blood beyond measure and restores and renews all corporeal members efficacioiusly and preserves them from hurt, and does most perfectly heal all infirmities, hot as well as cold, dry as well as moist, before all other medicines of Physicians, and to conclude it expels all evil humors and brings in those that are good, love, honor, security, boldness and victory in battle to those that possess it and in this is the greatest secret of nature accomplished which is, a secret not to be valued at any price a most precious and incomparable treasure which god grant to be hidden in their minds that possess it lest it be made known to the foolish and the ignorant. Let every man living say: Finis!” He announced the final sentence in English.
Several of the soldiers and Luke Andrew said the word.
“Every man!” Mark Andrew glared at the soldier who had threatened to leave earlier.
“Fuck that shit!” The man looked about wide-eyed. “I’m not going to sell my soul to the devil!”
Colonel McGuffy leapt to his feet and came up with a shining, chrome-plated pistol. He pressed the man against the cold wall and put the muzzle of the pistol against his temple.
“Say it, damn you! I’m sick of your mouth, Spencer! I’m still in command of this pathetic outfit and you will do as I say!”
The man was flabbergasted, but he squeaked out the word ‘Finis!’ and the Colonel let go of him.
McGuffy turned about and smiled at Mark Andrew. “I hope that was good enough.”
Mark shrugged and then helped the sergeant sit up.
“How do you feel, sir?” He asked the soldier who sat staring at his bandaged hand in wonder. He held up his hands and another soldier crept forward on his hands and knees.
“Great merciful Father!” The soldier breathed as he began to peel off the nasty bandages on the Sergeant’s injured hand. When the last of the cloth fell away, the hand was revealed whole and clean. Five fingers where before there had only been two and three mangled stumps, swollen and grotesque. “It worked!” The soldier shouted and his voice echoed in the concrete room. The horses whinnied nervously over their heads as the soldiers crowded about to inspect the hand. A moment later, they were awestruck as the bandages were removed from the sergeant’s head. He not only had three new fingers, he had a brand new eye to replace the one he had lost on the beach at Dover! The sergeant blinked and rubbed his new eye with his healed hand before finding Mark Andrew standing behind the other soldiers. He pushed them aside and fell on his face at Mark’s feet, weeping uncontrollably.
Luke got to his feet and helped the man up.
“Who’s next?” Mark smiled at them.
“Take Mario!” Someone suggested. “He’s shaking with fever.”
Mario was pushed forward and soon they were witnessing a second miraculous healing.
When the men were all healed of even the most hideous wounds, even the vulgar-tongued doubter whose name, ironically enough, was Thomas, the Fox soldiers sat about the fire, still shocked, still looking themselves and each other over.
“Father!” Colonel McGuffy spoke at long last. “Tell us who you are, Master.”
Luke had retreated into one corner of the storeroom, unsure of what he should or should not do. He was undecided concerning the wisdom of what his father had done. When the healings were finished, there was barely a drop of the elixir left.
Mark Andrew reached up and deliberately removed the tight knit cap covering his long hair. The dark locks fell upon his shoulders and the silver ornaments tinkled on the white braid. His blue eyes glowed with a look that Luke had never witnessed in his father’s face. The Colonel’s men crowded around to look at him in wonder. One of them reached a trembling hand out slowly and Mark allowed him to touch his hair. “The Prophet!” Someone gasped the words and the soldiers fell back. One of them fell on his knees and placed his forehead on the concrete. “Praise Allah and His Prophet, Omar!” Another voice called out.
“Do you still profess no belief in the Creator, James?” Mark asked him in a low voice.
“I will believe anything you tell me to believe, Master.” The Colonel blinked at him in the firelight. “For surely if there is a god in heaven, he has sent you to us. Are you truly the Prophet? Have we all died then?”
“I am no Prophet, Brothers.” Mark Andrew addressed all of them. “I am not the Prophet whom you believe lives in New Babylon. Nor is he the person you believe him to be. Let me tell you a story, my Children.”
Luke watched in fascination as his father sat cross-legged in front of the fire and these formerly desperate men, who had been full of fear and hatred, gathered in front of him, reacting to the manner in which he addressed them… as children. Never in all his life or association with his father had he heard, or expected to hear, words such as this spoken from Mark Andrew Ramsay. His father looked and sounded both very old and very young
“In the beginning was the Word and the Word was with God and the Word was God. The same was in the beginning with God. All things were made by him; and without him was not any thing made that was made.” Mark Andrew began to quote from the Book of John as the men listened to him as they had never listened to anything before. “Tomorrow morning the sun will rise on a new day, my children.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Whatsoever thy hand findeth to do, do it with thy might
Mark Andrew’s prophecy about the sunrise had been correct and the new day dawned as expected, but the world had changed and the ensuing turmoil was incomprehensible. The people retreated into something that could only be compared a new version of the Dark Ages. The skies were swept clean of the pollution caused by the nuclear devastation, but the death toll continued to rise for years as pestilence followed famine followed local disputes. Warlords rose to power and succumbed to oblivion just as quickly. Petty warfare continued to be conducted with everything from leftover weapons from the war to sticks and stones, depending on where one happened to be. Twenty years passed in the blink of the Proverbial eye and Europe settled into a strange sprinkling of city-states, connected by the remnants of the superhighways now used only by pedestrian traffic and horse-drawn conveyances of various design. The best way to travel was horseback and horses became valued property, even more valuable than hearth and home. News traveled slowly and no one knew what was going on across the seas. The ships would not run without fuel and what few sailing vessels that were in existence were confiscated by whoever who could take them and keep them. But all was not as dark as one might expect. The population had dropped to an incredible low and this helped ease the strain on the survivors. Life took on new priorities as former business executives and computer nerds learned to be farmers and craftsmen. Mark’s performance and short sojourn with Colonel McGuffy had started a chain reaction that had caused an unprecedented number of defections amongst the Fox military units cut off from the influence of New Babylon. Before he left McGuffy in the south of England to return to the underworld, he had built an entire following who proclaimed him as the True Messenger of Light. They called him John, the Beloved Teacher after the beloved disciple of Jesus Christ because he always started his teachings with the first verses of John. They also recognized him as the divine brother of the King of England.
By the time Luke Matthew had returned to London, he had become much more in his absence than ever he had been in his former short reign. Now he was the immortal Paul Luke Matthew Armenius Ramsay, Divine King and descendent of the line of Arthur Pendragon. The people, as well as, the new Royal Court, followed him without question as he rallied the Kingdom and began to restore the semblance of civilization to the British Isles, leaping ahead of the confusion still reigning on the continent. Soon, King Ramsay’s court had become the center of the western world with emissaries and representatives of all the emerging republics, kingdoms and states coming to him for advice, help and support. And King Ramsay gave to all of them without reserve, without only the one condition that would swear fealty in support of Britain in its endeavors against the powers in Persia Major.
