Templar Scrolls

by Jasmine Walt

  I pulled the blade from my hand. Though I was Immortal, I could be wounded. Most of the time, those wounds were superficial and never permanent. They’d heal up within a few hours. Or if they were severe by human standards, in a few days. As long as I wasn’t around someone of my own kind. With the allergy that existed between Immortals, our bodies made us kryptonite to one another. If we were exposed to one another for too long, we could die.

  Arthur wasn’t immortal. Neither was he a wizard. He was a man with witches in his ancestral line. That made him stronger than a human, as strong as an Immortal, but slightly more breakable.

  I held Arthur’s blade between us. My blood glinted in the sunlight. “That hurt.”

  “You’ll live,” he said.

  “Aren’t you supposed to be chivalrous to women?”

  “I aimed for your hand and not your heart, didn’t I?”

  I tossed the weapon back at him.

  He caught it between two fingers, holding it next to his square chin. His jaw was covered in a dark golden beard that matched the shoulder-length locks that brushed the tops of his shoulders.

  “You called, I came,” I said. “And this is how you treat your guests?”

  He breathed a harsh laugh. His gray eyes turned to hard steel.

  “Are you still mad about the scabbard debacle?”

  His jaw worked. He tilted his head to the side, and I heard a crack. “During your time here, you will confine yourself to the first floor and the guest quarters. Any locked doors are locked for a reason. That would include my bedroom door as well.”

  Beside me, Loren gasped. When I turned to her, she had an approving smile on her face. Thank god she didn’t hold up her hand for a high five.

  I shook my head in denial. “It was a misunderstanding. I was looking for an ancient Saxon sword hilt.”

  “Sure you were,” Arthur drawled.

  “I had a boyfriend at the time,” I said. “I don’t. Anymore. Have a boyfriend, I mean.”

  It was so weird saying it. But it was the first time I’d said it out loud. Beside me, Loren nodded sympathetically. She gave me an encouraging smile as though I’d just admitted the first step out of twelve in an addicts’ program.

  Arthur, on the other hand, looked as though he wanted to be anywhere but here having this touchy-feely conversation with two women.

  “You’re here at my pleasure,” Arthur said gruffly. “When I become displeased, which I’m sure will happen all too quickly, you will be removed.”

  “You really know how to sweet-talk a girl, Artie.”

  But he was done with me. He turned his attention to Loren. “Who’s this?”

  “She’s with me,” I said.

  “A new Immortal?” Arthur asked.

  “Oh, no. I’m all human,” Loren gushed. As her pitch went higher, so did her chest. But it was how Loren greeted any man she took an ardent interest in. “I’m one-hundred-percent woman. My name’s Loren Van Alst. And I’m a huge fan, Your Liege.”

  Loren took a deep bow, which just so happened to show off her cleavage, giving both Arthur and me a clear view down the suddenly unbuttoned top of her shirt.

  Arthur looked. Of course he looked. He was a male. But he was a courtly knight above all else.

  “I’ve already had a trying day.” He turned on his heel before she straightened. “Let’s get this over with.”

  Arthur held out his hand for us to precede him. I grabbed Loren’s forearm and yanked her up to standing. We walked in front of Arthur.

  “Is he gay?” Loren whispered loud enough for our object of gossip to hear.

  “No,” I said. “He just has a warped sense of honor.”

  At the end of the hall, Arthur stepped before us to open the great door. I knew what lay behind the massive wood door. It was what used to be the throne room of this castle hundreds of years ago when the title of king still applied to the mortal world. But the throne was short-lived. The chair had truly been replaced with a—

  “Oh. Em. Gee. Nia, look. It’s the Round Table.” Loren bounced on her toes and pointed like the tourists we’d seen outside.

  Inside the room, a group of men turned to observe us. Just like out on the main street of town, looking around the room was like staring through a kaleidoscope that mashed up medieval times and the modern world.

  The assembled men wore a mix of breeches, jeans, and dress pants. They were an assortment of skin tones, facial features, body sizes, and ages. But every single one of them looked as though they patronized the same barber. Beards and long hair were the fashion for the ages.

  Lance leaned against the back of one chair next to Geraint. Across from them stood the golden-haired Tristan. He’d been just a boy the last time I was here, but he’d grown into a handsome young man since then. His father sat in the chair next to him. The man was well past his prime, but like a few other knights of old, his counsel was still of immense value to the knights who’d taken on their titled names.

  I recognized Sir Kay and Sir Bedivere, both the third of their names. Neither had produced male heirs. Because of their age, they couldn’t stay too long off the ley line or they would expire quickly.

  “There are a lot of empty seats,” Loren said, looking around at the sparsely attended meeting.

  “It’s likely that some of the knights are out on quests,” I said. “But some lines are no longer represented because they died out.”

  I turned to Arthur, who had made his way to the seat of his father. It was marked with the name that they both shared.

  “Your brother, Merlin, I trust is on a quest?” I said. “What are you guys looking for this time? The Spear of Destiny?”

  Silence. The room had quieted when we’d come in. But this silence spread dark, ominous tendrils out across the room.

  “My brother was lost to us on a quest twenty-five years ago.”

  “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.”

  Poor Gwin. I didn’t even ask after him when I’d seen her earlier. But then again, I hadn’t known he’d passed away.

  “That is part of the reason you’re here,” Arthur said. “For the last few years, witches and wizards who live off the ley line have disappeared. Some have been murdered.”

  “Murdered? Like in the witch hunts of old?”

  “Not exactly,” Lance said. “We know who this enemy is. They’re organized, they’re old, and they know how to overtake and destroy something with magic.”

  “Who?” I asked.

  “A witch was murdered just this morning,” he said. “Lady Circe lived in Cenote Sagrado.”

  The Sacred Cenote was a well in Mexico also known as the Well of Sacrifice. It was a holy place to the ancestors of the Maya where the people worshiped a rain god. It was also believed to be a major pocket of ley energy. Now that Arthur confirmed that a witch had lived there, I took that belief to be a truth.

  “We received a distress signal from her,” Arthur continued.

  “How?” Loren asked eagerly. “She came to you in a vision?”

  “No,” Arthur said, looking as if he wanted to roll his eyes, but he refrained. “She called us on her cell phone. All she was able to say was, they’re here. By the time we arrived, her body had been burned.”

  His words chilled me to my very bones. I’d been alive during the worst of the witch hunts. It was an awful time in human history. So that was what Gwin and Lance had meant earlier about dark times. But who was committing these crimes against witches?

  “Take your seats,” Arthur said. “Time is of the essence.”

  I went for one of the guest seats at the table. Loren went for the empty seat of Galahad.

  “No.” I stayed her hand. Only a named knight could sit in a claimed chair. “Don’t sit there. Sit in one of the unmarked chairs.” I indicated one to the side, near the wall. She pouted, but for once, she did as she was told.

  “There was a tunnel found in Shropshire,” Arthur began.

  I jerked back. “Wait? Is this about the
bunny hole that led to what people believe is a Knights Templar temple?”

  The knights were silent. My gaze bounced from bearded face to bearded face. A few of the men’s jaws clenched at the name of the group.

  “Come on,” I said. “That can’t be real. We all know the Templars disbanded in the 1300s.”

  Again, silence.

  “All right,” I said. “I’m listening.”

  “We’ve been searching for that temple for hundreds of years,” Arthur said. “We believe it contains information that will lead us to the resting place of the Grail.”

  “But the Grail is here. Your father said so.”

  “He lied,” Arthur said.

  I tilted my chin down and frowned. “That wasn’t very chivalrous of him.”

  “What would you have done if my father had told you it was taken from here for safekeeping hundreds of years ago?”

  Now I didn’t respond. We all knew what I would’ve done. I’d have searched the world for it if it was no longer on the hallowed, impenetrable grounds of Camelot. Just to have it as part of my collection. It was only a cup. But the significance people gave it made it priceless. And I was a bit of a hoarder for items with historical significance.

  “So where is it?” I asked.

  Arthur took a deep breath. “We don’t know exactly.”

  “Seriously? I’ve been snooping around this place for hundreds of years and what I was looking for wasn’t even here? And now you tell me you don’t know where it is either? Well, that’s just bad manners.”

  “As long as the secret was kept, there was no danger,” Arthur said. “But now with the temple found, if anyone gets to the Grail before we can recover it…”

  “But it’s just a cup,” I insisted. “It doesn’t have magical powers.”

  “The Grail is a revered object. Its resting place has been on a ley line for hundreds of years. The reverence of the devout as well as the potency of the ley line give it an awesome power.”

  I leaned in, elbows on the table. “To do what exactly?”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Arthur said tersely. “All that matters is that it doesn’t fall into the wrong hands.”

  “And those hands would be the Templars? But, I say again, they disbanded hundreds of years ago.”

  Arthur shook his head. “They are alive and thriving.”

  “They are the ones responsible for the disappearances and murders,” Lance added.

  I turned back to Arthur. “But didn’t the Templars and your grandfather work together? Weren’t they the original keepers of the Grail?”

  “It’s true,” Arthur said. “Once, the Knights of Camelot and the Knights Templar fought on the same side against those who would have used the power gifted to my people for evil. But when the Templars’ leadership changed, the organization grew corrupt. They’ve been waging a war against magic since the twelfth century. When my ancestors saw that they were turning away from the light, they took the Grail from here and sequestered it in a safer place. Unfortunately, that knowledge was lost to us.”

  “And now you want to go down the rabbit’s hole to recover it?”

  Arthur nodded.

  “What’s the matter? You guys too big to fit? Why do you need me?”

  “We suspect that the language the directions are written in is ancient.”

  “Oh…” I leaned back in the chair. “So what you need is a translator.”

  “Yes,” Arthur said, opening his palms as though making an offer. “We have to move quickly. The media has sensationalized the find. There are crews and spectators all over the site. It’s only a matter of time before the Templars find it.”

  7

  “I’m sorry. We usually have guests stay in better accommodations.” Gwin led Loren and me down a narrow hall in what must have once been the dungeon of the castle.

  We’d gone down floor after floor, the staircase narrowing and narrowing. I knew that the stairwell of a castle was yet another battle tactic in its arsenal. Any attacker racing up a stairwell would naturally have their right shoulder, which so often happened to be their sword arm, against the interior of the wall, making it difficult to swing on any defenders coming down. The defenders coming down had the advantage of their sword arms being in the range of the outside wall, giving them room to swing.

  Also, these steps were uneven. Some were longer, others shorter. Some slightly higher and others a few inches shallower, causing a trip hazard. So if an attacker didn’t know the pattern, they couldn’t move quickly and would get overtaken if charged from above.

  But Loren, Gwin, and I made our way to the guest rooms without tumbling head over feet. I’d stayed in this castle a few times over the past millennium. The lords and ladies of the castle often resided in the highest towers of the structure—solar chambers, they were called. They were the most luxurious and got the most heat.

  Down in the dregs of the castle where the common folk resided was cold, dank, smelly, and loud. The windows, if one was lucky enough to have one, were tiny. The meager rays of sun would shine through glass… and then immediately drown in the cold stone of the interior. Fireplaces, again if lucky enough to have one, generated more smoke than heat. The toilet was a pot in the corner of the room—did I mention the smell already?

  I dropped my bag in a room that wasn’t exactly five-star, but neither was it fifteenth century. There was an AC unit on the wall. The thermostat read a cool sixty-eight degrees. There was no window, but the tapestries brightened the room. A lush comforter was spread over the king-sized bed. And a small three-piece bathroom was tucked in the corner. I wondered what the better accommodations Gwin spoke about were.

  “Arthur insists that this is where you’ll stay,” Gwin said, her voice still apologetic. Gwin was the lady of the castle, having married the eldest of the Pendragon sons. Since Arthur had no wife, and didn’t look as though he would take one anytime soon, it looked as though Gwin still maintained her hosting duties.

  “It’s better than I expected,” I said. “I still don’t have Arthur’s full faith and trust.”

  “Well, you did try to steal the Seure from his right-hand knight,” Gwin pointed out.

  The Seure was an ancient sword used in a battle against the Saxons. I’d been on a dig with other archaeologists from SACS in a location believed to be where the great Battle of Edington occurred in the eighth century. Technically, it was Arthur’s land, and technically, I was poaching. I’d gotten caught by Lancelot.

  “I still say that sword belongs in a museum,” I huffed.

  “I’d have to agree with Arthur and the knights there, Nia. Magic in human hands is dangerous. Even behind glass enclosures.”

  I raised my hand to counter, preparing to launch into my favorite argument about how history must be shared. That was the way we all learned from, and remembered, our mistakes and our successes. Another being who’d lived a long life had to know humanity tended to repeat itself even with the lessons laid out before them. But Gwin’s kind smile morphed into concern. Her gaze fixed on my injured hand.

  “What happened?” she asked.

  “Oh, it’s nothing,” I said, waving away the injury. “Just a welcoming handshake from Arthur. It’ll be healed before tomorrow morning.”

  “I can heal it now,” Gwin said.

  “It’s not a big deal.”

  “I’ve never understood people who walk around in pain, especially when something can be done about it.”

  “I don’t want to trouble you,” I said, cradling my hand. “I know that healing can zap your energy.”

  Her hand had been outstretched to receive mine, but I saw a tremor there. Her gaze deflected from mine, and a dark shadow crossed her blue eyes. But it was just for a fleeting moment.

  She inhaled and reached for my hand again. “It’s just a minor wound. Really, it’s no trouble at all.”

  I gave her my hand. She guided me over to the bed, and we sat side by side. Loren perched herself on the dresser and crossed her f
eet at her ankles, swinging her feet like a child.

  “I was sorry to hear about your husband,” I said.

  Gwin nodded as she bent over my forearm. The magic she pulled from the ley line and sent into my injured hand was warm, like a fire in the middle of a snowstorm. “We were blessed to have as much time together as we did. When he was born, he had so much magic in him that his parents didn’t expect him to make it through his first year, let alone one hundred.”

  Males born with magic were often frail creatures. With just a touch of power, they became a warrior. Big, brawny, and brave. The protectors of all things magical. But if too much magic coursed through a male child’s veins, it could wrack his body, leaving him physically weak or even killing him.

  Merlin had been one such child. Where his brother was easily the greatest warrior since his warlord great-grandfather, Merlin had been a sickly child, confined to the indoors and the bed for most of his young life as the magic took its toll on his form. But that had changed once Gwin was born.

  Even as a child, she’d been the most gifted healer in the town. Her magic was likely what had kept Merlin alive for so long. I remembered the two being close, but I had never noticed any passion between them during my visits.

  “He’d grown strong since the last time you’d seen him,” Gwin said as she twisted my healed hand to and fro, inspecting her work. “He had always wanted to go on a quest, to help protect his people. But I disagreed. I insisted he wasn’t strong enough, not as strong as…”

  She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. I looked up to Loren. We could both guess who Merlin might’ve compared himself to in Gwin’s eyes. But neither of us voiced our opinion.

  “He said it wasn’t a quest. It was a mission,” Gwin continued. “That he was called by God.”

  Yes, the witches, wizards, and knights of Camelot believed in God. They followed the teachings of Jesus. The children were baptized. They went to church. They held the words from the Sermon on the Mount particularly close to their hearts. The one with all the blessings—Blessed are the poor in spirit for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.

  “It was hard to argue with that, but I did. We quarreled before he left.” Gwin took in a shaky breath as she continued to hold onto my healed hand. “His last memory of me was of his wife doubting him.”