Hell is empty and all the devils are here. --William Shakespeare
“Dee was trying to lead anyone who could follow this trail to—to understanding. It was his obsession: understanding. The world, the cosmos, God, power…” “You think he got anything right?” “Oh, well, yes, I suppose. Yeah. I don’t think he made sense of it. His sorcery led him away from the true understanding of mathematics and science.” “But that’s what we’re all out here chasing: his sorcery...
When I first read about the book, I lumped it into what I call "Treasure Hunt" books, or movies... Even the author begins calling it a treasure hunt book... You know like when someone learns about something that is of great value and begins a major hunt to secure that item, perhaps for their country, perhaps for the riches it will bring...
This is not that kind of hunt...
This hunt could affect the entire world
leaving it in the hands of Evil People.
The devils who live right here on Earth
Normally rich ones who want more money, more power...
Will they achieve their goal?
“For all the lion and the lamb talk in the Bible, seems nobody really wants to be the lamb,” said Ridley.
Booker went on. “But this is the Sigillum Dei Aemeth. Dee didn’t even create the first sigillum dei—means seal of God—but this is his first, which he thought was the true seal. Obviously. And it’s gotta be made out of wax, to the proper dimensions, to be the real thing. Aaand…this all contains the power of the Holy Spirit and, if you activate it, can control all creation and commune with the angels.” “It’s a wonder that’s just sitting around on the internet,” said Ridley, “and everyone’s just shooting each other for power instead.” “Yeah, ya think? Nobody’s figured out how to activate it, or the right person hasn’t figured out how to activate it, or—”
“Better. John Dee hid his first clue. How the hell he even knew this place existed…wasn’t ‘officially discovered’ until the eighteenth century.” Fingal’s Cave. So strange, so harsh and beautiful and grand that it had drawn the likes of Keats and Tennyson. Mendelsohn composed an overture for it. Jules Verne wrote of it. Queen Victoria had made the journey to see it. Pink Floyd had even written a song named after it. Booker stared up at the ceiling of the cave, a rugged rock cathedral.
1582 LONDON, ENGLAND Hell had emptied itself into the skies of London. That night in March, the sun had set as always. The canopy of night had unfurled, smudges of cloud drifting across the starry black. Then it had appeared, at first like bloody shreds in the darkness. Within an hour, the sky rippled with flame. Peasants and gentry, nobility and monarchy all lifted their eyes in terror. The inferno had opened, not below but above. As the bloody glow settled on thatch roof and stone alike, cries for divine mercy trickled upward into the night. From his cottage along the Thames River, one middle-aged man had watched with fascination. Nothing in his astrological studies had prepared him for this. Whether it was the explosion of the heavens or the wrath of God, the man could not tear his eyes away from the molten sky. Until the wee hours of the night, he wandered in and out of the cottage, roaming from his overstuffed library out onto the dank streets of Mortlake. The queen would surely call on him to divine this celestial omen. The council of her court was versed in economics, law, and the dastardly stabs of politics, but in matters of great portent and mystical truth, it was solely to John Dee that she turned. Yet John Dee had not seen this coming. Nor did he see coming the mysterious stranger who appeared at his door the next day, a young Englishman with deep, earnest eyes who wore a monk’s cowl pulled over his ears. He introduced himself to John Dee with determined charm, and said, “My name is Edward Kelly. I understand you have need of a scryer.”
1588 It was only Kelly who could see the angels. Dee never could. Nor could he hear them. They spoke through the scryer alone, and their instructions were always detailed. John Dee stood over the table in his library, fingertips grazing the quill that lay beside the open notebook. He gazed down at the wax piece in the center, an intricately carved seal as wide as a man’s hand. It was a work of precision, down to every tiny etching and geometric measurement. The Sigillum Dei Aemeth. It had been the archangels Michael and Uriel themselves who had pronounced it “the true Circle of His eternity, comprehending all virtue.” Finally, it was ready. The angels were always right. Kelly stood across from Dee at the table, holding a velvet pouch in one hand. A nervous twitch tugged at the fleshy edge of his mouth as he pulled out a smooth crystal. It was nearly the size of a fig, and so transparent that it looked more like an enormous drop of water than a stone. Dee couldn’t help but stare at it. They had crossed the Holy Roman Empire for this. They had ventured into the pagan lands of the Ottomans. They had knelt in the mud and dug a hole with their own hands…and found the buried talisman that had been foretold. It was the Devil’s Eye. Kelly looked at him, then settled down into a chair. “You’ve said your prayers.” It was less a question than a statement, since Dee always prayed fervently before their sessions. He was desperate to understand the universe of God, to master the cosmic realm, to conjure the power of the divine. It was only through the supernatural gifts of this most unlikely scoundrel, Edward Kelly, that he had finally begun to receive the knowledge of the angels. Dee picked up his quill and sat across the table from his scryer, who placed the enormous crystal on the wax seal. He hunched over and put his face down, peering through the stone at the etchings below. The silence pressed into Dee. It was unbearable. His hand was poised over the open notebook. Then Kelly cried out. He shot to his feet, stumbling back from the table with a sick, strangling noise. The Devil’s Eye lay still on the wax seal, but now Kelly stared at it in wordless horror. “What...” But Dee could hardly get out the words. In all their work together, in all of the beautiful and terrible things that Kelly had seen in crystals and in glass, he had never reacted like this. “What do you see?” Kelly looked up, fear shining out from his eyes. “It is not for me,” he croaked. “This is not meant for me.” Dee frowned and leaned forward to look into the crystal. “No!” shouted Kelly. He lunged, but he was not in time to stop his companion. Dee’s eye settled over the clear stone, gazing down onto the seal beneath it. From the night that the skies of hell opened over London, John Dee had believed that one day he would behold the purest glory and fullest fury of all existence. It had been the blazing omen of this path he would seek. This step had been one too far. Dee reeled back. His face went ashen. A whooshing roar began in his ears, and he had to grip the back of his chair to keep himself from collapsing. When he looked up, Kelly was standing at the table again, his expression stricken. “It’s not meant for me,” gasped Dee. “It’s meant for neither of us.” Kelly shoved the pouch down over the crystal. “It will be for another.” He drew the strings tight, and fastened the Devil’s Eye in a velvet tomb.
!!!
A small paned window overlooked a yard shrouded with a thin layer of snow. The faintest strains of Vivaldi’s “Summer” pranced from behind one of the classroom doors. (Scotland)
Ridley reached for the sledgehammer. “May I?” He handed it to her, a little smile glinting in the darkness. “Give me the space.” As the others stepped back, she swung the hammer like she was taking a monster shot in croquet and slammed it into the stone symbol. It depressed like a heavy button. A scraping sound grumbled from deep within the rock. “I’m pickin’ up good vibrations,” Ridley sang softly. The wall split, as though there had been an invisible seam there all along. The two halves rotated slowly inward. What lay beyond was pure blackness. (Hungary)
In my mind, Ridley Samaras, is the main character, even though she was working with many others as she became involved in what could be the most deadly adventure ever. Ridley is, of course, brilliant. But she's also a Badass that can take on anything that she faces, including traveling into many of the most dangerous areas of the world, some of which had, perhaps, only been visited one other time... The time that the item, and a clue, was planted as to how to find The Devil's Eye...
Ridley and Booker arrived midday at Václav Havel Airport, where the boss took the opportunity to rhapsodize about the former writer turned political prisoner turned president. “Never intended to become a dissident,” said Booker as they climbed into a cab. “He just lived by truth and, under communism, that made him worthy of jail.” “You would have made a great political prisoner, Book. And for company, you could just read all the books you’ve stored up in your head.” “I’ll get you reading some Solzhenitsyn. Is Russian on your Rosetta Stone?” “No, and it’s slid down the list of languages I want to learn,” said Ridley. “I think Ukrainian has taken its place. They have all the phrases I’d want to say to Russians right now anyhow.” He chuckled and gave the cab driver... (Prague)
“History, let’s go! That’s the Jan Hus Memorial.” Booker pointed at a huge copper monument next to them, where a cloaked figure towered over a swarm of dramatically posed followers. “They burned him at the stake right here for being a Protestant, a hundred years before Protestantism…preceding Martin Luther.” “The guillotine was really a humane development, compared to dying of smoke inhalation or having your skin melt off.” “That Church has tried an awful lotta things to hold on to power,” he said through a mouthful of dumpling. “Probably don’t know the half of it.” He paused, as though a thought had plucked at him. “How ’bout that Vatican Library, huh? Wonder what’s in there. Maybe we’ll get to find out someday.” (Prague)
After that first event, readers might wonder why on earth, wouldn't they just hide it somewhere where it could never be found! Of course, that would not become a book by an excellent creative mind and writer, Ox Devere... Whether or not such a thing exists, I also thought of the television show, The Librarian, who searched out historical items and controlled them centrally. That theory runs along the same line. Still, there is the question as to why create a set of clues? Perhaps those living in the 1500s thought that some day in the future, we would be better prepared to explore what might be discovered and used for the betterment of man. Strangely, how I see the world is that, we have barely come forward in discovering Who our God Is? And, should anybody ever know?
As World War II was won and the Axis powers defeated, Poland was caught in an accursed limbo. Stalin had promised the United States and England that he would allow the Polish government to remain sovereign. Much to the shock of everyone who had never met a mass-murdering dictator, he did not keep his word. Poland was drowned, abandoned by the Allies to the long anguish of communism under Soviet rule. When the USSR fell, the country fought its way to freedom, to a democratic republic. They joined NATO, never again to be conquered and slaughtered by the Russians to the east. Yet as they had watched Putin’s tanks roll into Ukraine and heard the authoritarian from Moscow pronounce his life’s desire to reconquer the lands that had once been subsumed by Russian rule, Poles felt this threat in their bones. They had seen this play before. If Ukraine fell, they rightly feared they would be next. As Ridley navigated along the squiggly blue lines of their GPS mapping, she realized they were less than four hours’ drive from Lviv, the western-most major city in Ukraine. It’s a different kind of tension, being one jump away from a European war zone. Today at least, Kraków was dressed for Christmas in relative peace. It took them only half an hour to reach their destination. (Poland)
Nevertheless, one of the papers that documented what occurred centuries ago was discovered and, of course, put on sale to the highest bidder! Shall we declare him the "richest man in the world" and realize just how much damage can be caused by that individual who claims that ignoble title... But I digress from the plot...
But you could never count on someone who wasn’t you.
Booker, Ridley, and Iain sidled down to the floor just as the orchestra at the far end struck up the Austrian national anthem. Everyone rose to their feet. When it finished, the music melted into a quick, bright piece, and the procession began. Over a hundred debutantes paraded out onto the floor with their escorts. Each wore a white gown, opera gloves, a Swarovski tiara, and clutched a small bouquet. Their male partners wore tails and white gloves. Ridley murmured into Iain’s ear. “You don’t do this debutante stuff in Scotland, do you?” He shook his head. “Just men in kilts blowin’ into bags.” She laughed. (Austria)
Indeed, there is a group who have come across such "treasures" that should not be available for personal/private individuals. It is this group that will be racing to find that Eye first! Fortunately, where the Devil's Eye was being sold, an individual made a copy and sent it to the division director of a small unit of the CIA who, more or less, was on his own to deal with the types of situations where secrecy was more important than anything else. So, thanks to. perhaps a very astute whistleblower, the right individual to deal with the Eye became ahead of the race and, with Ridley's help, was soon acting as her partner in this do-or-die caravan... Not!
In fact, there has been significant research done by the writer in order to even conceive how to create, and present, this story. History buffs will love it! I did as well! I'm not a person who questions information about how God is involved in fiction... And, sometimes, not even when it is quoted and used arbitrarily for a specific purpose. God is bigger than all that and I accept that as a given. Can we learn of the language of God. Yes, I think we can. But that gift is not to be treated lightly--by anybody!
Now I could tell you about that Devil's Eye. Instead I've taken you back to the year 1582 when somebody got hold of that Eye! And within a short period of time, those involved decided that it was not for them, at that time...
And I was very happy that Booker chose Ridley to help carry the responsibility of actually finding that Eye and placing it in a secret vault that could never be again discovered...
Then she saw him. In a third-tier box halfway down the floor, sat Marc Pearson. Beside him, Effie Crowhurst leaned elegantly against the rail. Ferenc being torched into a pillar of flame…Zsolt holding the line to die in the inferno… The memories flashing in her mind began to glaze into a cold hatred. A man who thought he could do anything and get away with it. He has done anything he wanted and gotten away with it— But not this thing. NOT THIS THING.
(At the Villain's Palace)
“Oh my God,” hissed Ridley. “He’s a shitty Hannibal Lecter…just eats girls’ souls instead of men’s livers, doesn’t he?”
The memories of seeing the Lipizzaners as a child came pouring back on Ridley. She caught the thick, mingling odors of hay, manure, and horsehair. The clop of hooves and whickering of the great animals drew her in like a spell. Not here for them…not here for them…just here for their stables. Adjacent to the stables was the Swiss Wing, the oldest section of the great palace. It housed the treasury where the royal jewels were kept, and a gothic chapel where the Vienna Boys Choir sang Mass on Sunday mornings. But it was the red and black gate leading into the old wing that most interested the pair. Built by an emperor in the 16th century, the Schweizertor looked more like a Roman arch than a Gothic gate...
Lexi Rapp was perhaps the most fascinating of all the girls they’d had. This one was a prodigy at everything, and she still had no concept of the extent of her talents. This one, they would have to keep. Effie was determined. When they got back to the hotel penthouse, she offered the idea of some tea and Jaffa cakes. Marc was still out, and the girl needed an uplift after that miserable music lesson. She’d coax her later into practicing massage. Lexi said sure, but as Effie ordered down to the concierge, she disappeared into the back bedroom with her violin case. Once inside, Lexi shut the door and pulled in deep breaths. She dumped the case on the bed. Fought back tears. If she let them go, they would drown her. Instead she pulled open the case, looked at the notes on the Caprices that she’d stashed inside, and tossed them to the floor. Lexi picked up the instrument. She set the violin to her shoulder, hovered the bow for a moment, and began to play. This was not for any audition. Not to impress. Not to improve. Not to practice. She played from memory, “Chaconne in G Minor.” She shut her eyes and bled through the strings. She ripped the piece open and played it for every terrible thing storming inside of her.
They moved on to the Chapter House next door, an empty octagonal room with soaring stained glass windows. Above the door inside was a splendid carving of Jesus sitting on his throne, surrounded by adoring angels. Just below his feet was carved a single letter: L. They went back into the main abbey, to the South Transept, where Poet’s Corner was flush with the great literary talents of the kingdom. “We’re searching for the poet,” said Lianna, keeping her voice hushed around the throngs of other visitors. “There are so many buried here, though.” “Well, who before the mid-1600s?” asked Iain. “Chaucer! Of course. It had to be Chaucer. He was the first one buried here, 1400 or so. Yes.” His tomb was so central that it had obviously been an early installation. Behind the ornate ancient woodwork, below the stone plaque commemorating him in Latin, was chiseled a very faint V. Lianna actually pumped her fist. “These next four should all be very close, right in a row,” she told them. They were. In the lavishly decorated Cosmati Pavement in front of the High Altar: E. On the tomb of Edward the Confessor, it was smaller and more obscure, but there it was: another E. In the Lady Chapel, the Chapel of Henry VII, between two specific stained glass windows: H. “Doesn’t this feel a bit too easy?” said Ridley under her breath to Iain. They gazed up at the fan-vaulted ceiling with giant gold pendants hanging from it. “Yeah, it does. Maybe it’s the reward for gettin’ this far. John Dee, the Merciful.” That’s not it… Henry VII’s grandiose tomb had been barricaded many years ago, so that a gorgeously carved cage of dark wood now ensconced it. Still they were able to peer and zoom in enough with a phone camera to find it: A. “That’s it,” said Lianna as she jotted it down on the notepad. “Seven letters. What on earth is it…E, L, O, A, V, H, E.” “So that’s not English,” said Iain. “My Latin’s a wee bit peely-wally.” Ridley stared at him. “You can use that one,” he said. “No charge.” She turned back to Lianna. “So what language are we gambling with here?” “I don’t think—I mean it could be Latin, but I think it’s perhaps something…older. One moment.” She wandered toward the nearest seat she could find, absent-mindedly sitting on the sumptuously cushioned kneeler in front of the chapel altar. She huddled over the notepad, trying different combinations of the letters, muttering to herself. Until finally she looked up at them. “I think it’s Hebrew.” “Dee knew Hebrew?” said Ridley. “No, not according to any of our sources or his own writings, but if it is, I believe this one says ‘Eloha ve,’ which means ‘God and.’” Ridley threw her hands up in exasperation. “It was too easy until it got offensively obtuse. What does that mean?” “God and…” murmured Lianna, raking through all her years of study, of poring over words and charts and maps. “‘For God and country’ was quite common, mostly in Latin, but Dee…no.” Then she sat up as if she’d been plucked. She shuffled quickly through Dee’s notebook, checking page after page. “Oh, my God, yes. Yes, there it is!” She looked up at Ridley and Iain, her eyes wide. She’d just solved the greatest mystery of her life. “He used this refrain a dozen times at least, ‘God and the queen,’ ‘God and the queen.’ There was only ever one queen to John Dee. His beloved queen,
With half an hour left to the drive, Ridley grew antsy. For the first time, the thoughts of what if nicked at the edge of her mind. What if he uses the Devil’s Eye? Will we be able to tell? Will the world change? Could we ever undo it? What if Madimi is there…what if she traps you in her cold upside-down hell… She needed to stop the thoughts. Putting in a pair of earbuds, she found Muse’s “Algorithm” and hit play. She gazed out the window, lost in the dark rock synth, watching clouds scud across the moon and their shadows swirl on the glowing snow.
“A’right then. Merry Christmas, boss.” “Merry Christmas.” Ridley heard Diane Bellingsworth in the parlor begin to sing “O, Holy Night.” She hung up and stood in the hall for a moment, alone. Otto. Tavvie. Lexi. Iain. For you, I’ll destroy them all. “Merry Christmas, scumbags of the world,” she murmured to herself. She turned back to the light of the parlor.
Many of you know by now that a book with a musical playlist adds depth to my enjoyment... This one was wonderful in sharing many of the classics, which is one of my favorite genres. On the other hand, the book is set around Christmas and includes songs sung during that time. I chose to omit their use simply because the article would have become longer than necessary. I did add the last one with reference to my favorite Christmas song, but, more importantly, for this book, I stopped to wonder, hopefully. Was there to be a followup book with Ridley fulfilling her threat? Or should we take it as a closing out of this particular book's necessary actions on handling criminal activities in her own style? I'm hoping for the former. This character needs to be in many more books...Just my personal opinion, of course! LOL
Folks, this book's main attraction--its action--deserves to be read and not revealed in anyway to perhaps spoil what you will find as the hunt begins...and...ends. I did, however, share a small scene which let's you know how the clues were provided... Although I projected what probably would happen at the end, it still is worthy of what occurred both in the early era as well as in the later rediscovery of The Devil's Eye! Once I knew the individuals who would be searching for the Eye were dedicated to the protection of this potentially dangerous item, I felt secure who was going to finally win the race and could stop and enjoy the viewing of many historical towns where I will never travel except in books such as this one! Indeed, Ox Devere has given me a Fascinating, Wonderful Trip!
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