Azazel left the mercenary’s body with a greater effect
than that with which he had entered it. The man fell to the floor, but was no
longer discernibly human. Mordecai yelled for someone to come in, and in a
moment, two of the ever-present tall, thin men rushed from their places.
“Where were you?” In all the excitement, Mordecai had
forgotten about the sentinels.
“We were not called, Excellency,” one replied in an
emotionless tone.
“I see. Get these two out of here.” He indicated the
corpses of Harold and the mercenary. “Also, get me our telephone technician.
I’ll need new phones.”
He strode to his desk and picked up a receiver on the
far right, closest to his chair. “Send up a boy with auburn hair and seraphim
face and form. Have him bring up a bottle of Craigellachie and two glasses.”
Mordecai fell into his chair and smiled when he saw
the boy enter with his favorite single-malt bottle. “Close the door.” With
barely a sound, the boy obeyed, without hesitation.
TIME: MARCH 16TH, 1963. SECRET ARCHIVES, VATICAN
Martin was alone, amongst volumes of age-old codexes,
tomes and manuscripts. As Quentin said, he was a man who was more at home
amongst history than out in the tangible world. The world held more horrors and
abominations than Martin chose to deal with. He was trained to handle the
monsters and evil for which he searched in the pages in front of him. For
Martin true horrors were those he dealt with every day; the pleasant smiles
hiding treachery, observed in the corridors of the Vatican. He hadn’t been
among the Romans many years, and had yet to distance himself, as Cardinal Bae
once instructed him to do.
He learned how to deal with true horrors, and
sometimes relished battling actual evil, but quickly realized it was never
evil’s true face. Its true face was never clear; it knew how to seduce and to
lie. True evil was indistinguishable from us. It could be urbane and quite
charming. It was disarming and seductive, and that was the best reason for its
success. Its goals were met in small degrees — through small tangents to
an already safe norm. Over time, all of these amassed corrections revealed
corruption, complete and irreversible. Evil was like many small snacks, which
resulted in a fat, bloated, gluttonous humanity, unable to move and ready for
slaughter.
Martin began to worry
about all the Romans around him. Which were praetorians and senators, and which
were lions?
TIME: OCTOBER 27TH, 1963. DIGBY ISLAND, BRITISH COLUMBIA,
CANADA
Kosta watched as Adam sat in front of the television,
engrossed in The Outer Limits. It wasn’t Kosta’s cup of tea and he thanked
providence it didn’t air on Saturday nights, because that was hockey night.
Kosta didn’t have a favorite team, per se, but loved to watch the rivalries
that developed in this six-team league. Last April, he watched the Maple Leafs
trounce the Red Wings in four games to one — nearly a sweep.
In addition to watching as much television as the
boy, Kosta kept up on world news through special newspaper deliveries from all
over the world. True, he got them late, but he didn’t mind.
If he cared enough to follow up on
specific topics, he had his own sources.
The year-end articles now came in and he reviewed the twelve months
through the major news. He was grateful that the exciting parts of his life
were relegated to news stories.
After attacking the Luciferians in late February,
Kosta searched far and wide for a place remote enough no one could find them.
He settled on a little island, off the coast of northern British Columbia. When
they left San Francisco, the biggest story was the closing of Alcatraz. As they
went up the coast past Seattle they listened to the radio playing
Puff the Magic Dragon
. Kosta was
surprised puritan Americans allowed it to be publically broadcast. It wasn’t
long before concerned parents were saying that the song promoted marijuana use
and Kosta chuckled over the fact it took so long to catch on.
In June, Cardinal Giovanni Battista Montini succeeded
Blessed John XXIII and became Paul VI, the 262nd head of the Romans. He
succeeded in the middle of the Second Vatican Council, going into its second
year of debates on canon laws. Kosta wondered if something had come up during
the debates that warranted change in policy, or if the old Blessed John simply
departed of his own accord. In any case, it wasn’t important enough to warrant
further attention.
In August, Adam looked for Kingsmen’s
Louie, Louie
on the radio, but it wasn’t
easy to find, once labeled obscene. This prompted the purchase of a record
player, and in every town at which they stopped; he hunted for the latest
.45’s. They begain their new life on Digby Island and watched Martin Luther
King’s speech at the Lincoln Memorial on the news, which spanned an entire half
hour, instead of the previous 15 minutes. CBS and NBC had started this trend;
ABC quickly followed suit.
Once they settled into their secluded shack, Kosta
set about procuring the biggest antenna he could find, allowing Adam to
completely surrender to entertainment. Most parents would have been horrified
if their children watched television and did nothing else, but Kosta sat with
Adam and talked about most everything they watched. Whenever there was nothing
worthy of their attention, they turned to Adam’s studies. Long before, Kosta
decided that he would teach him all he learned from his travels and investigations.
First, he taught Adam the basics he would need to survive in society. He taught
him to read, how to write, arithmetic, basic social graces, civility and
constructive thinking.
Kosta had long since ceased to be surprised by
anything Adam did. He also ceased to remind himself that the boy was just over
a year and a half old. He walked and conducted himself like a perfect little
ten-year-old gentleman. Once they were in one place, Adam even developed
friendships with some of the native Tsimshian children on Digby. Kosta never
told him they were different and Adam never noticed.
Kosta looked around himself, the way Adam was focused
on the television and breathed an uneasy sigh of relief. He was sure that he
had been careful about covering his tracks. He was also sure the preemptive
strike he dealt the Luciferians was the best thing he could’ve done, though the
audacity of the act was troubling. Soon, he would make preparations for the
remote possibility that he would have to defend his home against many who
wanted to take, or to harm, Adam.
- Sangrael Gospel - Depth of Correction VI: Wounded
Rib II -
TIME: MARCH 17TH, 1211 AD. BETHLEHEM CAVE OF ST. BARTHALEMY,
ORNOLAC, FRANCE
The Cathari Bishop sat in the cave of Bethlehem and
despaired. His church was under assault and was literally being invaded. Father
Guzman failed in belligerent attempts to convert Credentes in Languedoc. He
believed no argument was able to stand against his Catholic intellect but
discovered otherwise.
For years the Cathari complied with their demands,
but this proved to be wasted effort. All of the Perfecti, their priests,
believed they would see reason, but Father Guzman’s Catholics wanted obedience
and any deviation from their dogma was no different than open opposition.
Guzman publicly stated the Perfecti disagreement secured every Credente’s
slavery and death, for he would return with Papal admonition and the wrath of
God. In 1208, Innocent declared the only crusade ever leveled at Christians,
with Simon de Montfort as its spearhead.
Absolutely no quarter was given and almost two years
after their invasion, the Cathari Bishop, Pierre du Sans Savoir, saw the end of
all their beliefs, and world was in sight. A year earlier, Beziers was taken
and over twenty thousand souls were put to death. No one was spared; the city
razed to the ground. There were Catholics who also lived among the Cathars in
Beziers, and they appealed for mercy. Their peaceful coexistence with the
Cathari won them no favors and the crusaders replied, “Kill them all. Let God
sort it out.”
The king of France
did nothing to oppose the crusade. Even though Phillip II was fighting the
English to the north, he sent some men to join the crusaders, in an attempt to
win land and favor from the pope. This was license for the crusaders to do
whatever they wished. Rape, pillage and wholesale slaughter were normal
occurrences.
With the Bishop Sans Savoir came William de Chartres,
Templar Grand Master and his most trusted Seneschals, lieutenants. One of
William’s Seneschals, Pedro de Montaigne, drew his sword in response to a sound
coming from the path of the cave chapel. William put up his hand to quiet him
when out of the dark emerged Natalie de Merovingian, a Perfecti, revered by the
Templars. Only when he became Grand Master had William learned Natalie was of
the Sangrael. He maintained his predecessors’ reverence for the woman and bowed
to his knees, as he had for the bishop. He knew, without question his two
Seneschals would follow. Pedro sheathed his sword, and with a tinkling of their
chainmail, he and Armond de Peigord emulated their Grand Master’s humble bow.
“Please, good knights, let us not stand on formality.
It is I who should thank you for all the aid you have given our order during
this terrible time. Please, rise. I am but a humble bonnefemme; do not abase
yourselves. My blood is no more easily spilled than your own.” Natalie had long
before stopped being tired of the respect that the Templars showed her. Behind
her, Simon soundlessly entered, and as usual, spoke without anyone having
noticed his presence.
The bishop
learned to be more at ease but still felt unnerved, like a lamb with a sentinel
wolf, which could turn from guardian to ravager.
“So, all are here to take stock of our dire
situation.” The voice came from the darkness and seemed to be no more than a
few feet away, just beyond the reach of the torchlight. It startled most, and
put the knights on the defense. The bishop felt a foreboding, akin to that
which he had only experienced when wresting unfortunates from possession. Only
Natalie had little reaction beyond acknowledgement. “However, the unfortunate
thing is that we never had any chance for a peaceful settlement.” Natalie never
sounded so fatalistic.
“We spoke openly and exchanged ideas and gave into
every request the Catholics made. We can do nothing more,” Bishop Sans Savoir
stated, voicing what everyone thought.
“Yes, your eminence, but the Catholics never wanted
discourse. They talked to you, hoping to salvage as much of your holdings as
they could. Now, they have run out of patience.” When William realized the
voice did not bother Natalie all that much he relaxed.
“The Grand Master is right,” the voice agreed. “They
— Innocent and the pontiffs before him —never bargained with
anyone. It was always a tactic to save as much as they were able.”
“They can have it all, for we don’t care enough to
keep it. At least not at the cost of lives wasted in this invasion.” After
hearing that most of the inhabitants of Bezier were slaughtered like sheep, the
bishop felt numb.
“They want more than your lands,” the voice seemed to
mock. “They also want the hearts and the souls of Toulouse, Albi and
Carcassonne. The Cathari proved better stewards of the people than the
Catholics, and they do not accept defeat.”
“They won’t even acknowledge any wrongs,” Simon
continued. “On the road to find God we are on an equal path, but the Catholics
demand that there is only one path — theirs.”
“It is not a road,” Natalie continued, “It is a long
field, on which anyone can trace their own path to their destination.”
“This discussion does nothing for our plight,” the
voice interjected. “We must salvage what we can from this flowering among the
Languedocs.” He went on in a longing voice; “Minstrels and troubadours will
sing songs of us, as we now throw alms so they stop their chatter.”
Despite herself, Natalie chuckled. “You mean that all
our efforts and thoughts will become the prattle of entertainers? Indeed, that
would be funny. We will become the subject of legends, myths, songs and poems.”
She shook her head in amused disbelief.
“This is not funny,” the bishop replied as he cradled
his head in his hands. He gripped tightly, hoping it would check the rising
panic in his heart. “Are you telling us our lives, as well as the lives and the
souls of our Credentes, are forfeit?”
“Yes. Alas, Bishop Sans Savoir, that is inevitable.
No one can stand against the Catholic Church,” Simon continued what had already
begun with Natalie and her initiate.
“Why not join us, Bishop? Our order would welcome you
into our ranks and Innocent could do nothing to stop it. We are not relegated
to a region; we are everywhere. We have chapter houses throughout Christendom.
They cannot mount a crusade against crusaders. We will give asylum to any and all
of your Perfecti,” the Grand Master stated, offering an intriguing escape for
the bishop.
“We are not warriors, Sir William, but some of us
will accept your offer, so that what we have taught is not destroyed.” The
bishop looked crestfallen, but after a moment, he smiled weakly and laid his
hand on Natalie’s shoulder for support. “Yes, we will bring over our relics,
holiest of holies, so they won’t become tools for Rome’s insistence their word
is the only word of God.”