Gene of Isis

Albray.’

An interesting predicament. The knight took a seat on the other chair at my table.

‘And what do you suggest?’ I sipped at my tea, a particularly good brew.

You wish to define which text destiny has brought you here to read. Why not use your new talent to will this text to you? Psychokinesis can be used for much more than just moving things about. This talent includes the ability to rearrange the atomic structure of any given thing. On your plane of existence, that is, he thought to add.

I baulked at his words.

Best that we just start with the book, he encouraged, realising that he’d unnerved me.

‘I cannot change atomic structure by accident, I hope.’

Of course not. Albray didn’t sound entirely confident about that. I’m sure no harm will come of it.

‘All right then.’ I placed my cup aside, and wiped my sweaty palms on my napkin.

I took a moment to still my mind and calm my heart, then stated my will in my mind.

Nothing seemed to come of it, but then I turned to see a paper trail of parchments floating my way and as a piece alighted on my lap it crumbled to dust. ‘Oh, Jesus, Albray, it must have come forth from one of the glass cases!’

A knock at the door set my heart racing and a hot flush filled my cheeks.

Mr Jenkins entered. ‘Mrs Devere. How would two o’clock tomorrow suit?’

Thankfully, he waited by the door for my response. ‘That would suit very well, Mr Jenkins, thank you.’ Before I’d drawn breath he was gone again.

‘Albray, what do I do?’ I panicked as the priceless document transformed to dirt all over my frock.

What do you think changing the atomic structure of an object means? He rolled his eyes as I stared at him blankly. Just will it back together…will it to be as strong as hemp, he suggested.

My intent manifested as Albray had anticipated and I began to breathe easily once more. ‘Sorry.’ I apologised for my little fit. ‘That was very scary.’

I understand, he confirmed, feeling all my emotional turmoil.

‘Now what is this?’ I had the courage to take the sheet in hand.

It was an account from a bishop in Northern France to Pope Honorius the First and it told of a strange incident.

In the year 633AD a mysterious little boat sailed into Boulogne-sur-mer harbour. No person was on board the vessel, but it carried a statue of the Black Madonna and child, accompanied by several manuscripts. The bishop regretted to inform the Pope that the local authorities were unwilling to hand the statue, or the texts, into church custody. However, the bishop had been given the opportunity to translate some of the manuscripts. The bishop’s translation read as follows:

This is a truthful account of my life, yet to history I shall be as myth. All account of my days will vanish or be distorted to suit my oppressors—to whom women are valued below animals. It is my belief that if I am remembered at all, it will be as a whore and not as a Nazarite priestess, who was a wife and mother to the royal Kings of Judah.

‘Oh, my god,’ I gasped, ‘surely this could not be what I think it is?’ I searched through the other parchments which had floated into my lap to find the end of the account and here the bishop noted, for the Pope’s information, that the manuscript had been signed MM.

‘Mary Magdalene,’ I dared to guess, and Albray nodded, having come to the same conclusion.

You should find her tale most inspiring. ’Indeed!’ I read on.

I departed the library in a complete daze. So many things that I had always suspected had been confirmed, along with several other mind-boggling revelations about the life and character of Jesus Christ, King of the Jews. In fact, the account was so radical that I began to question the validity of the document.

Perhaps it is just a fantastic work of fiction, I suggested to myself, but Albray was still at liberty and keeping pace with me.

I don’t believe so, he said. For, if it were not true, everything my order stands for and believes in would be a farce. Moreover, you know in your heart that no bishop of that time would dare fabricate such a lie to the Pope!

I needed the privacy of a carriage for this conversation and I flagged down a transport easily enough.

No sooner had the door of the carriage closed than I allowed my thoughts to come flooding out. ‘Are you trying to tell me that Jesus Christ did not die on the Cross, but was instead rescued by a radical Judaic revolutionary who was supposed to be crucified on the same day?’

Yes. Barabbas, who aided in carrying Jesus’ Cross to the crucifixion site, swapped places with Simon Zealot who was also to be crucified that day as a thief…although he was, in truth, a rebel and a High Priest of the Hellenistic Order, as was Jesus eventually. Simon was opposed to the segregated ways of the Jewish elders, a governing body known as the Sanhedrin. Both Simon Zealot and Jesus believed that a segregated Jewish nation would never defeat the might of Rome. But unlike John the Baptist and Jesus’ older brother, James, who were more disposed toward the more conservative Hebrews, the revolutionary Zealots knew the Jews could not succeed in their mission if they continued to hold themselves separate from the Gentiles.

‘Native non-Jews,’ I stated, and Albray nodded.