Knights Templar - Temple And The Crown Part 32

It was as though he were hearing the words afresh, at the moment of their ?rst utterance, ringing clearly across a gulf of earthly time. Drawing resolve from these words, Arnault was emboldened to open his eyes and raise his head. From his kneeling position, face upturned toward a faint light being re?ected from the Mirror on his breast, he glimpsed something that had not been visible when he was standing upright: an arched recess in the wall behind the statue, previously hidden in the shadows cast by the statue's looming bulk. Just discernible within the arch was a door.

He started to get to his feet, but paused with one knee still bent as a dull glint of metal drew his attention toward the statue's right foot. Leaning closer, he saw it was an iron key embedded in the clay at an angle that would not have been discernible from above.

Carefully, with due respect, he reached out and pried it from its matrix. It seemed quite an ordinary key, but he knew it could not be but extraordinary in this place. He weighed it in his palm as he hauled himself fully erect and sidestepped the statue, advancing to the wall behind to run his hand along until it found the portal. Here the glow from the Mirror revealed another inscription, which he was able to read at once: There are many paths, but only one true way. He who loses himself will never ?nd it.

Chapter Thirty-two.

1310.

BRACING HIMSELF TO MEET WHATEVER NEW CHALLENGE might lie behind the door, Arnault ?tted the key into the keyhole. The lock yielded with a crack like breaking ice, and the door moved slightly beneath his hands.

Almost light-headed with the tension, Arnault carefully pushed the door open. When no immediate danger threatened-though he could not see far into the chamber beyond-he stepped warily over the threshold.

The glow from Makeda's Mirror revealed a small, square cubicle with three other doorway arches confronting him to left, right, and center. Each doorway gave access to a shadowy maze of short-angled pa.s.sageways. Standing in the cubicle, Arnault closely examined each of the doorways in turn, running his ?ngers over the doorposts and lintels. Neither sight nor touch revealed any clue to suggest which way he ought to go.

He paused to reconsider the inscription, suspecting that the answer might well lie within it: . many paths, but only one true way. He who loses himself will never ?nd it.

But though he sifted the lines word by word, and phrase by phrase, he could tease out no hint of hidden meaning. It appeared he must proceed by trial and error, and pray that an error would not be his undoing.

Again he considered the three doorways, then chose the center one, reckoning it to represent the straight and narrow path that was recommended as the goal of a righteous man. He soon found himself in the midst of a tangle of cross corridors, and knew that if he went on without marking his choices in some manner, he was sure to go astray if he must retrace his steps.

He had nothing to use, however, and nothing metal besides the Mirror with which to try scratching a mark-and he dared not risk damaging that. The ?oor was too uneven and stony for his bare feet to leave footprints, and there were enough loose stones on the ground that trying to set some pattern at each turning would be nigh impossible.

He considered leaving marks in his own blood, but even that presented dif?culties, with no blade to make a cut. He supposed he could gouge his ?esh with a sharp stone, or even use his teeth to draw blood, but somehow smearing blood on the walls seemed like a desecration in this place.

He was agonizing over what to do when he realized he was straining to see much farther than the length of his arm. To his dismay, he realized that the Mirror's light was fading.

Chilled, for he already was deep into the heart of the mountain, he lifted the Mirror from his breast to take a closer look-and made an even more disconcerting discovery: Though he was gazing directly into the Mirror, its surface gave back no hint of a re?ection.

He recoiled in surprise. Doubting the evidence of his own eyes, he tilted the mirror this way and that, seeking a new angle of vision, shifting his position as he tried to distance himself from the nearest shadows. Not until he turned himself around did he ?nd that his image suddenly reappeared within the Mirror's frame.

The sight stopped him short, staring. On an impulse he pivoted aside. The Mirror promptly went blank.

Further experimentation established that his image was only visible as long as he was facing back the way he had come-which, he suddenly realized, was consistent with the inscription at the door that led to the three choices: There are many paths, but only one true way.

He who loses himself will never ?nd it.

Which now made things perfectly clear: His re?ection was present in the Mirror only when he was facing the proper direction-and the Mirror was showing him that direction by showing him himself. Having now found himself, he must continue to keep his own image before him.

The revival of his faith rekindled the Mirror's fading light. Holding the polished disk before him like a lantern, he strode out con?dently, and soon had returned to the intersection where he had made his ?rst choice.

Again standing before the three arches, he held the Mirror to the left and to the right. Only darkness showed at the left, but his face was clear and bright as he moved the Mirror before the right-hand archway.

A righteous man shall walk the right-hand path, he murmured under his breath, recalling one of the ?rst precepts taught to any warrior in the service of the Light.

He set out con?dently in that direction. The shadows ?ed before him, banished along with his doubts.

Responsive to the Mirror's promptings, he threaded his way through a labyrinth of tangled pa.s.sages, now con?dent of reaching his intended goal.

The silence seemed to weigh more heavily as he progressed; centuries of dust befuddled his nostrils. As he rounded yet another bend in the labyrinth, a breath of warmer air seemed to rise up before him; around the next bend, he began to discern a crimson glow ahead.

The air grew hotter, laced with the acidic tang of hot metal. A muted crackle and roar now began to niggle at the edges of his hearing, like ?res playing round a forge. A moment later, he emerged into an area of open s.p.a.ce.

Before him stood a pair of iron doors, like the gates to a furnace, outlined by a ?ery glow from within.

Feeling their heat, which came from the doors themselves as well as what lay beyond, Arnault recalled the words of warning the Mirror had given him the ?rst time he used it, spoken to him from out of the ?ames: He who hungers after the Law must face the Trials of Chaldea. He must pa.s.s unscathed through the ?res of judgment And fear not to set his hand in the lion's mouth.

At once, he made the biblical connection. The Trials of Chaldea, like the statue of many parts, had their place in the Book of Daniel. Through the intercession of an angel of the Lord, the prophet and his companions had survived the ?ery furnace and the lion's den. But would the Angel of the Lord intercede for a Knight of the Order of the Temple?

As he hesitated before his own indecision, the sullen roar of the ?ames grew louder as, with a deep, sonorous clang, the doors to the furnace began slowly to open. Heat billowed forth in sulfurous gusts, like the exhalations from an inferno, causing Arnault to shield his face with an up?ung arm.

Beyond the threshold of the forge, he could see a raised causeway extending out over the liquid swirls of ?ame and smoke, as deep and tumultuous as the mouth of h.e.l.l. Paved with smoldering coals, the causeway glowed mottled black against a lurid background of scarlet and gold, with tongues of ?ame crackling along its borders like hungry imps.

Retreating a step before the onslaught of heat and light, Arnault could feel the sweat beginning to pour from his brow and trickle down his ribs; yet here, clearly, lay the path he must tread. The very notion ?lled him with dread. In his dreams and nightmares he had shared the mortal anguish of his brother Templars condemned to the stake, shrinking from the anguish of the ?ames that ate away skin from ?esh and ?esh from bone. Rarely a night pa.s.sed that some hint of their torment did not touch his dreams.

Yet he forced himself to approach the mouth of the forge, dragging an edge of his kef?yeh up to wipe the sweat from his eyes and brow and then, as an afterthought, drawing it across his lower face, tucking the end into the cords that bound it, hoping that this scant protection might at least make it easier to breathe.

The heat smote him like a hammer, still causing mortal ?esh to cringe aside in instinct, but if his brothers had endured the ?ames for the sake of the Order, he could not but do likewise. Still shielding his face partway under his upraised arm, he set a bare foot ?rmly on the near end of the bridge.

The surface was hot, but it did not sear his ?esh-at least not yet. Determined not to yield to his dread, he drew cautious breath and began edging forward, one step at a time. Smoke snaked up around his ankles, and the heat intensi?ed, as he moved resolutely forward.

The heat from the bridge began to raise blisters on the soles of his feet as dragonets of ?ame snapped at him from both sides, singeing his garments and the hairs on his forearm. Acrid fumes forced their way past the cloth covering his mouth and nose, causing him to wheeze and choke. Limping and staggering, gasping for breath, he could only pray that he might reach the other end of the causeway before his strength gave out.

If only he could simply see how far he still had to go. The very air seemed on ?re. More than half-blind, he struggled on until a sudden whirling blast forced him to a standstill, stranding him on an island in a sea of ?ame. Dismayed, driven to the limits of his endurance, he all but gave himself up for lost.

Arnault, have faith in G.o.d!

Scorched and half-suffocated, Arnault started at the sound of his name, squinting ahead through tearing eyes to glimpse a light-limned ?gure moving toward him through winding sheets of ?ame. His wonder gave him fresh hope, and he made himself take another step, then another.

The other drew nearer, lightly moving through the ?ames as if they were no more than swaths of tall gra.s.s in a spring meadow. His hair lifted on the ?re-breeze, but his white garments went untouched by the ?re that blazed round him on all sides. While he was yet a short way off, a gust of burning wind ?ung back his mantle, revealing a red cross patte on the breast of his tunic. Youthful and handsome, the Templar's bearded face was one that Arnault knew very well.

"Jauffre!" he cried.

Further speech failed him. Jauffre, with a smile of deep affection, turned and beckoned with a sweep of his arm. Beyond him, through the heat-shimmer, Arnault saw three more white-robed ?gures striding through the ?ery storm. Two of them were fellow Templars whose martyrdom Arnault had witnessed in his dreams-or in his nightmares. Likewise robed in white, the third loomed a full head taller, with hair like ?ame and eyes that seemed to plumb the very depths of Arnault's soul, radiating a puissance only thinly veiled by his semblance of human form. The ?ames that trailed behind him gave just a hint of ?ery wings.

Enraptured, heedless of his own peril, Arnault sank to both his knees, pierced to the soul by the other's beauty. His parched throat could make no sound, but his heart sang out as his arms lifted in greeting.

Hail, holy Michael, great captain of the hosts of Heaven! Hail, Cra-gheal, the Red-White One, bearer of the sword of victory!

At a sign from their angelic captain, Jauffre and the other Templar martyrs formed a shining company around Arnault, their presence like an encircling shield wall, shutting out the ?ames of the inferno. As strong hands raised him tenderly to These are they which came out of great tribulation, and have washed their robes, and made them white in the Blood of the Lamb.

They shall hunger no more, neither thirst anymore, neither shall the sun light on them, nor any heat.

Commend thyself to their fellowship, and they will gird thee for the battle yet to come.

A fragrance like attar of roses swept over him, ravishing his senses with holy rapture. When he recovered himself, the angel had vanished, but the three Templar martyrs remained.

It was Jauffre who was the ?rst to address him, drawing his sword and placing it in Arnault's right hand.

Receive the sword of righteousness, he told Arnault. Wield it in defense of the Law.

The second knight-brother now bore a shield, which he presented to Arnault in his turn.

Place upon your arm the buckler of valor, he said. May it avert the malice of the Enemy.

The third brother carried a helmet under one arm. This he placed on Arnault's head, saying, Be crowned with the helmet of truth. May you ?nd what you seek.

"I give you my abiding thanks," Arnault told them, saluting the three with the sword. "As long as the Order endures, in whatever place, know that your sacri?ce will never be forgotten."

He and Jauffre exchanged the fraternal kiss of peace, the latter folding him brie?y in a ?erce embrace.

With that, the three Templar martyrs faded from his sight and the lingering fires ?ickered and winked out.

Left alone, helmed and armed with sword and shield, Arnault found himself standing in a place of mystery.

Light from the Mirror of Makeda cast a silvery circle about his feet. Outside its narrow radius lay darkness. As he attempted to orient himself, there came a soft, heavy thud from somewhere off to his left.

He stiffened and turned in that direction, scanning around him. In a heartbeat, there came a shadowy surge of movement from off to his right. He dropped to a crouch, tightening his grip on sword and shield as he glimpsed two b.e.s.t.i.a.l shapes prowling beyond the circle of light.

The creatures were larger than ponies. Arnault's nostrils picked up a rank waft of animal breath. Raising his guard, he slowly pivoted this way and that. As he did so, a Mirror glint registered two pairs of shining amber eyes.

With a sudden roar, a great feline shape came bounding out of the shadows. Arnault's shield took the brunt of the attack, but claws like daggers shredded the sleeve of his robe, narrowly missing his arm beneath. He lashed out with his sword and scored a b.l.o.o.d.y line along one tawny ?ank.

The lion veered off with a yowl of pain and rage. Its mate leapt in to take its place. Her charging weight knocked Arnault off-balance, and he staggered and fell, landing ?at on his back.

Snarling, the lioness lunged for his throat. Fending her off with his shield, Arnault thrust at the creature's underbelly- and penetrated deep. With a mortal scream, the she-lion recoiled, wrenching the sword from his grasp.

Before he could retrieve it, the male lion rushed in. Arnault went rolling under a heavy blow from a powerful paw, ?nishing ?at on his back and with the lion pinning his shield arm under its full weight-and recoiled from a blast of lion breath as gleaming fangs suddenly yawned mere inches from his face. In sheer desperation, he made a tight ?st and lashed out at the lion's mouth with all his strength, bracing himself to feel the daggerlike teeth crunch down on his hand and wrist.

To his amazement, nothing happened. The lion stood trans?xed, at the height of its fury, its frothing jaws agape. It was as if time itself had been suspended.

Hardly daring to breathe, watching its eyes, Arnault withdrew his ?st from the lion's maw. The creature remained motionless, then turned semi-transparent before melting away like smoke into the surrounding darkness.

First the ?ery furnace, and then the lion's den, Arnault thought dazedly, as he heaved himself up onto his elbows.

He now could see no trace of either lion. Not a sound could he hear besides his own rasping breath and the pounding of his heart.

Making a conscious effort to steady his breathing, he brie?y stretched to retrieve the sword. As he did so, the air became suffused with a shimmering sapphire glow, magni?ed by the Mirror on his breast, which pushed back the darkness to reveal a circular chamber hollowed out of the rock.

He hauled himself to a sitting position, still breathing hard. The chamber seemed to be con?gured as a chapel. On the far side stood a stone altar draped with a linen cloth of snowy white. A seven-branched candlestick adorned either end, with a gilded casket resting between them, its lid peaked like the roof of a house. The casket itself was the source of the celestial blue glow, and radiated enormous power.

Laying the sword aside, Arnault likewise put off the buckler and got to his feet, also removing the helmet, for there was no doubt in his mind that the casket contained what he had come to ?nd. Its allure was as irresistible as it was potent, drawing him to kneel before the altar and humbly abase himself. He then rose up on his knees and lifted his head to examine the casket by its own sapphire light.

There was no lock that he could see. Instead, the box was embellished with scrolls of Hebrew script and cabalistic symbols of warding. The writings echoed the many cautions that Arnault had received from Iskander in preparation for this night's work.

"The Sacred Tablets were inscribed by the Finger of G.o.d," the Ethiopian brother had reminded him. "The Shekinah, the Divine Presence, the very Ruach that brooded upon the waters and brought forth life. Even broken, the Shards are perilous to look upon, so long as all the pieces remain gathered together in one place. If you value your sight, rely on the Mirror to show you what you need to see."

With this warning in mind, Arnault averted his gaze before venturing to tilt back the lid on the casket.

Intense sapphire light shone out like the opening of a great eye, dazzling as the midday sun, so powerful that it rendered the casket semitranslucent. He breathed a prayer from distant Iona as he moved closer on his knees.

G.o.d and Christ and Spirit Holy, Be protecting me as Three and as One, From the top tablet of my face To the soles of my feet.

Squinting against the brightness, Arnault took the Mirror of Makeda in hand and carefully extended it over the open casket, its face angled to re?ect the contents-which were, indeed, the Tablets of the Law.

Atop the thickness of the Second Tablets, the Shards of the First Tablets had been arranged in accordance to their unbroken form. Even with his eyes growing accustomed to the brightness of the casket itself, the script was so bright that Arnault was forced to squint before he could attempt to decipher its re?ections- not only fragmented, in a language and script not his mother tongue, but re?ected in reverse. Iskander's words reverberated in the back of his mind like a warning bell.

One fragment only will restore the Temple to eminence. and the price of error is death.

Drawing steadying breath, by dint of concentration, Arnault singled out each Commandment in turn and considered its full meaning, beginning with the ones most apt to be applied to the Temple by their accusers, carefully testing the weight of each injunction against the truth.

Thou shalt not make unto thyself any graven image? No, the Templars had never worshiped idols, whatever their accusers might claim.

Thou shalt not kill? In time of war, the Templars most a.s.suredly had fought and killed in defense of their faith, but they had never been guilty of murder-which was the actual meaning of the word.

Thou shalt not bear false witness against thy neighbor.

Even as Arnault read the words, he was seized by a sense of certainty. The gross charges being pressed against the Templars were based not on truth, or even individual failings, but on lies deliberately fabricated by their enemies. Surely vested in this commandment was the very essence of the danger which threatened the Order.

He pondered a moment longer, brie?y examining the other seven Commandments, but after re?ection, he remained convinced of his choice. Drawing a deep breath, he reached into the casket and laid his hand on the chosen Shard.

Despite his faith, he half expected immolation to follow. Instead, the radiance slowly faded back, as if gathered to its source. Heart beating hard, Arnault lifted the Shard from its resting place, closing it in his hand, and reverently thrust it into the bosom of his robe. Then, feeling suddenly very weary, he sank back on his hunkers and closed his eyes, breathing a profound prayer of grat.i.tude.

Even as his thoughts ascended toward the Divine, he was once again seized by the sensation of soul-?ight. With it came a rushing sound, as of a great wind. Weightless as a feather, he let it bear him where it would. When at last he felt ground beneath him, he slowly drew a deep breath and opened his eyes.

To his surprise, he was standing before a sky ?ushed with the ?rst hints of dawn, at the mouth of the ?ssure where he ?rst had entered Mount Moriah. Whether his own feet had carried him here, he had no idea. Half-doubting the evidence of his own eyes, he pressed a hand to his chest and felt the irregular outline of the Sacred Shard. Somewhat dazedly, he staggered out into the open air.

Torquil and Iskander were waiting, the latter looking not at all surprised to see him there. Torquil ?ung a supporting arm around his drooping shoulders and bore him up as his knees started to give way.

"Are you all right?" he asked anxiously. "Did you ?nd-?"

As the question faltered on his lips, Iskander exclaimed, "He lives, does he not? What need have we to ask more?"

Arnault sensed, rather than heard, a rumbling sound behind him. When he turned to look, he could see no trace of the ?ssure.

"G.o.d has closed the door," Iskander said. "Let us hope there will be no need for any man to open it again before the Last Day."

"Amen to that!" Torquil agreed.

The light was broadening in the east.

"We'd better be gone," Arnault murmured, "before the city wakes."