by R D Shah
‘Well, is anyone going tell me what the Skoptsy is? Are they some kind of murderers who take bodily trophies, or something?’
Harker lightly shook his head. ‘They’re not trophies, Chloe, and the people they belong to haven’t been murdered.’ He turned his attention back to Strasser and motioned towards the priest’s hands. ‘Take off your gloves.’
Strasser remained silent, his smug smile still proudly on show, as he peeled off his left glove to reveal the two purple-scarred stumps where his little and ring finger used to be.
‘You’re not really a priest, are you?’ Chloe declared, her eyes focused intently on Strasser’s hand or lack of it.
‘Oh, he’s a priest, all right but not the type you’re familiar with,’ Harker explained to her, before glancing back in Strasser’s direction. ‘That is if you are telling us the truth about the Skoptsy.’
Strasser continued smiling in silence.
‘The Skoptsy are … were a Russian sect, a kind of twisted offshoot of Christianity, or Christ believers, back in the early eighteenth century. Its members dedicated themselves to a life of abstinence whose remit included no alcohol, sex, marriage or even bad language.’
‘They don’t sound too bad.’ Claire said, glancing over to see that Strasser was following Harker’s history lesson intently.
‘True, but what I haven’t mentioned is that they rejected the holy bible and placed their entire faith in the Holy Spirit. You see, the Skoptsy believed that all the evil in the world was as a result of sexuality and that the beauty of the human form was a sin, which is why the holy spirit became their sole focus and the cornerstone of their belief.’
‘I’m not sure I understand. Why?’
‘Think about it,’ Harker continued, ‘the Holy Spirit was able to impregnate the Virgin Mary without resorting to sex and so in the eyes of the Skoptsy, it stood as the ultimate example of a world without sin. And it was an example they expected all their members to live up to.’
‘How?’
‘We dispose of the sin,’ Strasser interrupted, ‘in order to purify our bodies.’
Harker focused on Chloe, who was still looking bewildered. ‘Or, to put it more accurately, they would castrate every clan-member and I am not just talking about the men. The women would have their breasts and labia removed in a process known as the fiery baptism, which was an enigmatic way of saying they used razors and a red-hot branding iron.’
The vile thought drew a minor frown from Chloe, who was now staring at Father Strasser in revulsion. ‘Most Skoptsy were castrated before puberty, so their bodies missed out on the adolescent phase signified by testosterone production which, simply put, means – ’
‘They never developed properly,’ Chloe interjected, her eyes still firmly planted on father Strasser.
‘Exactly,’ Harker concurred as a small chill rippled through his body at the thought. ‘The men would develop unusually long arms and legs, and their faces would eventually appear almost triangular in shape,’ Harker reached over and gently lifted Father Strasser’s chin upwards with one finger, ‘much like his.’
Strasser’s smile widened further, obviously pleased at Harker’s knowledge and the recognition that came with it.
‘So what happened to them?’
‘They swelled in numbers if you can believe it, until there were tens of thousands of them. But when the Russian empire discovered this twisted religion it was deemed a threat to the state and outlawed. Some of the Skoptsy did survive … at least until the Soviet era, whereupon the authorities hunted them down and the sect soon disappeared into the dark annals of political history. But …’ Harker tailed off as he paused to gaze in curiosity at the robed man standing in front of him.
‘But what?’ Chloe demanded loudly, her curiosity getting the better of her.
‘There were stories … folk law really, that the group merely went underground to hide from Soviet persecution, in preparation for the day when they would return as God’s chosen few, and then reclaim humanity under the banner of the Skoptsy.’
‘That’s pretty creepy.’ Chloe said, in nothing more than a whisper.
‘Yes, it is,’ Harker replied and intrigued by the idea, ‘but if we’re to believe the Father here, then parts of it are based on fact.’
‘Not parts of it, Professor … all of it,’ Strasser insisted, as he now rejoined the conversation. ‘And I’m impressed by your knowledge of the subject.’
‘Well, I do enjoy a mystery, Father, especially one involving bizarre religious sects that apparently vanish into thin air.’
‘Christianity, please.’ Strasser protested, clearly irritated by the notion of the Skoptsy being labelled a bizarre sect.
Before Harker could begin to argue, Chloe stepped between them, raising both hands.
‘Before we go any further there is something that, although it might seem irrelevant, I want answered before I listen to anything else.’ Chloe lowered her hands and pointed once more to the corner of the room and the unsightly mess that had been dumped there. ‘Why the poo? Are the Skoptsy some kind of faeces loving sect or is it just that they have an appaling grasp of interior decorating?’
Harker sighed loudly and was met with a cold look of disdain from her.
‘It isn’t a joke,’ she protested furiously. ‘That is disgusting.’
The question had been directed at Strasser but it was Harker who provided the answer.
‘You know how priests used to prostrate – or whip themselves – as atonement for any sin? Well, the Skoptsy believed it an act of faith to surround oneself with evil and yet still maintain one’s … purity.’
‘I would hardly call that pile of crap over there evil.’ Chloe replied. ‘It’s just disgusting and unpleasant.’
‘As is the world all around us.’ Strasser interjected. ‘To remain pure of mind and thought when everything surrounding you is corrupted and damned, that is the truest show of faith possible.’
‘Hence you living in this charming hotel,’ Harker added bluntly.
Chloe stood back and shook her head slowly. ‘You need help, Mr Strasser – and that is my professional opinion.’
John Strasser eyed his two visitors with the same contempt that was being levelled at him, and he took a few long breaths in preparation for his answer, the room’s stench seemingly having no effect upon his senses. ‘Despite what you both may think, I can assure you I am of sound mind.’
‘Oh, yes,’ Harker remarked sarcastically, glancing around the oddity that constituted Strasser’s home. ‘Without a doubt. You’re a picture of sanity.’
‘And the same goes for Marcus Eckard,’ Strasser continued, ignoring the quip.
‘Mr Strasser, I was Marcus Eckard’s doctor for over five years,’ Chloe announced, ‘and I can assure you that his problems were very real indeed.’
The Skoptsy priest nodded his head as if in total agreement. ‘You’re right about that but those problems were never neurological in cause, but rather an inner-manifestation. They were a direct result of the truth he had discovered …’ Strasser took a moment to ponder his words ‘…not unlike a kind of post-traumatic stress disorder.’
Harker glanced at Chloe questioningly, seeking any type of validation for what the priest alluded to.
‘It is true that Marcus’s scans never showed any abnormalities of the brain, and he did exhibit certain symptoms associated with stress disorder, but I doubt …’
‘Doubt nothing, Doctor Stanton,’ Strasser interrupted impatiently. ‘When the mind opens itself up to certain facts – unsettling facts – about the nature of one’s own reality, it can have devastating consequences upon the unprepared psyche. In fact, consequences that have no cure.’ Strasser’s bottom lip trembled ever so slightly and an involuntary gulp slid visibly down his neck, as if the words were being pulled back into his chest. ‘If a person finds himself taking a journey of knowledge into the abyss, you cannot expect him to return without paying a price. And the fee required is di
fferent for everyone … for Marcus Eckard that cost paid was his mind.’
‘So what was the knowledge?’ Harker demanded.
‘Simply put, Professor Harker, it’s the fact that God, angels, Satan, demons, heaven, hell … they’re all very real.’ Strasser leant back against the wall and watched his two guests stare at him in disbelief, before continuing. ‘The only untruth is how religion has depicted them, but believe me when I tell you that the basic concepts are absolutely sound … a force for good and a force for evil and that one day it will all end. Then the world will be judged by these two opposing forces,’ Strasser smiled wildly, ‘and that day has now arrived. The knowledge that became so mentally devastating to Marcus Eckard will soon be experienced by every single person living on this planet. The knowledge that, after billions of years, the earth is coming to an end and the dark forces of Satan are readying themselves to implement it. But some knowledge is so great that it must be actually seen to be believed, and you – along with the rest of humanity – will soon have the chance to see it with your own eyes. I tell this to you because firstly, you are to become a participant in the coming events, whether you like it or not, and secondly,’ a grim smile spread across the priest’s face, ‘because there is absolutely nothing you can do about it.’
Harker stood silent for a moment, stunned by such delusional beliefs, until one single question came to the forefront of his mind. ‘And the child? Do the Skoptsy have him?’
Strasser’s uncompromising smile now gave way to a look of surprising seriousness and clarity, before he glanced down at his watch. ‘Not yet but we will and, when we do, the Christ our saviour will once again surrender his life to ensure salvation for his people … Those that make it, of course.’
Harker almost choked on hearing Strasser’s admission. ‘The Skoptsy are going to kill him!’
Strasser nodded calmly. ‘He will be sacrificed so that the Judgement may begin.’
‘But that doesn’t make any sense,’ Harker winced in disbelief, ‘if you believe the child is your salvation, then what good does it do to murder him?’
Strasser remained motionless and merely displayed a sly toothy grin. ‘You’ll find out soon enough.’
Harker immediately motioned to Chloe. ‘Have you got your phone on you?’
She nodded and pulled out her iPhone from a pocket and held it up.
‘Then call us a taxi.’
She nodded once more and began tapping away, as Harker turned back to Strasser. ‘You’re going to take us to him right now.’ He pulled out his own phone while Strasser simply smiled away as if he didn’t have a care in the world. ‘And I’m now going to call a friend of mine at the Vatican and see if we can’t get some more information on your Skoptsy story.’ Harker was already dialling, when Chloe reached over and brushed his hand away from the keypad.
‘That’s going to be difficult, Alex.’ She raised her phone in front of his face and Harker felt his heart sink as he took in the BBC news flash displayed on its screen: ‘Thousands dead as earthquake destroys St Peter’s. Pope Gregory VII missing and feared dead.’
‘Oh, my God,’ Harker uttered under his breath, much to the evident delight of Strasser who had craned his head around so he could also read the headline.
‘And that is just the beginning,’ the priest declared, placing his hands together in a praying gesture. ‘And now that my part in all this is finished, I have only one thing left to say.’
Harker gazed at the still smiling priest, his eyes wide open with shock at what he had just learned.
‘Find the third Secret and you will find your answers, and with it the destiny of the entire world.’
With that, Strasser launched himself backwards, crashing through the window glass covered with newspaper directly behind him, and disappearing out of sight as the fresh evening air poured into the room.
Harker leapt to the window just in time to see the priest conclude the last few feet of his fall, thudding on to the cement pavement with a loud crack. The fall completely demolished the back of the priest’s head, releasing a dark pool of blood right in front of a mother pushing a pram. The aghast woman automatically looked up toward to the smashed window and Harker jerked back inside and out of sight to find Chloe looking as shocked as he felt.
For a few moments they both stood staring at each other in silent disbelief until finally Chloe managed to mouth a few words, ‘what do we do?’ Harker’s mind raced through the options until he came upon an answer. He reached over and gently grasped her arm as reassuringly as he could.
A look of determination now took hold, as he replied, ‘Jerusalem … We go to Jerusalem.’
Chapter 19
Dusk was settling over the rolling Tuscan hills and casting a warming red hue across the terracotta roof tiles of the modest four-bedroom villa that nestled between the folds of a rocky outcrop and was surrounded by a dense clump of Cypresses. Inside the house, three men sat impatiently around a large round cherrywood dining table, each eyeing one another warily. They had been waiting here for over two hours and the initially comfortable black leather chairs were now becoming increasingly hard and painful to sit upon.
‘He has ten more minutes and then I am leaving,’ announced the podgy grey-haired man with a mild German accent.
‘You are not going anywhere,’ declared the slender man opposite pointing at him with a gloved finger. ‘Don’t start getting delusions of importance now, Dietrich.’
‘What the hell does that mean?’ Dietrich’s face beginning to flush in anger.
‘It means you’ll sit there and like it, you fat little twerp.’
Dietrich glared at his insulter with scorn. ‘You may frighten the others, Davidson, but I am not susceptible to your brutish ways.’
John Davidson placed his elbows on the table top, before resting his chin on his hands. ‘We’ll see how susceptible you become after I nail your hands to that chair.’
‘Gentlemen, please.,’ the third man intervened calmingly, not wanting this childish wrangling to escalate. ‘Are we not all of us part of the same greater whole?’
‘Oh, please,’ Davidson hissed as he turned his attention to the same man who was dressed in a light-brown corduroy suit and wore a white patch over his left eye. ‘Stop trying to play the diplomat, Alonzo. We all know how you want nothing more than to usurp a position that is not yours by right.’
‘And neither is it yours,’ Alonzo replied icily. ‘Let none of us forget why we are gathered here today. This meeting will determine whether John Wilcox can continue as First Prime of the Magi. And it is then, and only then, that we will consider looking for his successor.’
Alonzo’s conclusion received acquiescent nods from both Davidson and Dietrich, and the three men then relapsed into silence again with the crackling of logs from the open-hearth fire set in one wall providing the only sound in the room.
A few more minutes of silence passed before the double doors at the far end of the room were flung open, and John Wilcox strode through them and up to the table with all the self-importance of a dictator about to address his minions.
‘Gentlemen, what a pleasure it is to see you.’ Wilcox greeted them. He then slipped off his black leather gloves and slapped them down hard on the table top. ‘It has been quite a while since we all met face to face … how long? Six months? A year?’
‘Just under three, actually,’ Alonzo replied for the group and with an air of mild scorn.
‘Really?’ Wilcox continued cynically, having of course known that all along. ‘Doesn’t time fly when one’s having fun … or being a symbol for a billion Christians around the world?’
‘Not any more,’ Davidson reminded him coldly, clearly unimpressed by Wilcox’s upbeat manner.
Wilcox’s confident expression remained steady, and he sat down elegantly on the one vacant chair, with his back to the fire so that all the other faces were lit up except his. ‘The unfortunate events surrounding my self-imposed papal exile have been trag
ic, and I do not have to remind you that I have lost three of my brothers along the way.’
‘That was, as you say … tragic,’ Alonzo proffered as the other two nodded their heads in solidarity, ‘but it does not change the facts.’
‘And what facts are those?’
‘The facts are that even with your facial surgery, which I have to admit isn’t bad,’ Alonzo concluded, gesturing towards Wilcox’s face, ‘I can still tell it is you, John, and there is a feeling amongst those of us seated here that your position has therefore become untenable.’ The group spokesman sat back in his chair. ‘You are just too high-profile to be sitting at the top of the pyramid.’
‘That sounds to me like treason,’ Wilcox replied in a low gravelly tone.
The accusation had Alonzo immediately shaking his head. ‘Not treason, John, just common sense. And we, the Council, feel that regrettably it is time for you to stand down and make way for a new First Prime of the Magi. We ask therefore, that you renounce your authority officially to all your associates and instruct them to await news of a new hierarchy. We further ask that you make available to this board all details pertaining to Magi funds that you have held in your possession since assuming the position of First Prime, as the Magi codex demands.’
Wilcox’s shoulders slumped ever so slightly and he rested both elbows on the table with his arms stretched out in front of him. ‘Is that so?’ He glanced over at Dietrich and then Davidson, both of whom were now looking uncomfortable. ‘Just like that?’
‘Yes, just like that,’ Alonzo replied firmly. ‘It is time to relinquish your authority. And might I remind you that, when you took over the position as First Prime from your father, it was only agreed upon because of the long-term plan of infiltrating and taking control of the Catholic Church. A plan that I am extremely unhappy to admit has failed, and along with it thirty years of careful planning.’ Alonzo suddenly sat forward and slammed his fist down on the table. ‘For thirty years now the other families represented here have been commanded by your father, then by you and your brothers. During that time our resources and manpower have been guided by your hands towards this common goal, and now, after nearly two generations, it has amounted to absolutely nothing. We others have sat on the side lines,’ Alonzo continued furiously, including his two partners with a flick of his hand, ‘and watched as you have drained away billions of dollars from our coffers in your misguided and narcissistic grab for papal power. And all the while we have been ignoring the Templars, who are, and always have been, our one true obstacle in gaining power over the masses as is our divine right.’
