The first date was utterly successful, in more than one way. Salome was everything she seemed to be, but what neither of them expected was the new direction Rudolph Yerbler's mind chose to pursue, to unveil the thread of lies intentionally inserted by the enemy into the historical truth.
Later, when the experience was over, and he inwardly relished every detail of it, every satisfying moment of silence, every accidental brief touch between their hands, every newly shared time of recognizing the value of a previously unknown pleasure of culinary delight, he was no longer distracted and could piece things together. What Salome told him, was delightfully new, not because she shared those memories with him alone, but also because his mind based in occult lore began piecing it all together.
Salome was originally a dancer behind the veil, just like, or almost like, Isis. The supposed beheaded of a prophet was a clear borrowing of another episode of history. It was all symbolic, of course. And if that was the case...on a hunch he created another Tarot card.
This one was not as part of his duty for his boss, to spy on the strange couple, but to do something he has never attempted before. To craft the cards that would show him the past instead of the future. Not to influence them, but to merely observe and learn the truth.
The spirit of the Land as the High Priest. Lazarus, the real one, as the acolyte. Their interaction was surprising. Before his name came to imply resurrection, Lazarus was meant to be a helper, and assistant, though assisting whom, was yet to be determined.
Perhaps even himself, Rudolph considered with wonder, as he watched. The demon of betrayal trying to seduce Lazarus with lies and doubts about him being unworthy, about him never being able to rise from that rock to which he was bound in Hell. Not for his sins, but for his multiple unwarranted doubts.
And then Lazarus began listening to the spirit of the land again, the one that inspired him originally...and he was able to rise. All on his own. Despite the horrors surrounding him. The mighty demons, the corrupting environment, the very air of sin itself. Lazarus rose, and flew up, and no chains could hold him. The cards Rudolph drew did not lie.
That rock had to be special, and he had to find it. If it were the turning point in Hell for a soul that deemed itself to be doomed. If it allowed it to rise from the depth of despair, it had to mean something. To be special. Perhaps, if he dared to hope, to be the anti dote to the dark energies of Belial and Judas. How effective, remained to be seen, but Rudolph could finally admit to being greatly reassured at present.
That night he dreamt again, and this time, the scenes of torture that seemingly made him who he was, gave sway to scenes of hope, and another mysterious message he was finally able to absorb. His search for the truth was to continue, for it made sense, not only of the greater forces at play, but of his own personal history, those parts of it at least that were previously hidden from him by other agencies.
Ishamael Moridin