| |
The fourth elemental relic was not a tablet upon which the secrets of alchemy had been inscribed, nor was it a sword in the conventional sense, but it was a large green crystal, shining with a brilliant glow that seemed too bright to merely be a reflection of the overhead fluorescent bulbs. Kismet could see how it might easily be described as a sword. The crystal was flat and broad—about four inches across—and long, at least twenty-four inches, tapering to points at either end.
One other detail made it appear sword-like. It was held in a two-handed grip over the chest of a figure lying in repose on a bier near the center of the vault, a remarkably life-like image of an athletic looking man. Like the giant statues they had passed on the way in, it appeared to be made entirely of gold.
There was a strange energy radiating from the golden figure—not the light from the emerald, but something else. Something invisible, a hum of potential energy. The crystal itself seemed to be vibrating imperceptibly, straining against the fixed grip, no doubt attracted to the elemental relics Hauser carried in the backpack. The hum was either above or below the threshold of human hearing, but Kismet felt it in every cell of his body—a vague but growing sense of unease. He swallowed, his mouth dry.
“Alexander the Great,” Leda explained, though Kismet had already guessed as much.
“Was he one of your Ancients?” he asked.
“No. Just a man who thought he was a demi-god. When he died, his body was placed in a golden coffin cast from his form. According to some historical accounts, the golden coffin was replaced by one made of glass by Ptolemy X, so the gold could be melted down in order to pay debts incurred in his war to hold the throne he’d taken from his older brother. The act so outraged the citizens of Alexandria that he was deposed, exiled and eventually killed. In actuality, the priests of Hermes arranged a deception. They gave Ptolemy gold out of their own treasury, and created a sculpted facsimile of Alexander for display in the glass coffin. This golden sheath containing Alexander’s physical remains was hidden away in a secret tomb beneath the Serapeum where it remained undisturbed and was eventually forgotten.” She looked over at him. “Until we found it and brought it here.”
“Why the subterfuge?”
“An obvious explanation is that the priests revered Alexander and saw the emperor’s actions as a desecration. However, our research has yielded a different explanation. Alexander’s body is radioactive.”
Kismet resisted the urge to recoil. Was that the energy he had been sensing? He knew he could almost instantly recover from most injuries, but radiation wasn’t like a knife blade or a bullet. In fact, just the opposite, because his seeming immortality was the result of rapid cellular regeneration, and since gamma rays could wreak havoc on cellular nuclei, triggering potentially deadly mutations, his rapid-healing might actually promote an explosion of cancerous growths in him.
“Barely above the level of background radiation,” Leda added. “Though two thousand years ago, it might have been cause for concern, if not for the shielding provided by this layer of gold.” She paused a beat. “You are familiar, I take it, with the story of Alexander’s death?”
“I know that he died young. In his thirties. From typhoid fever, if I recall correctly. Although some think he may have been poisoned.”
“He was poisoned, but not by his rivals or enemies.”
“Radiation poisoning.”
Leda nodded. “He found the anomaly in Babylon, in the Esagila. The door to the secret chamber opened to him. It may be that he was indeed a descendant of the Ancients. There are many alive today who carry a trace of their DNA. Your father—your adoptive father, Christian Garral—for instance. And his grandfather, Adam Garral.
“Whether through experimentation or some arcane knowledge passed down through the ages, we cannot say, but Alexander recognized that the anomaly—this emerald—was a source of incredible power. He believed he could use it to produce an elixir which would not only give him immortality, but transform him into the god he already believed he was. Unfortunately for him, the process of creating the elixir released a lethal dose of radiation. History records his slow death of fever, but it does not record that those who ministered to him during that time also sickened and died. The priests however understood what was happening. That is why they refused to bring him into the temple. They knew he would not recover, and that anyone who came into contact with him would also be afflicted. They also knew that encasing Alexander’s body in gold would protect them.”
“His mistake was in attempting to create the elixir with only one of the anomalies in his possession,” said Hauser, speaking for the first time since entering the vault. He still gripped the backpack by its straps, holding it suspended a few feet away from the golden figure.
“You’re after the elixir?” Kismet shook his head. “Why? You’re already immortal.”
Hauser grinned. “You think that’s all this is about? Tell me brother, have you read the text of the Tabula Smaragdina?”
Kismet had in fact read several different translations of the text.
Hauser went on. “It purports to contain the secret formula for creating prima materia—the First Matter, from which all other material in the universe was created.”
“You mean hydrogen?” Kismet shot back, with more than a little sarcasm.
“Ah, very good. You didn’t sleep through your physics classes after all. In their own unique way, the Hermetical scholars of the past understood a rudimentary form of nuclear physics. The point of the formula was not to identify prima materia, but to create it out of nothingness, and subsequently to shape it into anything they desired—gold, healing medicines, what have you. That is what Alexander attempted to do, and it’s what killed him.”
“How did he manage that with just one of the elemental relics?” Kismet asked.
“Who knows? Maybe he tried using actual fire, earth and water.” Hauser waved a dismissive hand. “What is certain is that the Emerald Tablet—not that crystal there, but the ancient Hermetic text, is the key to understanding how this may be done.
“‘And, as all things have been and arose from one by the mediation of one; so all things have their birth from this one thing... The sun is its father, the moon its mother, the wind hath carried it in its belly, the earth is its nurse. The father of all perfection in the whole world is here. Its force or power is entire if it be converted into earth.’ The original treatise on nuclear physics, translated by Sir Isaac Newton. But also, precise instructions for harnessing the power of creation itself, using the four anomalies.
“As you know, each of them represents an elemental force. What you call ‘the Apex’ symbolizes fire. Also, the sun or the Father. The orb I found in Antarctica is water, but is also the moon, the Mother.”
Kismet knew that Maddock and Rose had actually been the ones to discover the orb, but he let Hauser have the credit. “I thought Earth was supposed to be our mother?”
“In the most ancient traditions, the moon was a goddess, and since the moon creates the tides which primarily affect the oceans, it seems clear that sun and moon represent fire and water respectively. Of course, the rest of the passage makes it clear. Wind and earth are plainly identified. The obsidian mirror is a symbol of earth, and that—” He pointed at the green crystal. “—is the symbol of air. The womb from which prima materia is born.”
“Newton’s translation gives precise instructions: ‘Separate thou the earth from the fire, the subtle from the gross sweetly with great industry. It ascends from the earth to the heaven and again it descends to the earth and receives the force of things superior and inferior. By this means you shall have the glory of the whole world.’”
Kismet tried to parse the instructions. “Separating earth from fire sounds like nuclear fission.”
“You’re not thinking literally enough,” Hauser countered. “Newton was describing the physical arrangement of the anomalies.”
The image of the Magus tarot card, which he had found in Adam Garral’s journal, now flashed in Kismet’s mind’s eye—a divine magician, originally identified as the Roman god Mercury, but possibly a representation of Hermes Trismegistus, surrounded by elemental symbols, manipulating them like a juggler. “Earth and fire... The Apex and the Magna of Illusion. They have to be kept apart?”
“Not just kept apart. Newton’s translation gives us a riddle. Separate the ‘subtle’ from the ‘gross.’ Of the two that remain, air and water, which would you describe as subtle?”
“Air?”
“I agree. Now the next part. ‘It ascends from the earth to the heaven.’ Logically, earth would be below fire and sky, so we would arrange the four elements vertically, with your Apex stone at the top. The emerald below it. Then the mirror, and lastly, the orb. ‘By this means you shall have the glory of the whole world.’ What do you say, brother? Give it a try?” He flashed a wolfish grin, and then swung the pack toward Kismet who caught it reflexively.
Kismet immediately felt the magnetic attraction between the relics and had to lean back a little to keep from being pulled off balance. As he stood there, fighting it, his earlier unease intensified into a feeling of wooziness, like vertigo. He shook his head. “This is your fantasy, not mine.”
He adjusted his grip on the pack, preparing to heave it back, but Hauser raised his hands in a halting gesture. “Oh, but I insist.”
Suddenly Kismet understood the real reason Hauser had brought him along. “What’s the matter, brother? Worried that maybe you aren’t as immortal as you think you are?”
Hauser shrugged. “Why take the chance when I’ve got you here to do the heavy lifting for me?”
“Aren’t you afraid of what I might do with this much power?” Kismet shot back.
Hauser grinned as if amused by the suggestion. “So much for the myth of the good son, eh, mother?” He kept his gaze focused on Kismet. “Really, brother, give me some credit. I left some of my men in Alexandria with instructions concerning your friends in Alexander’s Tomb. If they don’t hear from me in...” He made a show of checking his wristwatch, and then laughed. “Well, let’s just say if they don’t hear from me in the next half hour or so, they will detonate a rather large bomb at the entrance to the ruin. Help me and help your friends. Oppose me, and I guarantee, they will all die. Tick, tock, brother.”
Kismet glanced over at their mother. Leda was watching with undisguised eagerness—her offspring, solving the secrets of creation in preparation to seize heaven itself. There was not a trace of concern in her expression. “Do it, Nick. You have the blood of titans in you. You will not be harmed.”
Kismet sagged in defeat. He didn’t expect Hauser to keep his word with respect to freeing Maddock and the others, but until this moment, he had hoped to find a way to liberate one or all of the relics and escape. With this new threat, he was out of options. “I guess you’ve thought of everything,” he muttered.
He curled one of the straps around his left forearm and then carefully unzipped the pack with his right hand.
Inside, the three relics were stuck together by the same magnetic attraction that was pulling them toward the emerald. The base of the Apex was perfectly centered on the obsidian mirror, which was in turn pressed flat against the sphere so that the peak of the blue pyramid talisman was pointing away from the emerald. The arrangement was too exact to be random or haphazard. The elemental relics were trying to align themselves, exactly as Hauser had described, but one was missing. The Apex—representing fire—was in contact with the Magna of Illusion—representing earth.
He reached in and tried to separate the two, but the attraction was too strong.
He recalled the instructions from the Emerald Tablet: Separate earth from the fire, the subtle from the gross sweetly with great industry.
Sweetly with great industry, he thought. What the hell is that supposed to mean?
“Hard work, I guess,” he muttered. But how? He couldn’t get enough leverage to do more than wiggle it.
But the answer was obvious.
In legend, Alexander had used his sword to cut the Gordian Knot, solving a complex problem with direct action—brute force. And in both the tarot deck and Kismet’s vision of the Emerald Tablet, he had also seen Alexander’s sword. Whether the story of the Gordian Knot was literal or allegorical, he could not say, but he understood that in order to separate earth from fire “sweetly with great industry” he was going to need the emerald.
He let the relics pull him closer to the golden coffin, feeling weaker with each step. He was no Superman, but the green crystal was affecting him like Kryptonite. And as he advanced, the attraction intensified, overpowering him, yanking him forward until the bag made contact with the emerald. As it did, the gem was ripped free of the sculpted hands, twisting away to shoot across the remaining distance. There was a distinctive clink as it pierced the fabric of the pack and made contact with the orb, sticking straight out like an arrow piercing an apple. As it did, the pack twisted around and dropped to the vault floor with the emerald pointing straight down. The backpack slid down the length of the emerald and settled into a shapeless heap around it, revealing all four elemental relics, joined together for possibly the first time ever. They remained upright, just barely touching the floor, perfectly balanced like a top or gyroscope, but without any spinning.
Kismet could feel energy radiating out from it—invisible, inaudible, but nevertheless palpable. It was sucking the life out of him. And he knew why. The relics were not aligned correctly. He would need to pry them apart, reassemble them in the correct order.
And if I do? What happens then?
He moved in closer, wrapping his left arm around the orb for leverage, and then gripped the Apex, pulling it with an effort that seemed to take the last of his waning strength. It resisted stolidly, as if the two relics had already fused together at the atomic level, but then, just when he was about to give up, it broke loose and came away in his hand.
He could feel it tugging against him, straining to be reunited with the others, like a powerful magnet, but the simple act of separating one piece of the puzzle seemed to reduce the weakening effect of the joined artifact. Without letting go, he reached down with the hand that held the Apex, and took hold of the emerald.
The green crystal refused to break contact, but he did manage to rotate it away from the floor.
Separate earth from fire... The emerald goes between the mirror and the Apex.
He slid the pyramid down the length of the crystal and placed it at the point opposite the orb. The Apex seemed to jump out of his hand, positioning itself with the point of the emerald exactly at the center.
He allowed himself a relieved sigh. He’d gotten that part right at least.
With one hand gripping the emerald and the other on the mirror, he began pulling, bringing the two objects together, scraping them across the outer surface of the orb until at last, they made contact. He maintained the pressure, lifting one edge of the mirror so that the other edge, the one closest to the tip of the emerald tilted down, and pushed the crystal up, onto the mirror—
The relic jolted in his hands, the emerald sliding to the center of the mirror as if suddenly realizing that was where it was meant to be. Immediately, the combined object flipped upright again, rotating in Kismet’s grasp until the Apex was pointing straight up. Light began pulsing along the emerald, traveling down from the Apex and vanishing into the inky darkness of the Magna of Illusion, but after a moment, something like beads of mercury began appearing on the surface of the obsidian mirror, pooling together and running off the edge to drip down onto the orb. But instead of rolling down the curved surface of the large sphere, the beads vanished as if sucked up by a sponge. A few seconds later, the orb itself began to glow, like an enormous black light bulb. It was not a carbon-tungsten filament that was producing the illumination however, but rather a pool of shining quicksilver accumulating at the bottom of the sphere’s interior.
There was one other significant change. Kismet could still feel invisible energy radiating out from the newly created object, but the timbre of it was different. No longer did he feel like it was draining the life out of him. Just the opposite, he felt an infusion of energy. Literal warmth, spread through his body, tingling in his extremities, growing unpleasantly hot inside his thermal winter garments.
Yet, the physical discomfort was the least of his concerns. He understood now what Hauser had hoped to accomplish.
By this means you shall have the glory of the whole world.
The elemental relics were creating prima materia—First Matter—the stuff from which the universe had been created.
The scientists of Prometheus had given it a different name however.
Ichor. The blood of the gods.
Fuel for an army of god-bodies.