One Crown & Two Thrones: The Prophecy Read online

  “Remember to write!” Estelle cried out loudly amongst the noise of the steam train. Unable to keep up with the train Estelle stopped and watched as Eveline ran along the platform, holding onto his hand before unclasping it and standing still, covering her mouth with her other gloved hand.

  I

  Vengeance

  October 1940

  On wrongs swift vengeance waits…

  Alexander Pope.

  Around him, women, children and men ran in frantic chaos, trying to find shelter from the falling bombs that cascaded through the dark night. With his arms dangling over the sides of the stretcher, Theodore was rushed into St Bartholomew’s hospital. The air was filled with noise and saturated in a filthy stench of blood and death as he was quickly carried down a long, clinical corridor towards the nearest theatre. Coming around from his unconscious state once again he looked up into the faces of the nurses that carried him on the hard stretcher, pale and exhausted with tiny splutters of blood upon their cheeks and their once pristine white uniforms. One of the nurses caught his gaze and said something he couldn’t quite make out. Violently he coughed up blood, turning his body onto its side as he tried to calm himself. His once blue uniform was now burnt and badly stained with dark red blood. Recovering from his fit he turned onto his back once more and found himself staring up at a white light that burned into his retinas. With the help of another nurse, he was lifted onto a cold surface that instantly sent a swift chill through his body. Without time or space in which to breathe a young male doctor covered his face with a mask and he once again found himself unconscious.

  *

  Theodore did not know how long it was that he had been unconscious only that when he awoke it was daytime and a heavy beam of light shone through the large Georgian windows of ward M4. Opening his eyes fully he saw that his left leg was up in stirrups and his left arm was in a cast. The veil that had shielded him from physical pain instantly dropped and his body seized when aware of the deep pain that radiated throughout him. Theodore cried out aloud for help and was immediately attended too by a petite nurse who came bounding over to him, her cheeks rosy with exhaustion.

  “There, there sir, calm down,” she soothed working at a drip that fed into his right hand. “The morphine will help.” And so it did, Theodore felt once again sleepy and fell into a lifeless dream from which he wished he would never awake. And so much of his first week at Bartholomew’s passed undisturbed with Theodore drenched in exhaustion, thankful that he was unable to keep himself awake. His dreams had not been completely without harm, for at times he found himself once more in the cockpit of his spitfire, soaring through the skies of London alongside the rest of his squadron, group 11 of the RAF. Theodore had over the past two years made his way through the ranks of the RAF, finding himself apart of group A, a prestigious group of elite pilots, mainly made up of upper class men. He had loved every moment of his RAF career so far, despite missing his new wife and mother terribly. He had not seen Eveline or Estelle for thirteen months, the last time being his wedding day in which he was heralded off after the signing of the register to head back down to Kent. When asleep he replayed that terrible night, when his spitfire had been shot down by a German Messerschmitt, killing his close friend William. He had ejected himself from the cockpit, forcing his parachute to open and with heavy injuries tried without success to land within the maze that was London, alit with fire. Unfortunately he found himself being hurled into a building which upon contact he had been forcibly knocked unconscious.

  When not dreaming of the terrible events that had occurred that night, he found himself dreaming of Eveline, the thought of his young wife forcing him to stay alive. He succumbed to the memories that evaded his mind, memories of her and memories of their lives together in Keswick. He would find his heart beating hard when reminiscing of the times in which he and Eveline would have as friends ventured across the wild fields of the Lake District, or rowed across the beautiful lake of Derwentwater. But most of all he found his whole body and spirit come to life when thinking of the day of their wedding which took place in the small church of Keswick. She had looked beautiful, wearing a simple gown of cream with wild flowers in her auburn curls. Theodore had to admit that she had seemed wary and nervous, but so were all brides he agreed. He proudly wore his blue RAF uniform and waited for her to walk up the aisle in the arms of Estelle, she nervous and he impatient. Her eyes had glowed throughout the ceremony and he in turn found himself close to tears, ashamed at his unmanly need to cry with joy to finally have wedded his childhood sweetheart. Many of his friends who had married had been killed during raids over France and the Channel, leaving their young wives and families behind. Theodore vowed to himself upon that day that he would not leave this world whilst his wife drew breathe.

  As he immersed himself in his memories he could hear a voice calling out to him.

  “Captain are you awake?” a male voice enquired, his warm breathe close to Theodore’s face. Theodore groaned inwardly, not wishing to awaken from his peaceful dream. “Captain you must awaken.” Theodore unwillingly opened his blue eyes, looking up into the face of a young man, his eyes also blue, yet darker than his own. Theodore noticed that his leg had now been freed of the stirrups and now lay under the cover of his sheet, beside the other, unharmed leg.

  “Who are you?” Theodore asked, his mouth and throat dry from the morphine. Turning his head he looked for water. The young man at his side suddenly brought forth a glass.

  “Come you need to sit up first,” he announced to the groggy Theodore. “Here let me help you.” Carefully and with slight pain, Theodore allowed the young man to help him up, setting him against a few pillows before holding a glass of water to his dry and chapped lips. “Drink slowly,” he ordered softly as Theodore sipped on the fresh water. As he took in a few small mouthfuls of water, Theodore let his eyes roam about the ward, filled with soldiers , many asleep and some awake, motionless with their eyes upon the ceiling as though in some terrible state of trauma.

  “What day is it?” Theodore asked as the young man set the empty glass down upon a side table.

  “It is the 29th of October, Captain.”

  “I must send word to my wife, she will be worried,” Theodore said quickly, a wave of anxiety now taking a hold of him as he suddenly found himself wide awake, his mind set to rights.

  “Calm Captain, I will make sure your relatives are made aware of your current position.”

  “Who are you?”

  “I am Galean,” The man announced, sitting up regally. Theodore observed the stranger before him with confusion. He seemed almost unearthly, tall, and lean, with a look almost resonant of a Viking. The man had thick, blonde hair that fell about his strong and hardened face.

  “Why are you here Galean?” Theodore asked quietly as a nurse passed him by giving him a smile.

  “I have been by your bedside these last few days waiting for you to open your eyes,” Galean began seriously, sitting forward as though afraid that others may eavesdrop. “I am here on a matter of urgency.”

  “What has happened?” Theodore asked quickly. “Is it my wife?”

  “In part yes, she is no danger I assure you,” Galean cautioned quietly, seeing the distress in Theodores eyes.

  “Have you come from the RAF headquarters in Uxbridge?”

  “No, I have come on behalf of someone greater.”

  “Who?”

  “God.”

  Theodore looked at the young man for a moment before lying back upon his pillows, forcing his gaze away.

  “Be gone you fool. I am not in want of God.”

  “I implore you to simply listen to what I have to say,” Galean urged attentively understanding the young captains reaction. “I am no preacher here on the account of converting you. I am an angel.”

  “Are you insane? I said leave me. How can you speak of God? Have you looked around you?” Theodore said with feeling, afraid of the man that sat beside him, unmoving and free of
fear. “There is no place for God in war.”

  “Theodore George Sampson,” Galean said sternly, his eyes now alight. “I am here to protect you and your wife.”

  “How do you know my name?” Theodore enquired quietly, fear taking a hold of him.

  “I have always known your name,” Galean replied lightly. “And that of your wife; Eveline Celestine Black.”

  “What do you want from me?” Theodore cried out, trying to summon a nurse to his bed without luck.

  “I want you to listen to me,” Galean replied calmly, unabashed by Theodore’s attempts to gain notice from the nurses. “They will not come unless I ask them too.” Theodore stopped waving his hand and turned to Galean.

  “Speak.”

  “You harbor gifts quite unknown to those who surround you, am I right?” Galean asked, a flash of curiosity in his eyes. “Do not be scared of speaking the truth, for I too harbor gifts quite like your own.” As he spoke he wavered his hand over the empty glass, filling it with water. Theodore’s eyes widened in awe at the small act of power and suddenly began to take serious note of the man.

  “How do I know I can trust you?” Theodore whispered as he was offered the glass of water once more.

  “You were not always like this,” Galean said, his hand travelling down from Theodores face to his feet.

  “What do you mean?”

  “You were not always man.”

  “I have always been a man,” Theodore argued defensively, unsure of Galean’s point.

  “Tell me, do you remember your parents?”

  “They were killed in a car crash,” Theodore retorted, straining to find images of his parents, his brows furrowed together.

  “What were their names?”

  “I…I,” Theodore struggled as always to find his parents faces and names, an inner struggle never to be shared with anyone, not even Eveline.

  “You do not remember them,” Galean said softly, standing up from his chair.

  “I have been told trauma has that effect on children,” Theodore announced sheepishly.

  “Is that what you believe? That the trauma of your parent’s death has created a blank void within your memories?”

  “How else can I explain it?” Theodore asked patiently, watching as Galean stopped in front of his bed, placing his hands upon the frame.

  “Maybe you never had parents that died in a car crash….”

  “Impossible.”

  “And yet you bare gifts that your fellow men cannot possibly know of, gifts that set you apart from man.”

  “Are you telling me that my parents are alive?” Theodore quizzed Galean, disbelief saturating his body.

  “Your parents, like you were not a part of this world. They now rest among the stars, this you know,” Galean said seriously, the rest of the ward becoming darker.

  “What do you want from me?”

  “I am here to bring you to our master, long has he awaited your presence,” Galean announced, turning away from Galean and pointing to a door that suddenly appeared before him, filled with light.

  “I do not wish to meet your master,” Theodore trembled, shocked that the rest of the ward was not awash with fear at what lay before him, life was simply moving forwards as his own stood very still.

  “You can trust me, old friend,” Galean smiled, holding out his right hand.

  “You are no friend of mine,” Theodore said loudly as he tried to still his moving legs, now slipping out of the sheets and bed, his feet pressing down onto the cold floor.

  “Come….”

  Theodore could not stop himself from moving towards Galean, his body covered in a thin nightdress, his feet bare.

  “I don’t want to follow!”

  “And yet your body says likewise,” Galean smiled knowingly as Theodore came to stand before the open door, his tall frame matching Galean’s.

  “You are forcing my body to move when it wishes to stay still,” Theodore said bitterly.

  “I am not controlling your body, this I promise. Take my hand Cael,” Galean ordered as he waited patiently for Theodore’s hand.

  “My name is Theodore,” Theodore retorted, his hand falling into Galean’s.

  “Not among your people it isn’t.”

  Galean carefully stepped through the door guiding Theodore through the light. As they passed through the light, Theodore felt something simmer within him, he felt a change occur within the very core of his being. Once through the door he noticed that they had stepped into a large cathedral.

  “Where are we?” he asked Galean who let go of his hand and turned to him.

  “St Paul’s cathedral.”

  “Why am I here?”

  “I told you, to meet your master,” Galean re iterated as he walked towards the altar, kneeling before it and muttering something aloud, a language Theodore did not understand and yet felt akin too. The door vanished and they were left in darkness, the light of the London fires filling the cathedral as the loud noises of British and German planes passed over head. Strangely his body felt perfectly fine as he made his way toward the altar.

  “My body, it feels different,” Theodore said quietly as he stood beside Galean’s, whose eyes were searching the cathedral.

  “That will be the water taking its required affect.”

  “You drugged my water?”

  “Would you prefer to feel pain in this present moment?” Galean turned his eyes to Theodore.

  “I would have preferred the choice.”

  Galean smiled deeply at his response, reminded of his old friend.

  “How did you find me?” Theodore asked.

  “I never lost you, so there was no need to find you.”

  Theodore choose not to reply as the cathedral suddenly erupted in a white light, causing him to be momentarily blinded, his hand upon Galean’s arm for balance.

  “Do not be afraid Cael,” he murmured as the light faded away revealing the outline of a tall being, coming forward to meet them at the altar.

  “Who is that, which such light can flow?” Theodore whispered, suddenly afraid.

  “All light comes from Him.”

  Theodore felt his body shiver as the outline of the tall being came into sight. A man, who seemed timeless stood before them, tall and regal, robed in a fine golden cloak. Galean suddenly fell into a deep bow, bidding Theodore to follow suite. His knees upon the cold marble floor, Theodore let his gaze rise so that he could take in the man’s face. Gazing up, Theodore felt a spike of awe rip through his being. The man had vivid golden eyes and hair that fell down his back. His face was smooth of lines and yet his eyes almost felt as though they had seen time itself come into being.

  “My King, I have brought you Cael as requested,” Galean announced, lifting his own blue eyes to his master.

  “Arise,” the man announced firmly, his hands clasped before him in patience. Theodore arose cautiously, unable to take his eyes off the man who now walked around the pair, making for the high altar, his eyes observing the golden walls, engraved with scenes of the bible. After several moments he turned and faced them once more. “Cael, you doubt who you are?”

  Theodore found he could not talk and stood silent until he felt Galean nudge him gently, his eyes soft and urging.

  “I am confused my lord,” Theodore announced quietly, hanging his head as though he was in shame.

  “Are you willing to let me show you who you really are? Cael son of Theadreda and Arimathen.”

  The man held out his hand to Theodore.

  “I am scared,” Theodore said, his voice filled with breathe.

  “Do not be scared Cael, come take my hand.”

  Theodore lifted his eyes and nodded, stepping forward with his right hand outstretched. Soon it was within the man’s and he found himself being pulled into a circular current of darkness, the cathedral disappearing entirely from view, everything moulding into one. With a thud he fell onto moist grass, his knees burning from the fall. Beside him he could feel the p
resence of the man, standing quite still and silent. Theodore raised his eyes from the grass and observed his surroundings. He was upon an island, surrounded by a great lake of water. Away to the west, the sun was setting behind a great range of snow topped mountains, at least two hundred leagues from the lake. Before him stood a tall and ancient tree, its beautifully twisted branches falling over an equally ancient throne. Quickly he stood up and found the mystical man by his side.

  “Were am I?” Theodore asked as he took in the fullness of the island, all bare but the tree and throne.

  “You are in the Garden of Calhuni,” the man announced, turning and walking closer to the throne.

  “Where is this place?”

  “This is the Garden of Calhuni which lies within the three kingdoms of Calnuthe, on the planet of Unas,” the man replied quietly, turning his eyes to the lake. Theodore followed his gaze and found his eyes upon a small boat, making its way to the island. Inside the boat were a young couple and their small baby, wrapped in an ivory blanket.

  “Who are they?”

  “King Elieor of the three kingdoms and my daughter, Unyae, only surviving heir to the kingdom of Heaven.”

  “But that would mean that you…,” Theodore turned to the man and suddenly felt inferior, wanting to fall onto his knees out of duty.

  “That I am God.”

  Theodore could not utter a word and so simply stood until the couple and their boat had reached the shores of the island. Looking up into the face of God, Theodore found sadness in His eyes and wondered what was amiss. Without a word, the man turned and walked away from Theodore and the couple, standing at the far shore with His head bent as though He had felt shame. The couple climbed out of the small boat with their child, struggling to reach the throne which lay beneath a great and ancient tree, as though they were both ill and their legs were unable to function properly.

  “My father, he will come,” the young women, her eyes also golden cried as she was helped by her young husband.