Now, what concerned him were references to Alumnos,
who spoke from the shadows. He had an authority and knowledge about the church,
which, in those times, meant he was a clergyman or even a Templar. Not even
their nobles could read or were so widely versed. Though Alumnos was merely an
initiate to the Perfecti Natalie, he spoke like a cleric, always ready with
information to reinforce his arguments.
“Father Quentin, are you here?” A familiar voice came
from among the volumes, in which Quentin had immersed himself.
“Father Martin? I’m over here, just follow my voice.”
Quentin waited a few moments for the Jesuit father to come smiling into view.
“I’m always awed by the immensity of the Secret
Archives. It must have no equal on earth.” The father gazed about him with a
devout wonder found only in the unabashed scholar when confronted with a rare
discovery. To Quentin, these texts were merely uncovered information, but to
Martin, they were history and wonders rediscovered.
“Yes, Father Martin. I did not know you had
permission to enter the Archives, though you seem to know your way around. What
news do you have from Cardinal Bae? Has he spoken to the Signatura and
Penitentiary? What has Cardinal Ciriaci said about our efforts?”
“I’m glad I’ve found you. I was just speaking to
Sister LaParee and I am disturbed by what she told me. I’m specifically
disturbed by the findings of the Apostolic Testis, but also by others.” Martin
sat opposite Quentin, folding his thin hands before him and looking intently at
the quizzical Templar.
“Well, what has happened since I last saw her,
Father? I am glad to see you come into this. It means the Jesuits and their
considerable influence will be brought to bear.” Quentin was glad to see
Martin. Not only for his connection to the top Jesuit, but also for the man’s
abilities. He always valued Father Martin as a plain speaker, wily enough to
have survived decades in the service of the Vatican. His other abilities,
including being highly trusted by two different Jesuit masters, as well as
being the head exorcist within the church, made him a welcome addition to the
equation.
“Whittier Mansion was attacked. People were killed,
but on the whole, only higher-ranking apostates, including McGrath, himself.
Did you have anything to do with this? Certainly, the Cardinal and I would have
nothing bad to say about it, but we have to know the truth, in case there is
more to our own investigation, past which we must see.” Martin was being
uncharacteristically vague. “Please do not misunderstand our ambiguous request.
Soon, I’ll clarify.” Martin ended abruptly, waiting for a response. Caught off
guard, Quentin answered rapidly.
“No, Father, I have no knowledge of any Templar
involvement in this attack. In fact, it comes as a complete, if not unpleasant,
shock. I would love to say that the Lord moves in mysterious ways, but indeed,
He has in this matter. That is most welcome news, but please, what other
investigations are you conducting? Should I, or may I, offer Templar help?”
Quentin was adamant, both about his desire to know everything Martin could
reveal, as well as his willingness to help.
“Yes, mysterious ways, indeed, but not only He,
Father Quentin, not only He.” As Martin collected his thoughts, Quentin kept
silent, waiting for him to continue. “Earlier this year, an anticipated birth
was to occur, somewhere in the Middle East. As far as anyone knows, it did not,
in fact, happen. Some may claim this as proof that this prophecy is mere fable
— the calculated ramblings of history. Some of us, in the Holy See, do
not. I think you do not. I am also certain that our enemies, in San Francisco,
do not either. In fact, they have been scouring more than their world, in an
attempt to try to find this lost prophecy.” Martin no longer wanted to hear
what Quentin could add.
“From my own research in the Archives and the
Apostolic Testis, I have not seen where his birth was to be. I am also certain
that this was intentional — the prophecy was not a myth. Something
changed the location of the prophesized birth. Though I don’t exactly know why,
I’m trying to find some clue in these volumes.” As he spoke, Quentin indicated
the four vellum-paged codexes in front of him.
“My own investigations have been much more
field-based,” Martin added. “Within the first week of June, there were two
possessions in the Middle East, one in Jerusalem, the other in Cairo, which
showed me what you have gathered through your own work.
“In Jerusalem, there was a small girl who was being
violated by a demon — a demon whose name I will not utter. This fiend
boasted once they found their chosen one, they would be feasting on our
entrails. This showed me they did not know where he was. This particular demon
had been sent to complete the child, who was to have come. With nowhere else to
go, he attacked a child, barely eight years old. As this foul thing told me
that it waited for its destined Grael, the poor girl was convulsing in most
horrific ways.” Martin went on, “It knew it could do nothing, and this added to
its frustration, causing it to torture the girl even more.” Martin restrained
his obvious empathy for the child. “It continued to spew its venom as I went
through the Ritual Romana. Over the course of the recitation, it said that
someone in the New World had the child, and that anybody who aided him would
die a million deaths.
“He said that he would resurrect him like our own
Weakling, only to kill him again and again, each time more horrible than the
last. It would not be in three days, but whenever he chose — minutes,
hours, seconds — it would be his choice, for he was his own
self-important name, which I won’t repeat.” Now, a determination, Quentin had
seen in a host of icons, took hold of Martin’s face. “He finally, and
mercifully, left the little one after days of exorcism. As he left, he bellowed
like a felled ox.”
Though Quentin’s eyes widened as he listened to what
Martin said, he did not press him with any questions. Quentin was not unused to
dealing with evil, but Martin’s experiences were legend, and his recounting of
this incident, because of his practical tone, was all the more chilling.
“In Cairo, it was a small boy, but older than the
child in Jerusalem. It is odd they were both children, and so close together.
This one was twelve and wasn’t even a Christian child, but Muslim. I was called
because his parents were diplomats, and one of their employees was a devout
Catholic.” Martin apologetically held out his hands. “I’m sorry. I’ll stick to
telling what the bugger, who took the boy hostage, hurled at me during the
Romana. I only mention the oddities; because they may, or may not, have
relevance. At any rate, thankfully this exorcism was short, lasting barely a
day. The boy did not suffer as much as the girl; thank God for small favors.
This demon was quite confused, having very little to add to the other’s
profanity. He did scream that those, here temporally, would take over the
throne of Peter and would make the church theirs. That soon, he would be our
master and would inflict great torment.”
Martin concluded, “This confirms what we suspected.
The birth did, indeed, take place, but now we know it happened somewhere in the
Americas; coincidentally, San Francisco seems most notable.”
“Father Martin, we have a string of clues, starting
with Cardinal Colletti’s death in Argentina, and a line of demon remnants,
leading to San Francisco. Those, combined with the Testis’ discoveries, have
given us enough reason to send a team, if not a single cleric, to look
further.” Though Quentin was relieved he had gone to Father Martin, one theory
still remained. “Father, you spoke of your own investigations. Of what other
investigations do you speak? Does it have something to do with the second
possession of which you spoke?”
The older man stood and nodded his ascent as his head
dropped to his chest and he folded his arms behind his back. “Yes, it does have
something to do with our investigations. Several years ago, the pontiff
approached Cardinal Bae and asked him to look into the troubling reports of a
priest, preying on vulnerable children. There were many reported instances,
though I’m sure that many more went unreported.” Martin went on, not looking at
Quentin, seemingly embarrassed by the topic. “Now, we both know this is nothing
new. The abuse of the trust given to us as spiritual guides has gone on for
centuries. No doubt, you’ve read about them in the codexes before you.” Quentin
nodded. “Currently, the abuses are becoming more frequent and the facility, in
New Mexico, can no longer cope.”
Many, in the back rooms of the Vatican knew about the
center at Jemez Springs. There was also the lesser-known Seton Hospital, in
Baltimore. The Pereclete treatment center had been an open secret to the closed
administration of the church. Whenever a clergyman showed a few lapses in
behavior, he was sent to Jemez Springs, to contemplate and pray. Some, like the
Templars — Father Quentin, especially — wanted to completely do
away with it and its charges. With those filthy degenerates, excommunication
should’ve been the starting point, though a lasting death would’ve been his
choice of penance for them. The idea of punishment through contemplation was
absurd.
“Yes, your contempt for the Pereclete center is well
known. Even your reaction to this shift of conversation is obvious. Yet, I
mention it in order to describe a deeper problem, or a more serious
explanation, about which we must be vigilant.” Martin looked directly at
Quentin and continued, “I am not sure if many people know this, or even if you
know this, but the degradation, the abuse and the humiliation of an innocent is
central to satanic ritual. At any rate, it is integral to higher ritual. The
pentagram, black candles and the like, are important, but the higher ceremonies
most often include the defilement and the corruption of our own rituals.”
Quentin nodded, “Yes I’m aware of the obvious, such
as the inverted cross and the opposites shown in horror films.”
Martin nodded. “That’s right, but it goes further.
The corruption, the perversion and molestation are of innocence. This includes
the young, sometimes even infants. Given the fact many priests are committing
these profanities on children in their communities, the implications are very
troubling.”
Quentin stood up in disgust. “You believe priests are
committing these molestations ritually? You think they’re part of a larger
corruption? To what end, Father Martin? I can’t follow; I’m lost. By committing
these bestial acts, they forsake their vows. They take treason, add betrayal,
and create the most unimaginable crime against creation, against life, itself.
How can you remain so calm? Doesn’t
this outrage and nauseate you? Are you sure of your findings, of your
examinations?”
Martin let Quentin go on for some time, heatedly
damning what he had been told. He knew the Templar would have to come to terms
with these revelations, just as he had done. “I am as sickened as you, Father
Quentin, but I have had time to deal with it. Additionally, I placed this
within the framework of a larger plot, which made it vital to distance my
emotions.” Martin took a deep breath, “I am not pleased to tell you any of
this, though I am less desolate, knowing that we are no longer alone in our
task.”
After Martin finished speaking, Quentin was silent
for some time. Though Martin wanted to continue, he decided that it was better
if Father Quentin contributed to the conversation.
“All this is tied together with the birth, isn’t it?
They were preparing for his arrival, and now they’re in disarray.
Martin was specific with his next words. “Father
Quentin, there is a final thing I must impart. Don’t count on your authority as
Seneschal to keep order in your ranks. Those below, as well as above you, may
be compromised.” Quentin was outraged and attempted to splutter a reply, but
was silenced by Martin’s hand.
“I do not mean any disrespect. I don’t mean that
anyone in your ranks is subverting the holy church for Lucifer, but they may
tell someone who is, without knowing their affiliation. With this task, the
utmost discretion must be exercised. Do you agree?” Quentin easily agreed and
Martin continued. “There are those, within our ranks, who don’t even know about
the Templars. The world, at large, believes the order died in 1312. Since the
beginning of this century, the church automatically excommunicates any
Freemason, the dim remnant of your order.”
Quentin nodded his head and agreed, “Yes, you are
right. I was outraged at your implications. I’m sorry. You’re right; we exist
in the past, and with the masons, are but a shadow of who we once were. They’ve
been watched closely, but so far, there is nothing, save for pomp and posturing
evident at the levels we’ve penetrated. You never know to whom you may be
speaking, so, yes, at this point, discretion is the rule to follow.”
Martin lifted his arms and gestured about him, at the
miles of shelving amongst which they sat. “Hence, our own audience chamber,
more discreet than the Vatican Secret Archives, and the most guarded of the
Vatican secrets, the Templars. I know I am being as discreet as I can possibly
be, and am sure you will be, as well.”
“There is a favor I would ask of you, Father Martin.
I have known you to be a scholar, but I am only one out of necessity; my true
skill is in the field. I must go and move the Apostolic Penitentiary and the
Secretary of State to send a team to deal with what we just spoke about.”