by Tom Hunter
“Given that the cave’s existence has been revealed and the inner sanctum looted, any remaining historical and religious artifacts are at the mercy of future villains and thieves. While God is the ultimate judge of every man and will surely punish the Bruard when He feels the time is right, the Knights can most certainly punish those responsible here and now.” The High Marshal gestured at Samuel once more.
“How do you plead?”
Samuel stood, shrugging away the guard who placed a hand on his shoulder to push him down again. “If I’m going to defend myself, then I’m not going to do it on my hands and knees,” he snarled.
The guard looked over at the High Marshal for instruction, who nodded and waved him away. As ordered, he stepped back, letting Samuel rise and talk freely.
“While revenge is a natural human emotion, it would be a wholly inappropriate reaction given the current circumstances,” he began. “Executing me and my friends would be a short sighted, knee jerk reaction, and Knights of the Spring Dream have always taken a long term view when it comes to their mission.”
As he warmed to his subject, Samuel began pacing up and down the pulpit as if delivering a lecture to his students.
“The Knights draw inspiration from St. Augustine,” Samuel continued. “Yet if we observe Augustinian Orders around the world, the overwhelming majority of them are typically mendicant, eschewing modern innovations in their quest to strive to be closer to God. Although I have not had a chance to explore your camp, from what I’ve seen, your cell has been willing to compromise when it serves your mission. You could ride camels to traverse the desert, but you choose to use striders, knowing that they are faster and allow you to cover more ground in your patrols. You wear Dervish masks to enable you to carry greater water supplies instead of relying on canteens. And then there is the ultimate in modern technology: the holographic field you set up to protect the cavern from intruders.
“St. Augustine was the patron saint of printers,” Samuel went on. “One of the values that was most important to him was the dissemination of knowledge to enable others to follow him on the correct path without deviation or detour. Do you really believe that St. Augustine intended for his discoveries to lie rotting underground, never to be seen again? Given what I witnessed down there, I would humbly posit that he intended for them to be used when the time is right and what better time than now? What value is wisdom if you do not use it? If you destroy his relics, you are undermining the very values that you claim to hold most dear. It would contravene the sacred oath you have all sworn to protect the ancient artifacts of St. Augustine.
“So given all of this, what would be the best way forward?” Samuel mused. “Sure, you could kill me and my group if it will make you feel better, but from my perspective, that would be going against the spirit of your tradition. You will have our blood on your hands. Will that make you feel better for letting the relic slip from your grasp? Will it retrieve the headdress? If not, then killing us is nonsensical and makes you worse than the Bruard. I cannot imagine a more pigheaded way of dishonoring your patron saint.” He raised his chin, glaring defiantly at Rimon, who shot him a dark look.
After a moment that seemed to Samuel to last forever, the High Marshal motioned to one of the guards.
“Fetch Akhenaton,” he commanded.
“Yes, sir.” The guard nodded and hurried away.
“There is an alternative to executing us,” Samuel suggested, sensing that he’d got Rimon on the back foot. “Let me and my people join your Order to help you recover the artifact. I think you’ll find that we all bring with us a number of talents and skills you’ll find exceptionally useful.”
“Well thank you for your advice. I can’t imagine what I would do without it,” drawled Rimon sarcastically. “However, much as I appreciate your suggestion, I have something far more appropriate in mind. Since Akhenaton has taken it upon himself to reveal the secrets of the Order to an unfit outsider, he will have a hand in what happens next.”
He turned and muttered something indistinguishable to the guard beside him as Akhenaton walked into the church. Samuel smiled ruefully at the sight of him.
“Thanks for trying, but I don’t think your plan worked,” Samuel whispered to his unlikely ally as they both faced the High Marshal.
Eleven
Pin leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes as he reveled in the fact that he was back on home territory. Free to be himself again, he’d changed into his military uniform, complete with dazzling array of medals pinned down his front. While some might find the clothing restricting, Pin always found it relaxing to wear such a visual reminder of his services to the Bruard over the years. It was also a useful reminder to the mercenaries that they were dealing with a decorated officer, one who had earned his position through blood, sweat, and tears.
His office was Spartan. The only personal indulgence he allowed himself was the shelf filled with the complete works of Shakespeare. However, a stylized three pronged trident, the emblem of the Bruard, was prominently displayed behind his desk to make his loyalties very clear to visitors, even though few were privileged enough to be granted access to his private chambers. Surrounding the emblem were some of his favorite inspirational slogans from leaders he admired:
Death is the solution to all problems. No man, no problem–Joseph Stalin
Do not compare yourself to others. If you do so, you’re insulting yourself–Adolf Hitler
I find capitalism repugnant. It is filthy, it is gross, it is alienating...because it causes war, hypocrisy, and competition–Fidel Castro
Never interrupt your enemy when he is making a mistake–Napoleon Bonaparte
Opening his eyes again, Pin sat up, picking up the headdress that was sitting on his desk. Holding it above himself, he slowly lowered his hands to bring it down onto his head. Just before it made contact, he thought again, putting it back on the desk instead. Clenching his hands into fists and releasing them, he picked up the relic once more, and made to put it on, before yet again changing his mind at the last minute.
Swiveling in his chair, he turned the papal hat over in his hands, examining it from all angles.
“Am I wasting my time with you or are you truly the key to something grand?” he mused.
His ruminations were interrupted by a knock at the door. Carefully, Pin placed the relic on his desk before calling out.
“Enter!”
Gord strode into the room, shutting the door behind him before making a smart salute. “Sir!”
“Be seated.” Pin gestured to the chair on the other side of his desk and Gord took it, sitting ramrod straight as if to attention. “What do you have for me?”
“As you requested, I’ve made a list of names of noted psychics who have released books that seem to be based in analysis and reason rather than daydreams and superstition,” Gord told him, taking a piece of paper from his breast jacket pocket, unfolding it and smoothing it out. “Although they may not be accepted by the scientific community at large, these people do seem to be dedicated to uncovering the reality of psychic abilities rather than willingly deluding themselves and others for profit. While there may be some charlatans among their number, I did my best to eliminate the most obvious frauds, and feel that these names represent a number of promising leads.”
He passed over the list to Pin who perused it thoughtfully. “Which of these do you feel would be best suited to our purposes?” he asked.
“There is one clear stand out,” Gord replied. “I’ve put a star by her name. Nenet Zeroual. She is the only one in the entire list who is not connected to any major cults, societies, or faiths. Even better, she maintains a relatively low profile and prefers to stay outside of the public eye, so much so that she regularly changes her name to evade attention. Currently she calls herself Fatima, or at least that’s the last name I’ve been able to track down for her, so it is possible that she is using yet another alias.”
“And what is so special about this Fatima b
eyond her liking to stay hidden?” Pin inquired. “Surely that would be an indication that she’s a fraud and needs to change her identity to escape those she’s conned?”
“Under normal circumstances I would agree with you,” Gord said. “However, as far as I can determine, in this case, she stays under the radar to stop people bothering her to tell them what their future holds. By all accounts, she’s unusually accurate in her predictions. Reliable sources tell me that she foretold the arrival of Hurricane Angelica. If you recall, it tore Florida to shreds, causing millions of dollars’ worth of damage. However, since the governor had the sense to listen to her, he was able to evacuate several coastal cities before the arrival of the hurricane, minimizing the loss of life.”
“Interesting,” Pin observed. “And the American government acknowledges that they listened to a psychic?”
“Of course not.” Gord shook his head. “They categorically deny doing any such thing, even though the meteorologists that they claim were responsible for the evacuation had stated that the hurricane would avoid any major settlements. Had they actually listened to the meteorologists, there would have been countless deaths. Under normal circumstances, that’s exactly what would have happened. However, allegedly, Fatima used to be married to a former Secret Service agent, who used her abilities to further his career. So, the authorities are well aware that she is someone they need to listen to if she contacts them.”
“Where is she now? Presumably you have already sent a team to retrieve her?”
“Not yet.” Gord grimaced apologetically. “There are rumors that she went into Florida to direct the emergency services to where they would be most useful, but others claim that would never have happened, even if she had predicted it. Regardless, there’s no record of what happened to her after that. No one knows if she’s even still alive.”
“Of course she’s alive,” scoffed Pin. “A psychic that powerful would know how to keep herself safe in the middle of the maelstrom. No, it is far more likely that a world power has kidnapped her to keep her for their own, to use her in guiding them in the governing of their own affairs. Most likely the United States have her hidden away in their witness protection program. Given that she divorced her agent of a husband, no doubt they will have wanted some other kind of hold over her and have her under close observation.” He nodded in satisfaction at his own theory. “You’re right, Gord. This is the lead we need to follow. This woman will be the key that will enable us to unlock St. Augustine’s secrets. Track down Fatima’s last known address and then get back to me.”
Twelve
Samuel and Akhenaton stood before the High Marshal as he gazed sternly down at them.
“I am severely displeased with you, Akhenaton,” he snapped. “How could you betray the secrets of the Order so easily? And for what? Outsiders who understand nothing of our ways, who couldn’t possibly hope to comprehend the work that we do after a few brief conversations? What exactly were you trying to achieve? We’re not on a recruitment drive. We do not need the help of these strangers. They are not our people. They can never be our people.”
“These ones are different,” argued Akhenaton. “You only have to look at Samuel’s actions alone to see that. He has demonstrated nothing but honor and intelligence so far. Meanwhile, if it wasn’t for the quick thinking of his companions, I would still be buried underneath tons of rubble.”
“And would that be such a bad thing?” countered Rimon. “From what you have told me, it’s thanks to this Samuel that the artifact wasn’t destroyed, as it should have been. Had he not stood in your way, then you wouldn’t have made all the mistakes you have that have brought you in front of me today. He is directly responsible for you betraying your oaths and you want me to believe that this is a good thing? He is corruption incarnate. There is nothing positive about his presence here. Indeed, even now, he is causing us to waste time. Why are we discussing his fate when there is a bigger problem at hand? The future of the world is in jeopardy and we are arguing over a handful of lives that should have been snuffed out the second they stepped foot in our territory. Compare that to the millions that could be lost should the Bruard unlock St. Augustine’s relic, and you’ll see why I fail to see his life worth saving. If he takes his last breath in this room, it would be no real tragedy.”
“I wasn’t able to do much study when I was trapped in St. Augustine’s inner sanctum. However from what little I did see, using the headdress isn’t as straightforward as simply putting it on,” observed Samuel, doing his best to ignore Rimon’s implicit threat. “How likely is it really that the Bruard will be able to succeed in figuring out how to use the relic at its full potential?”
“One would hope that it’s quite unlikely,” Rimon conceded. “However, we can never underestimate the enemy. The Bruard has agents all over the world. Combine that with practically limitless resources and the ease of the internet in giving them access to specialist experts in the field, and we cannot be complacent and trust to St. Augustine’s built-in safety mechanisms to hold against them. No matter how accurate his predictions, someone living in ancient times could never truly understand our modern world.”
“Then surely given that, it makes more sense to recruit people who’ve seen the tomb in person?” argued Samuel. “We’ll have insights that the Bruard will lack. Pin didn’t get a close look at St. Augustine’s inner sanctum, and I doubt that he has the same level of training and understanding that Basile and I do to interpret what little he did see.”
“Enough!” snapped Rimon. “I have no need to hear any more of your honeyed tongue. The sword!”
There was a clang as one of the guards threw a sword onto the ground in front of Samuel and Akhenaton, light reflecting from its deadly sharp blade. Samuel gasped at this unexpected turn of events, while Akhenaton paled.
“You have both placed me in quite a dilemma,” Rimon explained. “I should punish Akhenaton for breaking one of the most sacred laws of our Order by teaching Samuel about our ways. Conversely, if it was not for Samuel’s actions and behavior, there would never have been the need to do so, meaning that Samuel must bear a large part of the burden for the quandary I find myself in. Of course, I could punish both of you, but to make Samuel suffer because of Akhenaton’s mistake would be unfair, just as it would be equally unjust to punish Akhenaton due to Samuel’s misdeeds. Therefore, I will do neither.”
Samuel sighed in relief, but Akhenaton didn’t seem to be reassured.
“Instead, I will leave it to the pair of you to determine who is more deserving of forgiveness and who should pay the debt raised by your crimes,” Rimon announced. “The man who slays his fellow will be granted full clemency for his past deeds and will be judged solely on his actions from this moment forward. Begin!” He clapped his hands and gestured to the sword.
Akhenaton shook his head, regret all over his face. “I won’t do this,” he said. “I cannot kill an innocent man to make your decisions for you. If this means that I am expelled from the Order, then so be it. I will not participate in this barbarity. Samuel is in agreement with me. Aren’t you, Samuel?”
Samuel said nothing, taking the opportunity to dart forward and snatch up the sword.
Thirteen
“Samuel!” cried Akhenaton in disgust and dismay, as the other man examined the sword, running his finger along the edge of the blade to test its sharpness. “How could you do this?”
“What?” Samuel shrugged, pointing the sword directly at Akhenaton to prevent any attempt at disarming him. “I don’t understand why you’re so surprised. This wouldn’t be the first time we’ve been pitted against each other. If you recall, I offered to battle you in the cave when we rescued Basile together. I told you then that I would do whatever I could to save my team, and I meant it. Why would you think that anything’s changed? If I have to choose between you and them, I’ll choose them every time.”
“After all I’ve done for you.” Akhenaton shook his head. “If I’d have known you’
d prove to be so dishonorable, I’d have left you to rot in the cell last night.”
“Maybe you should have,” Samuel told him. “We have different loyalties and I’ll always put my people first, just as I’d expect you to do the same. Your mistake was in not grabbing the blade first. Now, if you recall, I also told you that I was an expert fencer back in the cave. I’m not above granting you mercy. I promise you that I’ll make this quick.” He made a few experimental passes with the sword, enjoying the swish of the blade as it cut through the air as he walked towards Akhenaton.
“Do what you must. I’ll die holding my head high.” Akhenaton took a deep breath, and looked up at the heavens. “May God have mercy upon my soul.”
Samuel raised the sword, aiming it straight at Akhenaton’s heart. He surged forward, the blade following a deadly trajectory…
…before Samuel pulled himself up, turning the blade away.
He smirked and shook his head. “Sorry, my friend. Much as it’s fun to mess with you, I can’t keep this up anymore. And for the record, I was lying about being a fencer. I’ve always preferred boxing.” He turned, flipping the sword and offering it handle first to the nearest guard, bowing as he did so. The guard took it as Samuel addressed the room. “I won’t participate in this cruel charade of yours. As the Bible says, ‘Let any one of you who is without sin cast the first stone’–or in this case, make the first cut. I stand with Akhenaton. Cut us both down if you must, but we will share the same fate.”
He gazed impassively at the guard with the sword, who lifted it high, ready to kill Samuel.
“Stop!” Rimon motioned to the guard to stand down.
Samuel closed his eyes, letting out a sigh of relief as his shoulders sagged. He’d been close to death far too many times for comfort over the past few days.
