“To us?”
Daniel laughed. “You don’t realize it, do you? Father and the others have decided to join us.”
“Is that so?” Erik said, scrutinizing Nikolas’s face. “How do you know of this?”
“The truth is Alex, the Falsifier, is from the lineage of Argos I, and the grandson of Anaxagoras.”
“That’s impossible!” Both Erik and Mikhail looked at Nikolas, their faces a picture of incredulity.
“Is that really true?” asked Mikhail.
“But that is impossible,” Erik repeated.
“He is Aidan’s son. You must accept this. His blood would be catastrophic to ours. If his blood came into contact with ours, it would literally explode. You can see for yourself. Aidan created him and formed his genetic structure.”
Erik rubbed his chin, leaning back in his chair. He took out a cigarette from a platinum case and lighted it. He took a large puff and exhaled. “These humans have some unusual ways of intoxicating themselves. But I love it.”
Daniel grew impatient. “So?”
“Well,” said Erik. “I would want to see for myself. If what you say is true then I will personally see to it that the incantations be brought so that he may be resurrected. And surely, the Council will be informed of his heritage, but not of this incident.”
“Of course,” said both father and son.
Erik took out a pen and paper and began to write. “Give this to Sirach,” he told Mikhail, “and tell him to go to the Vatican Library and get the book, Incantations of the Dead.”
Alex awoke. He knew he it had all been a dream. His eyes fully opened and adjusted to the light. He gasped, finding himself once again in an unearthly and sad place. He was sitting on dirt. All around him was a thick layer of mist. There were caves with lights flickering from within. A murky river flowed slowly, close to where he sat. Worms and snakes squirmed out of the ground and made him jump in fear. He tried to make out what lay behind the mist. Beyond, on the other side of the river, he saw shadows in the darkness. People walking. He stood up and turned around, accidentally knocking into an old man who was naked except for a loincloth around his waist. The old man’s skeletal figure creaked as he fell backwards. “Uh...sorry. I’m sorry.” Alex said, helping him up. The old man’s beard was greasy and yellow and there were maggots coming out of it. His pale face, tired and drooping, gazed helplessly at Alex with filmy grayish eyes. Moaning and stumbling, he leaned on Alex for balance.
Flames burst from out of the river and a voice called, “Alexander Nyrax! You have been expected.” It sounded like many voices in unison. The voice of many waters from the Bible,thought Alex. So then it was true. He had died and now he didn’t know where he was. Was this hell, Hades, Sheol, or the river Styx?
Alex mustered the courage to ask, “By whom?”
Deafening laughter erupted from the flames and when it subsided, the voice said, “You will be taken by the Boatman. He is to tell you all you need to know before you meet the One.”
“The One? Do you mean God?”
“That who is called by many names and is one. Some call him God, some call him Allah, or Elohim, or the One, the Universe, the Creator.”
“He is expecting me?” Alex asked.
“Yes.” The voice and fire died down. The mist thickened around Alex. He stood with his feet planted firmly on the ground and waited for it to dissipate, but the mist coalesced and engulfed him. After a few moments, the mist cleared and he could make out a boat with a dark figure floating along the water towards him. The figure wore a cloak and held an oar in both arms. He seemed to be the very manifestation of death; the Boatman.
“Come,” said the Boatman.
Alex did as he commanded and stepped into the boat. He sat down and looked at the figure with an innocent expression. The boat slowly and steadily traveled upstream. Along the way, deathly sounds echoed in the air. There was no light, only gray. To his left and right, he saw figures aimlessly walking up and down.
The boat entered one of three caves. A holy white light emanated from it. When the boat was fully immersed in this light, Alex felt a sense of peace, joy, and complete surrender. He smiled and his eyes brightened and shone with the luster of a thousand suns. He looked at his body. Instead of a shirt and denim jeans, he now wore a long white robe. He remembered the book of Revelations and realized the things that John at Patmos had said about his visit to heaven must have been true.
“Unbelievable,” Alex tried to say, but no words came out. He realized telepathy was a means of communication. So many different fragrances were in the air, in the atmosphere. There were aromas of exotic flowers and perfumes. He felt invigorated. He seemed more alive than dead now. I must be in heaven,he realized. His body and hair were anointed with fragrant oils and perfumes. Even the boatman who had worn a long dark cloak had changed his appearance. His cloak transformed to a completely white luminescence and shone with a blinding patina.
“Now,” said a voice, “You look fit to meet the God of gods, King of kings, and the Lord of Hosts!”
The boat no longer floated on water but on air. Everywhere lights, colors and glimmering stars shone brighter than anything Alex had ever seen. His eyesight was not affected by the brightness; it was as though he could see things unimagined. He heard rolling waves, soft thunder, and the distinct humming sound he had heard when drinking blood. He heard soft bells and voices singing in a choir. This must have been the choir of angels singing everlasting praise to God. As they came closer to God, the sounds and the smells became more distinctive. Color and light transformed into a mosaic of rainbows. There were no words to describe it.
The boat slowed down and gradually halted to a complete stop. In front of them was a double-gate of immeasurable proportions. It was infinitely high, and stretched down beyond Alex’s vision. There were seven rods on each gate. The voice said something indistinguishable and they opened up. The boat did not move any further. The Boatman gestured for Alex to step out.
Alex stepped into the light. There was no boundary and no horizon, only the bright white glow. Alex felt disoriented at first, but once he walked to the other side, watching as the boat left and vanished slowly from his sight, he got the hang of it. As he walked on, his anxieties dissipated. From the midst of the light, a figure appeared and said, “Think and it shall be done.”
“What?”
“Realize yourself, young one. You must embrace the truth.”
“What do you mean?”
“The only way you can get to the one, to the truth, is to think and meditate upon it and you shall be transported there.” The figure repeated, “Think and it shall be done.” It faded away into the light.
It sounded simple enough, and so Alex concentrated on being in the throne room of God. But every time he tried, he was bombarded with images that he did not want to see. So there’s a catch to it,he thought. It’s like meditation.If he could keep his mind firm and concentrated on the thought of God long enough, he would reach the throne. He tried three more times to concentrate his mind. Each time he failed.
Why wasn’t it working? There was enough silence and solitude to attain a perfect state of concentration. Wait! That was it. He was concentrating too much on the exterior. It was simple. There was no effort needed. He needed to simplify his thoughts. There was no need for ritual or standards or anything else. It was complete surrender, simple surrender, and faith.
He closed his eyes, breathed out slowly and thought only of God as he used to at the Monolith. He felt himself melt away into the stars. Suddenly he was connected to every proton, neutron, atom and quark.
He felt as large as the Universe itself, and yet infinitesimally small. He was not Alex. He owned no body, mind, soul, or spirit. He was everything and everyone. He realized nothing mattered. When he opened his eyes slowly he saw what he had been waiting for since time began: