had imprisoned in the bell, the number of smoky essences he had collected upon their flaming deaths into this one diamond. It had taken a decade to find so many, to imprison them, and to gather together the evil essence that animated these damned creatures. Now those same energies would open the portal to the angelic world.
He covered his face with his hands, trembling bodily. He had so many questions for the angels. Not since the times chronicled by the Book of Enoch had angels come to man without the command of God. Not since then had men benefited from their wisdom.
But I will bring their light to earth and share it with all of mankind .
He moved to the fireplace and lit a long taper. He carried it around the circle, igniting five candles placed at the corners of the pentagram. The yellow flames looked weak and insubstantial in the sunlight, guttering in the draft from the window.
At last, he closed the curtains, and darkness cloaked the room.
He hurried back and knelt at the edge of the circle.
From the gemstone, inky smoke flowed from the tiny opening, moving tentatively, perhaps sensing the larger world still glowed with the new day. Then it seemed to grow bolder, rushing toward John, as if to claim him, to make him pay for its long imprisonment. But the circle of salt held it at bay.
Ignoring the threat, John’s voice hissed against the crackling fire as he recited words in the Enochian language, a language long thought lost to mankind. “I command thee, Master of Darkness, to show me the light that is the opposite of your shadows.”
Within the circle, the black cloud quivered once, twice, expanding and contracting like a living heart. With each beat, it grew larger than before.
John clasped his hands in front of him. “Protect me, oh Lord, as I look upon the glory thou hast wrought.”
The darkness coalesced into an oval large enough for a man to step through.
Whispered words brushed John’s ear.
“ COME TO ME . . .”
The voice rose from out of the portal.
“ SERVE ME . . .”
John picked up an unlit candle from beside his knee and lit it from one on the corner of the pentagram. He held the flame aloft, calling again upon the protection of God.
A new noise reached him as if something shifted on the far side of the portal, accompanied by a heavy chinking sound, the clang of metal on metal.
Words returned, worming into his mind. “ OF ALL MORTALS, I HAVE FOUND THOU ALONE WORTHY .”
John rose and took a step toward the circle, but his foot brushed Vaclav’s outstretched hand. He stopped, suddenly sensing how unworthy he was to look upon such glory.
I have killed an innocent .
His silent confession was heard.
“ GREATNESS HAS ITS PRICE ,” he was assured. “ FEW ARE PREPARED TO PAY IT. THOU ART UNLIKE THE OTHERS, JOHN DEE .”
He trembled at these new words, especially the last two.
My name is known, spoken by an angel .
He teetered between pride and fear, the room spinning drunkenly. The candle fell from his fingers. Still lit, it rolled into the circle, then through the portal to cast its light on what lay hidden on the other side.
He gaped at a figure of incredible majesty seated atop a shining ebony throne. Candlelight glinted off eyes of black oil in a face of stern beauty, each plane seemingly sculpted from onyx. Atop that beautiful countenance rested a broken crown of silver, its surface tarnished black, jagged edges looking like horns. From beyond wide shoulders rose mighty wings, whose feathers were as dark and glossy as a raven’s. They curved high, sheltering the naked form within their embrace.
The figure shifted forward, disturbing the tarnished silver chains that encased his flawless form, securing him to his throne.
John knew upon whom he stared.
“Thou art no angel,” he whispered.
“ I AM . . . AND HAVE ALWAYS BEEN .” Though that smooth voice filled his head, the figure’s lips did not move. “ THY WORDS HAVE SUMMONED ME. WHAT ELSE COULD I BE
He covered his face with his hands, trembling bodily. He had so many questions for the angels. Not since the times chronicled by the Book of Enoch had angels come to man without the command of God. Not since then had men benefited from their wisdom.
But I will bring their light to earth and share it with all of mankind .
He moved to the fireplace and lit a long taper. He carried it around the circle, igniting five candles placed at the corners of the pentagram. The yellow flames looked weak and insubstantial in the sunlight, guttering in the draft from the window.
At last, he closed the curtains, and darkness cloaked the room.
He hurried back and knelt at the edge of the circle.
From the gemstone, inky smoke flowed from the tiny opening, moving tentatively, perhaps sensing the larger world still glowed with the new day. Then it seemed to grow bolder, rushing toward John, as if to claim him, to make him pay for its long imprisonment. But the circle of salt held it at bay.
Ignoring the threat, John’s voice hissed against the crackling fire as he recited words in the Enochian language, a language long thought lost to mankind. “I command thee, Master of Darkness, to show me the light that is the opposite of your shadows.”
Within the circle, the black cloud quivered once, twice, expanding and contracting like a living heart. With each beat, it grew larger than before.
John clasped his hands in front of him. “Protect me, oh Lord, as I look upon the glory thou hast wrought.”
The darkness coalesced into an oval large enough for a man to step through.
Whispered words brushed John’s ear.
“ COME TO ME . . .”
The voice rose from out of the portal.
“ SERVE ME . . .”
John picked up an unlit candle from beside his knee and lit it from one on the corner of the pentagram. He held the flame aloft, calling again upon the protection of God.
A new noise reached him as if something shifted on the far side of the portal, accompanied by a heavy chinking sound, the clang of metal on metal.
Words returned, worming into his mind. “ OF ALL MORTALS, I HAVE FOUND THOU ALONE WORTHY .”
John rose and took a step toward the circle, but his foot brushed Vaclav’s outstretched hand. He stopped, suddenly sensing how unworthy he was to look upon such glory.
I have killed an innocent .
His silent confession was heard.
“ GREATNESS HAS ITS PRICE ,” he was assured. “ FEW ARE PREPARED TO PAY IT. THOU ART UNLIKE THE OTHERS, JOHN DEE .”
He trembled at these new words, especially the last two.
My name is known, spoken by an angel .
He teetered between pride and fear, the room spinning drunkenly. The candle fell from his fingers. Still lit, it rolled into the circle, then through the portal to cast its light on what lay hidden on the other side.
He gaped at a figure of incredible majesty seated atop a shining ebony throne. Candlelight glinted off eyes of black oil in a face of stern beauty, each plane seemingly sculpted from onyx. Atop that beautiful countenance rested a broken crown of silver, its surface tarnished black, jagged edges looking like horns. From beyond wide shoulders rose mighty wings, whose feathers were as dark and glossy as a raven’s. They curved high, sheltering the naked form within their embrace.
The figure shifted forward, disturbing the tarnished silver chains that encased his flawless form, securing him to his throne.
John knew upon whom he stared.
“Thou art no angel,” he whispered.
“ I AM . . . AND HAVE ALWAYS BEEN .” Though that smooth voice filled his head, the figure’s lips did not move. “ THY WORDS HAVE SUMMONED ME. WHAT ELSE COULD I BE
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