“John, indeed, was a messenger and a prophet, but not for who most people think. The politics of what ended up as what are laughably called the canonical gospels is, again, an intriguing historical study. For he served someone quite different. As I do too, in my way. And that way grows very important now.”

“This is madness,” Michael said. “You speak as if-”

“I know, as if I’d been there,” the elf finished impatiently. “You won’t believe me so I won’t bother with that. Not now. Theres an easier way to let you know.”

“The Magdalene,” Serrin said insistently. “The Magdalene figure. The face on the Shroud. The face at the supper.”

“Yes,” the elf whispered. “Now, Serrin, I could tell you to go to the cathedral at Notre Dame, or in a hundred other cities throughout Europe and Asia Minor-though Notre Dame is the best example because Paris is the city of love-and gaze on the Black Madonna looking out over her people. It is an image they have never been able to replace with their wretched medieval Virgin, no matter how many times they mistranslated that one, simple little word. Because a virgin is barren and joyless, a symbol only of fear and body-hating revulsion, and the true Madonna is close to the lives and hearts and souls of all people and her spirit infuses them instead of denying the rightful wholeness of their souls. The Magdalene was her priestess, and John her initiate. That’s the heresy. That’s what’s worth a nuclear warhead bearing the Papal seal. And it’s the secret I seeded into all those designs, and I laughed at the popes and their venal servitors who paid me to create those idols of false worship. The secret has always been there for anyone with eyes to see, right in front of the noses of those who would deny her.”

The air in the chamber started to acquire the tang of metal and ozone. A figure began to manifest behind him. Tall as the elf seemed to be, risen with exaltation, the woman behind him seemed to be of unearthly height and fullness, richly dressed in satin and pearls and the gems of an ancient potentate’s treasury of pillage of far-flung, exotic lands.

Serrin knew from experience that it was the materialized form of a Great Spirit, but it seemed to him to carry an emotional charge far greater even than that he’d known on the very, very few occasions he’d met such a being.

“She is Isis.” the ancient elf whispered, the only one able to speak at all. This is my mistress and my passion. This is the truth. What you have been told until this day is lies, It is now time that this truth be known by all the people of this world, and many people are very, very afraid of that.”

The woman was impassive, the ebony of her skin perfectly smooth, her eyes closed, her hands folded into her lap. She stood utterly still, and when they looked upon her they felt an indescribable yearning, a longing for her presence to stay with them and for much more. The incarnation faded, impassive to the end, giving no recognition of either their presence or their existence.

“There is an occult belief that has persisted, though it has never been widely held,” the elf said finally, once they were alone again in the chamber, “that Biblical events are merely a retelling of the story of Isis and Osiris. In such beliefs, Osiris is identified with Christ. There is a darker understanding and knowledge of this.

“If you want the simple translation, for Osiris read John; for Isis read the Magdalene; for Salome read Nephthys; the rest you can fill in for yourselves. if you don’t know, you’ll learn, soon enough.”

“If you go to the world with this,” Serrin said slowly, trying to regain some composure, you’ll be regarded as simply another nut.”

“I think not,” the elf said evenly. “For a start, it’s time I showed them all how I made the Shroud for Innocent. There will be the debris of the missile you are here to verify. Then again, I do have something of an advantage when it comes to dealing with the lies history has told us.

“After all, I was there.”

“I can’t take this in,” Michael said, shrugging in helplessness. By the looks on the faces of the others, neither could they.

“You doubt? I can identify with that,” the elf said, suddenly grinning. “The gospels do manage to record my presence with that tag, after all.”

“But what are you going to do here? Why so much money? For what?” Serrin pressed him.

“Because of the Works,” the elf told him. “I want to bring some of the better minds of the world here. I remember the old times, all those great artists and engineers at the behest of the Medicis and the Borgias. Ah, such times! I want that again.

“Indeed,” he continued, suddenly almost humble, “I hoped that I might invite some among you to join me. I think you, Mr. Sutherland, would enjoy working here.”

Michael looked at the cyberdeck and wondered. Fine, he’s glitched, but by hell whatever that thing is I wouldn’t say no to looking into it. Just a few weeks, maybe…

“And you, Serrin, you I would be glad of for the Great Work.”

“And that is?”

“That is something deeper and darker, a greater mystery,” the elf said without the pretension such words might well have carried from anyone else. “There are times in the history of the world, Serrin, when mana rises and falls. When it is potent and strong, many wonders and glories arise. An Awakening, some have called it. We are in such a time now. But dangers come with such limes, dangers all but beyond imagining. I must work with others to counter those dangers.”

“That sounds both vague and paranoid,” Serrin told him.

“It may, but you are noted for your paranoid nature and at times you, too, are rather vague,” Leonardo said tartly. The sharpness of his voice was so unusual that Serrin almost startled, and his mouth formed into a smile for an instant before he reassumed his usual grave appearance.

“You know of astral quests, of the threshold, of the dangers of the metaplanes-or you think you do.”

“I know something of such things.” Serrin wasn’t sure where this was leading.

“There are dangers beyond which are very great and real. At this time, the barrier between us and those dangers is eroding and must he shored up. To do so will take immense effort. That is the Great Work. However. I ask only that you spend a month, perhaps, learning of such things and deciding whether you are willing. Then you may-”

The elf broke off without warning. He cocked his head to one side for a moment, as if listening to something inaudible to anyone else.

The moment’s respite gave Streak the chance to tell Serrin about something whose significance he’d finally realized. “You know, I saw something in that book you had on the Shroud,” he said. “Did you realize the face doesn’t have any bloody ears?”

Serrin had missed that. He’d seen the presence of things that had remained hidden or at best obscured, but he’d missed an absence of something. If this elf was really who he said he was, or rather if the face of Leonardo’s was one he’d worn, then the missing detail was perfect. A self-portrait with the identifying characteristic carefully omitted.

And, of course, what irony there must have been in the gullible of the centuries worshipping an image of himself.

“There may be some trouble,” Leonardo informed them. “Several military aircraft have landed at the airstrip. I think that Renraku may have been overenthusiastic in their approach to potential discussions with me, which is not wholly unexpected. Michael, I would very much appreciate it if you would mediate here. I am very eager to speak with them. I had hoped we could come to some arrangement, as I suggested to you. Will you help me?”

“I’ll do what I can,” Michael said nervously.

“By the way, Salai tells me it is now time you went out into the desert with him,” the elf said to Streak. “The missile has been brought down safely, and we have the protective clothing and measuring instruments you will need.”