The two aspects of the voudoun soul, the ti bon ange and the gros bon ange, the 'little good angel' and the 'big good angel' are described as a double shadow, a dark core and then a lighter penumbra like the halo that sometimes surrounds the full moon.
The image at the center is the gros bon ange, the life force that all sentient beings share, it enters the individual at conception and functions only to keep the body alive. At clinical death, it returns immediately to God and once again becomes part of the great reservoir of energy that supports all life.
The ti bon ange is that part of the soul directly associated with the individual. The gross bon ange provides each person with the power to act, it is the ti bon ange that molds the individual sentiments within each act. It is one's aura and the source of all personality, character and willpower.
The z'etoile is the one spiritual component that resides not in the body but in the sky. It is the individual's star of destiny, and is viewed as a calabash that carries one's hope and all the many ordered events for the next life of the soul, a blueprint that will be a function of the course of the previous lifetime. If the shooting star is bright, so shall be the future of the individual.
Wade Davis
The Serpent And The Rainbow
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Dee: Is my Book of Soyga of any excellency?
Uriel: That book was revealed to Adam in Paradise by God's good angels...
Dee: ...Oh, my great and long desire hath been to be able to read those tables of Soyga.
-- John Dee and the Archangel Uriel March 10th, 1582
-- Mysteriorum Liber Primus
.................
A half moon exuded a shine of half light into the night casting a jagged image of it's double into the bay as the boat sat at anchor rocking gently with the tide.
Emlyn waited impatiently with Sebastiao for the return of Raimundo with Alice, hopefully. And soon. They had been waiting for an hour now and patience had never been Em's strong suit.
'But, Haiti, Sebastiao!' Emlyn whispered, trying to keep her voice from carrying over the water, 'Why ever Haiti?'
Sebastiao was silent for a time, his eyes roving about the trees and brush on the shoreline, anticipating the arrival of their friends.
'It is the voudoun.' He shrugged. 'A special magic is known to them that would be helpful; to Alice, and to Frank.'
'I don't know...it does seem rather mixed up with curses and walking dead, the stuff of dark magic.' Em had heard things. And read sensational novels.
'No, no...' he sighed, 'I mean, yes, sometimes there is that. A left hand and right hand side to it, you know. What Frank requires is angel magic. The good kind: "ti bon ange" as they say.'
Magic of the angels? Where had Em heard that before?
Western magical traditions made use of the angels, she knew; there was the Enochian path of John Dee and Edward Kelly, court magicians to Elizabeth I.
'"The Little Good Angel"?' Emlyn had not heard of such.
'Shh! Something comes...' Sebastiao pushed Emlyn down with a gentle hand as they ducked quickly and peered over the side at the sound of brush cracking; the bushes parted and, glory! -- Em spied Raimundo holding Alice by the hand as they emerged from the foliage. They uncovered the dingy of it's brush camoflauge and eased it into the water, rowing to the yacht as silently as possible.
Sebastiao had the rope ladder over the side in a trice and soon Emlyn was helping Alice onto the deck and into a fierce embrace.
'I, is it Em? Really you?' Alice held Emlyn apart, staring hard, and shook her once to make sure she was solid and real.
'In the flesh. Oh, Allie...' Emlyn smiled through happy exhausted tears.
'Below. Now.' Raimundo ordered, ushering them into the cabin below deck.
Sebastiao remained on watch.
............
'So, you see, I couldn't go through that again, and neither could Frank,' Alice had recanted her tale, a long and thirsty one. She held out her mug for more lemonade.
Alice was much changed, Emlyn could tell, even by the low lamplight as she refilled their drinks. She was brown as a hazelnut now, which seemed to well suit her. She also sported rather colorful jewellery bearing marvelous gemstones which sparked lights of emerald, sapphire and amethyst about her wrists and neck. Her hair was completely white now and braided with rainbow strands of floss through the many long braids arranged about her head. Emlyn was impressed.
She had been speaking of their life in South America, Brazil in particular, where Alejandro/Raimundo's gypsy tribes were congregated. Apparently all had gone well enough until a couple of years ago...Frank began disappearing again. And when he did return, there was less and less of him to be seen; his image was fading with every new disappearance.
'And you believe that a voudoun practitioner is the right source to appeal to for help?' Em had her doubts.
'There is a mambo, a priestess, very knowledgeable, very adept,' Raimundo now joined them, 'she is from Haiti. But, we have heard that she may be here in Mexico. It is she that we seek, she knows the actions of a double spirit.'
Emlyn relaxed somewhat. 'So you may not actually have to travel so far as to the island, then?'
'Perhaps not.' Alice sat back, looking tired now. 'But I will do whatever I must, even if it means traveling all the way there, to her island home.'
Emlyn studied her friend, thinking.
'You know, there may be another aspect to this.' She made certain she had their attention.
'You recall Jack's Uncle Daryl, don't you Alice?'
Alice frowned. 'Vaguely...wasn't it he Jack was railing about all the time? The wicked magician who left him that old cold mansion back east?'
Oh, mercy...thought Em. What will Alice think now to learn that she had nearly married 'that wicked magician'?
She needn't know.
'The very same. Only, he isn't quite as bad as Jack would have him. Anyway, long story short, Allie, I am living now, in San Francisco at his house there. Daryl's house.' She noticed Alice now had rather a confused look about her.
She sighed. 'In that house, my father used to conduct experiments, with Frank there as well. They were part of a secret society of scientists and wealthy benefactors who were backing his projects...'
Alice stirred. 'Ye-ess...I recall Frank mentioning something about that. Long ago. Didn't know it was in San Francisco. It was before we were married.'
Emlyn locked gazes with her friend. 'Daryl reported recently having SEEN Frank there, Alice. There, in the basement laboratory, during an experiment.'
'Frank was there? With Jack's uncle? He is part of this society as well, then?' Alice became agitated.
'No, no -- he's not. Daryl was there in spirit only,' Em clarified. 'His astral had traveled to that particular point in time, sometime in the past. Daryl saw my father there, with these well-to-do men, there in the lab, and Frank had...appeared, apparently when my father, the professor, had manipulated some hand-held apparatus he was aiming at Frank.'
Alice and Raimundo looked at each other. Then back to Em.
'I wish I had known this earlier,' Raimundo stood then and shook his head, clearly unnerved by the news. 'But what good does it do...is Daryl still missing then?'
Emlyn sighed. 'Oh, yes. At least he was when I left.' She turned to Alice. 'He has been disappeared 4 months now.' She looked at her hands, bereft of ring. 'I wish he were here! He may have been able to shed some more light on all of this.'
'Well,' said Alice looking toward Raimundo. 'I, for one, am very happy you came, Em.' She took Emlyn's hand in both of hers. 'But whatever were you doing, Emmeline, living in such a place?'
'We have been wondering that ourselves...' Raimundo smiled a know-it-all grin, giving up his pretense at annoyance, 'In the very belly of the beast.'
Emlyn found herself suddenly wondering the same. And wishing Daryl were back again. Not for the first time...
.............
'La vie sacre'e de la loa...,' Daryl shook his head slowly, refilling his wineglass. 'The sacred life of the loa, of the voudoun. How will that aid you, St.John? I must admit to some bafflement.'
'You have answered my question without answering,' St.John declared, pushing aside his plateful of seafood shells emptied of their contents. 'You obviously know nothing, or very little...'
Daryl was less interested in Haitian voudou than empty oyster shells. He sat back with his wine and smiled. 'You have me there. '
St.John glowered. Daryl wasn't biting. He signaled Sergei and murmured something in his ear regarding 'port' and 'chocolate mousse'. Let us see what other bait may tempt the enigmatic antiques dealer...he will bite the mousse', that much St.John would bet on.
Daryl finished his wine and gazed about the room. Musicians had gathered now to practice for the evening supper sessions.
'I am through with my...experiments in other times and worlds,' Daryl continued. 'Well and truly have I been there and have done with all that.' He smiled, but his eyes betrayed a certain regret.
'I see...' St.John appeared regretful as well. 'Ah, my...well, time does catch up with us all, I suppose. We are, neither of us, the reckless, adventurous young bucks we once were!' He spied Sergei crossing the room with a tray. 'Ah, and now a little something to help fill up the corners, eh?'
Sergei served the mousse in silver bowls over crushed ice and poured a drop of port for St.John, who sniffed, sipped and nodded. 'Well, we needn't worry about chipping a tooth on mousse, eh? Genteel, we have become in our autumn years, indeed.' He handed a cut crystal glass of port to Daryl.
Daryl eyed him and his mousse' with some suspicion.
However...Yvonna's chocolate mousse' could not get by him without a taste.
'You know you can't entice me into anything, St.John. I will indeed turn my hand to genteel pursuits, as you say. ' He polished off the mousse in short order, and turned his attention to the excellent port. 'Gardening, for instance, has long been an interest of mine...'
St.John allowed himself a spate of cackling over Daryl's confession.
'My dear Daryl...I can just see you now, trundling down Nob Hill, pushing a wheelbarrow of melons to market, hah!' A mirthless laugh escaped him as he poured the port afresh. 'Well, well then...' he sighed, gazing about at the players as they tuned balalaika and violin, giving the conversation some breathing space.
Daryl frowned and fidgeted, wondering what had nettled him so. He was used to St.John's
needling.
'So then,' St.John swung his gaze back to Daryl, his deep set eyes couldn't hide a bright sparkle, 'What are your plans for the evening, eh? Weeding watermelons, digging tubers and the like? '
Daryl held his tongue in his cheek. He relented a bit then...'Actually, if you must know, I am making supper for myself and a friend.'
St.John nodded sagely, sipped and remarked, 'Rather nice this...' His gaze took in Daryl, head to toe.
'Ah, well, a proper gentleman farmer like yourself, would hardly be interested...hm, perhaps, you would, though... just as a matter of newsworthy information...' St.John hemmed and hawed a few moments, relieving himself of his serviette and dishes.
'You are, or were, rather a history buff, at one time, were you not?'
'Oh, that will never change. Always have been, and shall ever be. What is this news then, you old pirate?'
'Privateer, please!' St.John held up a hand in mock dismay. He sipped up his port and emptied the bottle into their glasses.
'Well, then perhaps you would be interested to learn, purely as an amusing trifle, that certain reliable sources have let it be known that some archaic -- and rather nefarious -- manuscripts have appeared to have surfaced. Have you ever heard of the Liber...oh, what was it now..."Liber Lochgath"? Is that it...? Can't quite recall...part of John Dee's "Mysteriorum Sextus et Sanctus" I believe...'
Daryl sat up, all ears now. 'The "Liber Loegaeth"? It can be found in the MS "Sloan 3189", eh, mostly...' He frowned. 'It has never been translated. Not all of it was ever found...'
'But a work of prime importance just the same,' St. John eyed Daryl narrowly. "IF, of course, if it were found, in extant, complete.'
'Indeed,' Daryl resumed a more relaxed stance, seeing where this was now headed. A wild goose chase...
'It was rumored to be the one book which would restore all knowledge, all history that was lost since the beginning...it was said,' Daryl lowered his voice, 'to be prophetic, and that the truths it contained would bring about the unity of all faiths and end all religious conflict. And, that it would usher in the New Age.'
'Hm. All that, eh?' St.John seemed mildly impressed.
'Yes. All that.' Daryl appeared rather smug. 'And, yes, if it were found, and a translation brought to bear...it might be something rather of interest. But, whatever you have heard, whatever was unearthed, it most certainly cannot be the Liber Loegaeth.'
'And why not?' St.John was fumbling about his jacket for a cigar. Time to be off, thought Daryl...
'Because, it simply no longer exists.'
However, it wasn't a cigar that St.John brought forth from the folds of his tweed, but an envelope. He handed it to Daryl without a word.
Gently openinging the manila envelope, Daryl glanced within and looked up at St.John.
'Did you touch this? With your hands?'
'-- Gloves.' St.John's eyebrows danced. 'It is encased in thin sheets of glass and framed. Just a peek, now, mind you.'
Daryl pinched the top of the document within, which was encased about the edges by a frame of sorts. He lifted it gently up enough to study it, frowning all the while.
'It is foolscap, or appears to be. Would have to have the inks examined...'
'It all checks out; authenticated as to the time period...' St.John sighed, as if bored now.
'Return it, do; you have no interest any longer and, it IS of interest to serious collectors, Besides, you now have your potatoes awaiting that shovel...oh, yes...and supper to prepare...'
Daryl glowered, but returned the document within and passed St.John the envelope.
He smiled. 'Yes. Potatoes.'
........................
After Daryl had left the restaurant, St.John approached Anna and requested the use of Madame's telephone.
Anna frowned slightly, but recovered. 'Of course. It is in the shop. This way...'
Making certain that Anna was out of earshot, St.John dialed a number and waited.
'Hello? Yes. He has just left. No, a cold trail there. He seemed not the least interested in Haiti. Perhaps your contact was mistaken. What? Ah, perhaps. He did seem rather intrigued with the document...could be. He claims he is done with all that. Ah, yes, we will see. Until then!' And with that, he hung up the receiver, grasped his wolfshead cane and turned on his heel to head off into the early summer evening, whistling a jaunty tune as he made his way back down to dockside...
....................
CLICK TO LISTEN: Yemaya Assessu song to the Ocean Mother
Yemaya Assessu - Where the River Joins the Sea
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