Thoth, the Atlantean

by Brendan Carroll

  “Louis.” She spoke the first word since they had left the Villa. “I will miss you.”

  “I’ll miss you too, Orri.” He reached to squeeze her hand. “Just remember what I told you. Wait until we learn more. We need to hear what your father has to say.”

  “I will,” she promised him yet again. “Don’t worry. I don’t know what I would say to her under the circumstances, but I hate that she is being held in the chapel. I don’t like that place. The irony of it sickens me. It is where they killed my father and now his mother is there. I promise not to visit her personally, but I intend to see to it that she is treated well. It's the least I can do. That chapel seems a bit evil to me. Doesn't it seem evil to you, Louie?”

  Louis’ stomach flipped at the mention of the strange ritual he had been tricked into joining and perspiration broke out across his forehead. That had been another devastating blow to his faith and his beliefs. Ritual magick. More than he had ever wanted to witness.

  “They did not kill your father. They saved his life.” Louis retorted automatically.

  “They made him into another person,” she said quietly. “I know that he is my father, but he is also the other Simon as well. I can never forget that. He is changed. You may not notice the differences, but they are there.”

  “I’m sorry, Oriel,” he told her softly. “But I would rather have our Simon back in any shape or form than lose him. You have no idea how much I love him. I would give my life for him… would have even before I met you.”

  “I appreciate that, Louis.” She smiled wanly at him. “Don’t get me wrong. I still love him as much as ever, but sometimes when I look at him, I see the other Simon… the one that does not know me or my brothers and sisters. He did not know Rachel and that is impossible for me to understand. He loved her so, Louie.”

  Louis nodded, but did not comment. He knew exactly what she was talking about. At times there seemed to be a slight accusatory expression in the healer’s eyes when he looked at him, as if the healer blamed him for what had happened. Louis had always thought it was his imagination. Simon seemed well enough these days. The first few days had been touch and go, but he had adjusted or so they thought. Now he was suffering again for one of his Brothers. Louis thought it must be a terrible burden to be the Mystic Healer, whose duty it was to take on the pains of the Brothers, but he could think of none better able to do such a thing as Simon of Grenoble. He was truly unique.

  Louis forced his attention back to the road. An old truck overloaded with beehives had pulled out in front of them, slowing their progress. They were forced to put up the windows as the trailing bees began to make their way inside the car with them.

  “Did I ever tell you about the time that your father and I were hiding in a cave in southern France during the second great war and we discovered that it was full of beehives?” he asked.

  “No you didn’t.” Orrie smiled at him.

  “Well, it seems that this farmer had been trying to hide his harvest and his bees from the Germans and…”

  Chapter Thirteen of Twenty

  for God is in heaven, and thou upon earth: therefore let thy words be few

  Simon came out of the bed in a rush of desperation.

  Luke Andrew snapped his head forward, popping his neck painfully and leaped to his feet to catch the Healer as he fell to the floor in a tangle of sheets and blankets. The chair in which he had been leaning against the wall skittered across the floor and bounced off the open bathroom door, causing Mark Andrew's son to think they were under attack.

  “Brother!” Simon grabbed hold of his shoulders. “Where is she?”

  “She is gone, Father,” Luke said. “Everything is fine.” He helped the smaller man to his feet and then set him down on the bed.

  “Lucio?” Simon’s face was full of pain and confusion. He rubbed his stomach and let out a long breath.

  “He’s resting.” Luke said and stood back. “They will want to know you are awake. Your father…”

  “No. Wait.” Simon hung his head and pressed his hands to his temple. “I must… I need some time. I need to…”

  “Just lie down, please.”

  Luke poured him a glass of water from the pitcher on the night stand and waited for him to get back into bed. He leaned against the headboard, propping the pillows behind him. Luke handed him the water and Simon drank it down.

  “What happened?” Simon asked and handed the glass over for more.

  “Your father locked her in one of the bedrooms for a time and then Omar sent a helo for her. They took her to St. Patrick’s Island for safe-keeping.”

  “St. Patrick’s.” Simon nodded. That was a relief. “And did I hear Simeon say something about a fire?”

  “There was a fire in the barn. A diversion, we think. Set by someone who wanted us out of the house while the attack took place.” Luke handed him another glass of water and then sat back down after righting his chair. “No one was hurt.”

  “And you saw no one else? No one?” Simon frowned into the glass.

  “Nope.” Luke shook his head. “We got the horses out of the barn and then put out the fire, but the barn will have to be rebuilt.”

  “She said there was someone else.” Simon continued to frown. “I did not believe her at the time.”

  “Why would she try to kill Sir Dambretti?” Luke asked him.

  It didn’t make sense. He remembered her quite well from Romania. When he had seen her in the parlor, he had been aghast, but he had managed to control himself. She had acknowledged him with a twinkle in her eye and a conspiratorial wink. He had held his tongue in front of the others, pretending not to know her. But his father had beat Dambretti senseless before they had left Romania and the beating had something to do with this woman whom he now knew claimed to be Simon’s mother. If what he suspected was true, then Lucio, in his ignorance, had committed a serious faux pas with Simon’s mother and d’Brouchart’s ex-love. He hated to think what Simon would think of the Golden Eagle for it, but it was almost humorous to think that the Italian had finally gotten one over on the old man. Luke actually crossed himself at the irreverent thought. He shook his head again. The Italian certainly had a nose for trouble, but then it was not his nose that kept getting him in trouble, it was his…

  “My nose!” Simon rubbed his nose. There was blood pouring from one side of his nose. “Sacre bleu!”

  Luke was shocked. He had never heard the healer curse before. He got up quickly and retrieved a box of tissue for the French Knight. Though he hardly understood why ‘sacred or crown blue’ was considered cursing in French. He supposed it was something like saying ‘great Scot!’.

  “You must have hit it when you fell out of bed,” Luke mused. “Can I get you anything else?”

  “No.” Simon held his head back and pressed the tissue to his nose. His voice was nasal. “I cannot imagine now what she might have been doing there. When I touched him…” He lowered his head and looked at the younger man. “Do you mind if I speak with you about this, cher`? I need to sort it out. Perhaps you can help me.”

  “I would be honored.” Luke smiled at him.

  “When I touched him, I felt that a hand was squeezing my heart.” The Healer pressed one hand over his own heart and frowned at the memory. The pain had been incredible, almost as bad as when he had hung on the cross.

  “He may have suffered a heart attack from the stress of the wound,” Luke suggested. “It is not uncommon. That was some cut he had. It took Planxty two hours to close it up. It was deep! Like a surgical incision, in fact. Very precise and deliberate. Not like a wound inflicted in a struggle or battle, but more like something a doctor would do.”

  “It was very deliberately done. There was no struggle,” Simon agreed. “Just a burning pain as the incision was made and then the cold from the blood loss and panic. But I do not mean to say that the heart hurt as in pain, but rather I felt a hand… a presence… crushing the heart from the outside. I am having difficulty here.
” He paused and drew a deep breath before coughing up a bit of blood onto the tissue. “Whoever did this, apparently caught him asleep or else had some kind of control over him.”

  “That is what it looked like. It looked like he just laid there and let them do it. Not like Sir Dambretti at all,” Luke said quietly. He shuddered at the memory of the sight of the Italian lying in the blood soaked bed.

  “My mother must have some sort of power or she… would have had to have some sort of power…”

  “Father Simon. You know that Brother Dambretti and my father and I saw your mother in Romania.”

  “Oui`? Is that so? How did you know it was her?” Simon pushed himself up straighter.

  “We didn’t. At least I didn’t know at the time and I don’t think they did either. We were sent to kill her brother. The man that showed up here looking for her afterwards.”

  “Her brother showed up here? That is very strange.” Simon frowned again. They had failed to mention that he had an uncle also still alive. “Why would my father want to kill her brother? My uncle?”

  “Because he is a vampire,” Luke told him bluntly. “At least that is what my father told me.”

  “A vampire!” Simon’s eyes widened.

  “I’m sorry, Father. I don’t mean to distress you further, but I am trying to help you. Your father has apparently been trying to chase them down for centuries.”

  “Let me try to be objective about this.” Simon set the glass on the table. “I must remind myself that I do not know my mother and not to allow my basic instincts to overrule my better judgment. You say that her brother is a vampire. That would mean that she is probably a vampire as well. That might explain why she was trying to rip out his heart.”

  “No!” Not even Luke could believe this. “There is no such thing as a true vampire, Father! People play with dark ideas, but there are no sinister creatures of darkness, sleeping in coffins of old dirt and drinking blood by night. My father has explained it to me. There are some things better left in darkness, but the cultural product called vampire is entirely in the mind. It is simply a myth. A product of ignorant superstition. My father said to remember what we have seen in the other world. Vampires in this world are probably just faery creatures from the other world. I believe you had a scrape with them? I was actually killed by a bevy of beauties at my father’s castle. Look at me! One of your uncle’s acolytes bit me while I was there and I am not turned into a bloodsucking monster. It was all in fun.”

  “Fun?” Simon was horrified.

  “It is a movement. They used to be more popular when my sister and I were living here together. We used to hook up with them in Edinburgh. The Goths. Gothics. They dressed in black and wore fake fangs. Goths! My God, Simon!” He leaped from the chair. “Catharine de Goth! And her brother, Eduord de Goth!”

  “Yes. It is beginning to make sense, I suppose. The Goths were from old France. They were closely connected with the Cathars and the Merovingian line of Kings.” Simon nodded. “The protectors of the Sangreal… the Holy Grail… the Holy Blood.”

  “Do you think your mother and your uncle have something to do with the Gothic movement?” Luke frowned. “I remember some of them wanting Nicole and I to join their order or so they called it, but we were too young and too out of control. The last thing we wanted to do was join another damned order. We had enough trouble with the Order into which we born!”

  “This order… do you remember the name?” Simon leaned forward.

  “Tonics. The Tonic Knights.” Luke frowned. “Something like that.”

  “The Tonic Knights.” Simon almost laughed. “The Teutonic Knights of Jerusalem.”

  “What?” It was Luke’s turn to lean forward. “That is what we saw at the house in Budapest. There was an engraving above the bar. It was something about the Order of the Teutonic Knights of Santa Maria of Jerusalem or something. I don’t speak Latin very well.”

  “Hospitale sancte Marie Theutonicorum Jersosolimitanum?” Simon supplied the words.

  “Yes! That was it... I think.”

  “Ahh.” Simon leaned back. “So they are still around.”

  “You know them?”

  “Of course! They were one of the great rivals of the Templars during the Crusades in the Holy Lands. They should have been working with us, not against us. But the fault was not entirely theirs. There were many political factions pulling on them at the time.”

  “Are they like us?” Luke asked him.

  “Basically.” Simon nodded.

  “Then what’s the problem?” Luke asked. “Shouldn’t we be joining forces with them?”

  “We would have done better to do it long ago.”

  “Then you know that they are not blood drinkers.” Luke smiled at him. That was a relief. His father had said some very ominous things about vampires and faeries and creatures of darkness before reassuring him that Bram Stoker's vampires were not real. Like telling him that everything was all right… except for a few things.

  “Not blood drinkers, perhaps, not in the sense of the mythological bloodsuckers,” Simon said thoughtfully.

  “What do you mean?” Luke’s feathers fell.

  “They purportedly partake of an unholy communion based on the old Cathar religion. The drinking of actual blood during the communion. Not all communions, just special ones.”

  “How so?” Luke wanted to hear more.

  “They would induct new members into the so-called Grail Family by giving the blood of the Merovingians to the chosen few. One of them would cut himself or herself and the blood would be collected in a cup. The cup would receive a bit of wine to mix with the blood and the initiate would drink the blood and become a member of the Family.”

  “That is a bit farfetched.” Luke did not like this.

  “Is it?” Simon smiled wanly. “Are we not all a bit farfetched? Is not my very existence a bit farfetched, Brother? I am two people in one through the magick of your father. You have seen many things. I have thought myself a victim of magick. But I am a product of my mother’s blood and my father’s mystical origins. I am a freak!”

  “Don’t say that. I have been called a freak, Father and it is not pleasant. Don’t blame yourself for things you can’t control. Sir Dambretti would tell us that it is all the Will of God. What else can it be?” He leaned his head forward and held out his hands.

  “But if my mother did not do this to Brother Lucio, who did?” Simon asked him. “And why would they come out of hiding now? They are after something. They are looking for something.”

  The question made the hair rise on the back of Luke’s neck. Had someone actually sneaked into their house and perpetrated this great crime? There were those who might be capable of it. And why had his father aborted the mission and let the man escape? Certainly there were enough treasures hidden on the estate to attract unsavory characters.

  “Did your father speak alone with him?” Simon asked him.

  “Yes… yes! Aristoni took him upstairs while we stayed downstairs.” Luke nodded. “They spoke together at length.”

  “Did he mention the Templars?” Simon was trying to get out of the bed.

  “They repeated a phrase in Latin to each other… something about ‘death to the Temple Order’ or something,” Luke answered.

  “And your father said this?” Simon frowned as he stood up shakily.

  “Yes, but it was simply a pass phrase to get the man’s attention,” Luke told him.

  “I’ll bet it did.” Simon tested his knees at walking across the room. “And my mother? Did she speak with your father?”

  “Not that I know of. She was more interested in…” Luke broke off.

  Simon turned around, holding onto the dresser for support.

  “More interested in what?” he asked.

  “She was more interested in…” Luke stopped again and made a face. How could he lie to Simon? What was happening to him? He used to lie quite well and frequently.

  “Yes?” Simon took
a step toward him and stopped.

  “She was more interested in Sir Dambretti,” Luke said in a rush.

  “Ahhh.” Simon nodded his head slowly. “And are you sure that Brother Lucio did not know who she was?”

  “None of us knew.” Luke stood up. “I mean, I know I didn’t know and I don’t think Lucio knew and who can say about my father? He’s like your father! He knows everything! Maybe that’s why he beat Sir Dambretti up.” Luke blurted and clamped his hand over his mouth.

  “Your father beat up Lucio?” Simon was shocked.

  “Well, not exactly. He just sort of pushed him around and slapped him a couple of times, but Sir Dambretti said some pretty rude things to him, if you know what I mean.” Luke slumped in the chair.

  “So.” Simon turned back to the dresser. “Does my father know about this… altercation?”

  “No!!” Luke almost shouted at him and then caught himself. “I mean, no, Sir, no.”

  “I see.” Simon smiled slightly and pulled out one of the drawers, searching for socks. “Say no more.”

  Luke looked about the room expecting to see the Anti-Christ step out of the closet. He wished that his father would come home… now. He felt like an idiot! Simon was a regular Sherlock Holmes it seemed.

  ((((((((((((()))))))))))))

  Mr. Jackson arrived at the Day’s Inn parking lot at precisely seven the following morning. He got out of the rear of the limousine and held open the door for his three ‘guests’. The trio climbed into the vehicle without speaking to the man and he got in with them, closing the door quickly. He tapped on the glass partition and the car pulled out of the parking lot immediately.

  “Mr. Jackson.” Mark Andrew inclined his head to the man slightly and the man reached for his hand. Instead of shaking it, he kissed the golden ring with the red and white cross in the center.

  “Your Grace.” He glanced nervously at the priest and the tall, dark Knight of the Apocalypse. Konrad’s brow wrinkled above his sunglasses.

  “These are my companions, Herr von Hetz and Monsieur d’Ornan,” Mark said and he nodded to them as well. “What plans for the garden lie on the morrow?”