Apocalypsis 1.05 Island of the Light Page 4

  »Who packed this?«

  »I did,« Noah said. »This afternoon. I’ve packed hundreds of parachutes in my life. For private jumps and for the military.«

  Peter ignored the allusion, put the parachute on his back, and followed Noah to a small helicopter that was parked in front of the hangar. A three-seat model with an open cockpit.

  Noah did not ask any further questions. And Peter avoided asking what secretive network connected someone like Noah to someone like Don Luigi. He had full trust in Don Luigi’s judgment, and so he put on his safety belt and focused on the jump ahead of him.

  »Generator on. Rotor brake off…« Noah went through the checklist. The rotor blades were singing their song. After receiving clearance to take off for a »scenic flight«, Noah air-taxied the helicopter to the take-off point and pulled it gently up into the night sky.

  After a few minutes, they had left the city lights of Montpellier behind them and flown into the black darkness over the Mediterranean Sea. Only on a few occasions did they see the glowing navigation lights of a fishing cutter or some floating buoys.

  Noah flew higher and higher on an apparently random route. Slowly but surely it got cool up there. Peter stopped himself from asking whether Noah actually knew the exact position of the rock with the fortress. Approximately 10 minutes later, they had reached an altitude of over 5,000 feet. Noah looked down at the water, flew another circle, and then held the helicopter still in the air over the spot.

  »That’s it!« he blared into the earphones of Peter’s headset. Noah pointed downwards where a light was blinking, which was so tiny that it was almost invisible. Other than that, Peter couldn’t see anything.

  »That’s it?« he screamed into his headset.

  »You will see it as you get lower. Good luck.«

  Peter could feel the familiar surge of adrenaline rush through his body, a brief and hot sensation assuring him that he would be fully alert during his jump and capable of doing the job. He readjusted the straps of his harness, unbuckled his seat belt, and stepped onto the skid of the helicopter. As he looked down into the darkness, he could make out the shadowy silhouette of the fortress.

  And then he jumped.

  Right away, he extended his arms and legs to control his fall. He was plummeting towards the earth at a speed of 150 feet per second. A brief glance at the altimeter.

  Wait.

  He was free-falling. Nine hundred feet within the first ten seconds.

  Wait.

  He continued to fall and reached for the handle of the ripcord.

  Wait.

  Two thousand one hundred feet. Eighteen hundred. Fifteen hundred.

  Now!

  Peter pulled the yellow handle. He jerked to a halt, as his reserve chute shot upwards and spread out above him, filling with air and releasing his main chute. Peter felt another jerk and then he began to float towards the earth, now at a speed of merely 15 feet per second. He gripped the two guidance handles of his parafoil and directed himself in a wide bend to the right of the fortress, which he could now clearly see underneath. The wind had increased and was driving him towards the open sea.

  Six hundred feet. Too much altitude to hit the landing.

  Peter turned the parafoil into the wind and took the risk of flying another full circle. Now, the oval-shaped fortress was to his left. Nobody was in sight; no sign that anyone had detected him. Peter could see a wide parapet that abutted two low walls. That was the spot where he had to land. However, he had to do it against the wind, which was unfavorable and made it impossible to land on one of the longer stretches of the battlement. So he had to risk an approach from the side.

  Three hundred feet.

  One last time, Peter readjusted the position of his parafoil and then he started his descent towards the fortress. If the wind whipped up again, or if it changed direction, he would get slammed against the wall or plummet into the water. But Peter did not worry about that, not now. He focused all his energy and attention on the impending landing as he saw the battlements of the fortress getting closer and closer.

  Too close, too fast.

  Only thirty feet above the fortress, Peter pulled the guidance handles again, this time with full force to break his fall. The battlements were right underneath him. Then he hit the ground.

  Harder than he had expected. Peter crouched and rolled over to his side. It was pure luck that he had not slammed into the small parapet wall; he had missed it by a fraction of an inch. As soon as he hit the parapet, he tried to get up again because there was still one danger that hadn’t been averted. The parachute was collapsing over him, turning dangerously into the wind. Peter jumped to his feet and pulled in the cords. It was difficult to move on the narrow parapet but he managed to walk around the chute and rolled it up so that it could not spread out again and drag him out over the ocean.

  When he had managed that, he removed his harness and rolled up the rest of the chute. Only then did he cower down behind the parapet and try to catch his breath.

  In the darkness beyond, the waves roared as if they wanted to announce his forbidden arrival. Peter tried to control his breath and listened for any sounds coming from the fortress. But there was nothing, save for an eerie chanting that seeped from the depths of the building. No footsteps, no shouting, nor any other sign that he had been detected.

  Peter ignored the slight pain in his left temple that had been pulsing like a warning light since he had landed. He pushed the rolled up parachute into a recess in the wall and looked around to get his bearings. The historical illustrations seemed correct. At the far side of the parapet, he recognized the staircase leading into the building. Peter peeked carefully over the edge of the parapet into the inner courtyard of the fortress. Nobody in sight. In absolute silence, he walked down the stairs to the first level of the fortress, where the chanting was louder. He followed the strange sounds through dimly lit corridors with cell doors on either side. The entire structure looked like a prison. With the pain in his head came the images and the weird sense of déjà vu.

  You know where you have to go. You’ve been here before.

  Suddenly, he saw something at the end of the corridor, a figure in a monk’s cowl, and Peter pressed himself up against one of the cell doors, waiting breathlessly.

  Not a prison – a monastery!

  Peter expected to run into other monks at any moment. But nobody came, neither on the first level, nor on the lowest level. He saw the small courtyard in front of him. The chanting that was intermingled with polyphonic murmuring was coming from an open door on the other side. A strong smell of disinfectant hung in the air. The pain in his head got worse as Peter crossed the narrow oval-shaped courtyard of the fortress and slipped through the open door. He found himself in a narrow and dark passage that ended in a kind of hall. This was the direction from which the voices were coming; from there, a dim light cast rays out into the passage.

  Why do you know what you will find in there?

  There had been no hall in the historical prints, and this unsettled Peter. As quietly as he possibly could, he tiptoed through the passage towards the light.

  And then he saw it. And what he saw made him freeze.

  The hall had an octagonal layout and was the size of a crypt. A narrow colonnade surrounded the entire hall. Peter counted 14 monks standing around a circular stone table. They were wearing white hooded robes with a golden symbol on the back.

  The crossed symbol from the amulet. There was no doubt, Peter could see it clearly. A wave of triumph washed over him.

  You are in the right place.

  The monks were humming the unintelligible chants that had led Peter into this hall. The only light in the room came from the torches attached to the pillars. When the monks took each other by the hands and lowered their heads for some kind of incantation ritual, Peter used the opportunity to enter the hall silently and hide behind one of the eight pillars. From there, he continued to watch the ritual that was taking place around the s
tone table. One of the monks, a kind of prayer leader, was standing a little bit closer to the stone table and seemed to be waiting for something.

  Peter bent slightly forward to get a better look at the table. Something was engraved into the stone. In the torchlight, Peter could make out two concentric circles that formed a band of unfamiliar characters and numbers. The inner circle was filled with two pentagrams.

  Peter had seen something similar before, in a book at Don Luigi’s when the priest had told him about the history of occultism.

  A »Sigillum Dei«!

  The »Seal of God.« A magical diagram from the Early Middle Ages, it was said to grant the initiated master power over all creatures, if he used the amulet to call the name of God and summon the Archangels. A Sigillum Dei could only be created by following complex and precise instructions. Seventy-two Latin letters in the circular band formed the Shemhamephorasch, the ineffable name of God, the magnum nomen Domini Semenphoras licterarum. The tips of a pentagram had to touch the circular band, and the points of the pentagram had to be labeled with the names of the Archangels: Cafziel, Satquiel, Raphael, Michael, Anael, Gabriel and Samael. As well as the five names of God: Ely, Eloy, Christ, Sother, and Adonay. A heptagon had to be drawn around the pentagram, and the upper tip of the heptagon had to touch the center of the pentagram. Around this first heptagon was a second and a third one, which created further segments that had to be labeled with crosses and additional names of God. Don Luigi had told Peter that variations of the Sigillum Dei were used in almost every occult ritual.

  As Peter bent even further forward, he could see that this seal was not covered with Latin letters but with unfamiliar characters, which reminded him of the runic alphabet and the Carolingian minuscule.

  The prayer leader ended the chanting with one simple gesture and began to speak.

  In a language that Peter had never heard before.

  In a language which was, nonetheless, frighteningly familiar to him.

  »Ol sonuf vaoresaji, gohu Balata elanusaha iad caelazod.

  Sobrazod-ol Roray i ta nazodapesad Giraa ta maelpereji da hoel-qo qaa notahoa zodimezod, od comemahe ta nobeloha zodien. Soba tahil ginonupe pereje aladi djem vaurebes obolehe giresam. Casarem ohorela caba Pire da zodonurenusagi cab, erem lodanahe pilahe farezodem zodenurezoda. Adana gono Iadapiel das hometohe soba ipame lu ipamis. Sobolo vepe zodomeda poamal, od bogira aai ta piape Piamoel od Vaoan! Zodacare eca – od zodameranu odo cicale hoathahe Saitan!«

  I reign over thee, you seraphs, in power exalted above and below by the seal. I hold the sun like a glittering sword and the moon like a blazing fire, which draw you together like pearls in the palm of my hand. Follow the law of the light, the law of the highest knowledge. Lift up your voices and vow obedience to me and to the light, which can have neither beginning nor end. For my flame burns in the midst of your palaces, and reigns amongst you as the balance of righteousness and truth! Move, therefore, and show yourselves, you seraphs! Open up the mysteries of creation! For I am the same as you! The true worshipper of the most high and ineffable king of the light!

  … Damn it, why do I know what he is saying?

  Peter was still sheltered in the protective darkness of the colonnade but the more he focused on the occult ritual before him, the blurrier the border between reality and delusion became. What he was witnessing was as sinister as it was surreal. A terrible nightmare with no way out, no hope.

  The prayer leader fell silent and turned to the monks. He made an imperious gesture and the monks opened the circle and stepped back. Peter saw two other monks come out of the passage that he had used to get into the hall, and these two monks brought in a man who was in the most miserable condition. He was naked, unspeakably filthy and neglected, and his entire body showed signs of abuse. Scars and fresh wounds covered his skin. They led him in on a leather leash, like a dog. And he walked like a dog, on all fours, growling and snarling like a vicious and frightened animal.

  Peter was shocked when he saw the emaciated man, whose age he could not guess. The prayer leader took the leash from the monks and yanked the man violently to his feet. The naked man could barely stand on his legs, bared his teeth, and wobbled his head uncontrollably.

  »Sobame ial!« the prayer leader shouted at him, and suddenly the naked man was calm, just trembling slightly.

  I know this man! Damn it, how do I know this man?

  »Torezodu! Gohe-el zodacare eca ca-no-quoda!«

  After hearing this command, the naked man threw his head back and fell into some kind of trance. With his head bent backwards, he was now standing upright in front of the table with his eyes closed.

  They are using him as a medium!

  The monks resumed their chanting. After a short while, the naked man began to sway back and forth and then to convulse. And then he spoke. In a voice that did not sound human.

  »Micama! Zodir Saitan azodien biabe. Zodir Norezodacahisa otahila Gigipahe elonusahiod. Vaunud-el-cahisa ta-pu-ime qo-mos-pelehe telocahe, dasata beregida od torezodul! Ili balazodareji od aala tahilanu-os netaabe. Micama! Yehusozod ca-ca-com! Od do-o-a-inu noari micaolazoda Vaunigilaji. Ananael Qo-a-an.«

  Master! You are the ruler of the light! You are eternal balance. The creatures of the earth and of the light bow their heads to your power. Yet the circle is not closed. Master! Bring us the stone! And kill the man who is hiding in your midst. The lost soul in the darkness!

  With these words, the naked man collapsed to the floor and returned to the miserable and demented creature that he had been when they led him into the hall. At the same moment, Peter noticed that there was suddenly a commotion among the monks who were standing in the circle. They were craning their necks and looking around. They were looking for him. Time to get out of here.

  This was the moment when the monster hit him. It had waited long enough, now it was hungry. Peter felt the pain in his head expanding like an exploding sun. But before he was plunged into darkness, he saw something. The naked man was still squirming on the floor in front of the stone table with the Sigillum Dei, and Peter saw that he had only one ear. And suddenly Peter knew that he recognized this man.

  He even knew his name.

  He knew it well.

  His name was Edward Kelly.

  Ellen’s murderer.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Episode 5 ♦ ISLAND OF LIGHT

  XL

  XLI

  XLII

  XLIII

  XLIV

  XLV