I read the final page, closed the book, and leaned back in my hammock. The horsemen were most definitely back, resurrected by Kannard, Hendrix, and the Golden Circle. They sought the power to enslave all mankind. The Knights Templar stood against them, and my friends on the Sparrowhawk and in Africa stood against the Golden Circle. Would we be enough? I had no idea.
Rodin flew in and landed on my stomach. “Oof, you are getting heavy.” I scratched under his chin and he closed his eyes. “So what do you think? Are we going to defeat the Iron Horsemen?”
Rodin’s eyes opened and locked with mine. Yes.
Of course, he hadn’t said anything, but I could swear I sensed his answer. I rubbed my eyes and tried to shake loose the cobwebs of a tired mind. When I focused back on Rodin, I could have sworn the upturned corners of his lips were a smile. I sat up and the dragon curled into my lap. I rubbed the horned nubs on his head as I reached down and grabbed the next book.
This one was smaller, still bound in leather, but was well worn from the centuries. Cracked and faded, I could tell this book hadn’t been well cared for, and when I opened it some dirt fell onto the barrel. The handwritten text lacked the scribe’s perfection, the letters varied in size, and not a single line was straight. There was a hand-drawn sketch on the first page, but none of the beautiful illuminations of the previous book.
I started to read, this text wasn’t in Greek, but Old French. It began with a German inscription scrawled on the blank second page: The final journal of Armand Armitage, honored knight of the Templar Order. Retrieved from his grave in the great mountains – 1336A.D. His quest fulfilled, he was reburied with honor in consecrated ground.
I pushed back from the book causing the hammock to swing and Rodin to take flight. I jumped to my feet and shook to shed the weird feeling climbing up my spine. “So creepy! The book was buried with my ancestor.” The name repeated in my mind. The dirt that had fallen out was from his... the tingling whipped up and down my spine and I danced around trying to rid myself of the haunting vibrations.
Rodin landed on the barrel and looked at the book as if trying to figure out what had upset me. I walked back over and joined him, staring down at the journal. “How am I supposed to read that, Rodin? It was buried with my ancestor. What if it’s haunted? What if it’s cursed or something?”
Rodin cocked his head to the side as if contemplating my question.
A thought crept in through the back of my mind, if any book was going to have actual secrets, it would be this one, and not some overly-produced tome. This was the hand-written journal of a knight who had gone on a quest to the great mountains. And, had been discovered after the Templar Order had been destroyed in 1307 A.D. A knight thought it important enough to retrieve not only this journal, but also my ancestor’s remains. I shivered and then chastised myself. Don’t be a baby, Alexander. This is important, and it’s up to you to translate it.
I sat back in the hammock and scanned over the third page written in Old French. The sacred quest of Sir Armand Armitage to hide the Greatest Evil from a world unable to destroy the Hearts of the Horsemen. 1212 A.D.
“Here goes, Rodin.” The little dragon nodded at me as if encouraging me to just get on with it. I reached down and turned the page.
CHAPTER 6
THE JOURNAL OF SIR ARMITAGE
I write this account for my fellow Knights of the Templar Order should they ever need to know the fate of the four Hearts of the Horsemen. In my fading days, after a life of great victories, horrendous evils, and the saving of my soul, I pen this account as a guide and a warning. We tried to destroy the hearts. I shattered three swords and an ax on the one that looks like liquid metal and left not even a scratch. My older brother was able to shatter the green stone with a blade blessed and anointed with holy water, but it did not break apart. A slivery metal oozed out to seal the cracks and kept it whole. We tried fire. We dropped them off the high walls of the citadel, but nothing could destroy these demonic hearts. Though we were ordered to destroy them, we failed. My brothers and I decided to hide the Hearts and tell everyone they had been destroyed. It is our hope that in doing so, no one will ever seek out their evil.
Three Armitage brothers answered the call and traveled to the Holy Land to fight the evil of the Four Horsemen. My older brother and one hundred knights were able to rip free the Horsemen’s hearts and stop the unholy menace, but my brother and his knights all died. I have been given the honor of this quest. As the oldest remaining brother, the burden was mine to bear. My younger brother will return home to find a wife and, with God’s blessing, continue our bloodline.
I tore myself away from the book and wiped a tear that welled in my eye. This account would be heart wrenching to anyone, but knowing the author was related to me, that three brothers had been torn apart by the Horsemen, ripped my soul to shreds.
“It’s so sad Rodin, three brothers, one died fighting the horsemen, another died on this quest, and the third returned home to continue the bloodline. I am here because the final brother let his brother go off alone. Wow.”
Rodin, sitting in his bed, lifted his head.
“I bet the book I saw at Eustache’s estate — The History of the Order, was written by a descendant of the youngest brother.” I pulled the book onto my chest as I lay back in my hammock.
Rodin lowered his head and curled back into his bed.
I set out on my quest in the year of Our Lord 1149 A.D. with all four hearts. It was good that I traveled alone, for the corrupting draw of their demonic power was stronger than anyone expected. It is only by the grace of our Lord, and my training as a Templar Knight that I did not fall to its evil. Visions have guided me, but I feared they came from the hearts, yet I have come to trust their advice. They have saved me and led me to each of the hiding places. I have traveled across the world, something I may be the first person in history to do. I have placed the hearts so far apart, that it is my sincerest hope that doing so will prevent them from ever being brought back together. Alone they are powerful, but together, they are a force of unnatural, unholy, and unrelenting power.
I laid the journal on my chest. He had visions like me. They guided him as they do me. I wasn’t a freak. My brain wasn’t weird. My family had visions. I wondered if my father, or my grandfather had visions. No one had ever mentioned this ability before, but here was an ancestor of mine talking about how they guided him. I continued reading.
I made the choice not to hide them with any civilization, nor in any city or village, no matter how large or small. The chance is too great that over time the hearts would be found, or would call to those with darkness coursing in their veins. Instead, I dug four graves, each so deep that erosion will not reveal them. Beyond the reach of any foundation for any building that might be built in the future. By returning them to the embrace of the deepest recesses of our world, it is my greatest hope that they will never see the sun’s light again.
“One’s already been found; I was there when the jade heart was ripped from the dark African soil.” I expelled a breath and dust billowed up from the book. I knew I should be taking notes, writing down the translations, but these words had burned into my brain, and I would never forget them. I turned the page and kept reading, running my finger back and forth over the scrawled words. Translating the Old French wasn’t the most difficult thing I’d done, even if it did take several passes to get it all. But I couldn’t stop. I had to know.
I will never reveal where the hearts have been buried. Never would I want a disciple of evil to use my words to track them down. It is my belief after years of study that the hearts are evil concentrated into physical form. Evil is not just an emotion, a darkening of the heart. Evil is a force like the air we breathe, or the sunlight that warms our skin. Flowing like a river, it passes through us carrying us deeper into darkness. I do not blame whole peoples for being in league with the Horsemen; rather, now I believe that some men on crusade were drawn into its evil and willing to serve its power.<
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The room darkened and I reached up to adjust the lantern. Heaviness overtook my eyes and the Sparrowhawk faded away.
A knight dressed in a white tunic with a red Templar cross rode atop a brown steed on a seemingly endless ocean of sand. The sun beat down making the horizon as wavy as water. The knight wore a cowl of chainmail, and his eyes were mere slits. A large triangular shield hung on one side of his horse; four large, leather pouches draped the opposite side. He carried a lance, the flag on the end whipping in the strong breeze. I stood on the dune behind him and heard a calm voice bore directly into my mind. I turned and saw the knight beside me. But, rather than the clear image of the young man on the horse, I saw the ghostly image of an older man.
“You’re him,” I said, pointing to the knight on horseback. “Armand Armitage.”
“I am.”
“How?”
“My journal. You carry it with you now.”
“I am searching for the men who seek the hearts.”
He nodded. “That is why I am here. You see, we are bound to the evil contained in those hearts.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Neither did I, at first. It is not a coincidence that your father translated the texts and found the first hearts. It is destiny. Once again an Armitage stands ready to defend the world. First, I rode south crossing the great desert of the Nubian Continent. Past the largest lake I’d ever seen. In the far south, I met dark-skinned warriors with an honor I easily recognized. Not within their village, yet near them, I placed the green stone atop a hill beside the winding river.”
Then, I saw him diving into the shimmering water fully clothed. As the water rippled out my vision mirrored the lake’s surface until it cleared revealing a village. I didn’t recognize the people, but I knew the Zulu village would sit on this hilltop eventually. The knight dug in the dirt, his spear planted in the ground beside him. He placed the jade heart within the hole and started to replace the earth.
“My hope was that the remote and dangerous terrain, along with the deterrent of these noble warriors would keep the heart safe.”
My vision shifted, as if I’d turned too fast, and I saw the knight back atop his steed. Behind him, several lions stalked through the tall grass. As they charged, the horse kicked and made the most frightful noises. His hoof connected with one of the large cats, forcing it back.
“The great cats would have defeated me if not for my steed, who gave his life for mine. Every step I took was fraught with danger. The hearts did not want to be separated, and once I made my intentions clear, they vexed my mind and spirit, and called forth all the evils on my path.”
“For a week I walked without water. Mind you, I was not afraid to die; I was afraid to fail. But as I was about to collapse, a young shepherd boy discovered me and tried to give me shelter. In the shadow of a long-forgotten pyramid, we were besieged by a band of brigands. They killed the boy, and, I, weak and without hope, drew strength from the injustice, and my determination was reignited. I defeated them and watched as their blood drained into the rocky soil. I tried to compensate his family, but they would not accept anything, and citing the law of hospitality, they insisted I remain and thanked me for vanquishing the brigands. I however, could not stay.”
The image shifted through waves of desert heat, and I saw another crumbling pyramid standing alone amidst a vast sea of sand. I assumed we stood in Egypt. I watched as Armand buried the quartz pyramid, the second unholy heart, at its base.
“I must confess it was at this moment that I had my greatest crisis of conscience. So close to home, I could have traveled to Alexandria and returned to my brother in France, but my quest wasn’t finished, and the dishonor would have been too great to bear. I could not live with such a mark, so, I said goodbye to the world I knew and traveled east. From the Gnostics in Egypt, I was able to resupply and get new horses.”
“That must have been such a difficult decision.” My excitement tempered by the sadness of his tale left me torn inside, but I couldn’t wait to hear more of his story. “Where did you go next?”
“For three years I crossed into the lands of Russia. I had to avoid the land occupied by Saladin and his allies.”
I watched Armand struggle through a forest thick with trees so tall they blocked the sun. Once, one of his pack horses stumbled and fell. My eyes widened as I realized they were traveling on icy, packed snow that was as deep as his horses’ withers. “I searched for a place to bury the hearts, but could not dig through the frozen ground. Eventually, I found my way into China.” Surrounded by soldiers, I watched as he was led into a large palace decorated with dragons. “I feared my quest was at an end. They had a rule forbidding foreigners, and I feared they would seize the hearts. But tragedy followed in my wake.”
Smoke rose, and as it cleared I saw the sick and dying filling the rooms of the palace. Fires burned night and day trying to incinerate the foul air they feared was the cause.
“After three seasons, the emperor called me before him. I was declared the reason for the tragedies, they wanted to execute me, but I asked to speak. When they refused, I took a stand in the center of the room and made my impassioned plea. I told the Emperor about the hearts, explained that they, not I, were the reason for their blight. I told him how we’d tried to destroy them, of our failure to accomplish this feat, and of my quest. Several times, I feared his guards would strike me down where I stood, but the Emperor waved them off each time.”
The Emperor sat on his throne, stroked his long beard. Soldiers brought Armand’s belongings to the chamber and he was escorted to one of the Emperor’s ships. Once at sea, the biggest storm I’d ever seen carried the ship across the great ocean. Battered for weeks, many of the crew died at the hands of the Hearts. Armand washed up alone on a sandy beach.
“My despair turned to joy when I realized how far I was from the Holy Land. I traveled inland, searching for the perfect place to bury the third heart. Months passed before I reached towering mountains, and from their heights I saw a great plain, a grassy sea that stretched to the horizon. On this plain, I met another group of noble warriors, and there, on a barren scar of land, I buried another heart, in four towers of rock that resembled the gnarled fingers of a battle-scarred hand. Then I left, hoping this land was so far from those searching for the hearts that no one would ever find it.”
“The final heart I carried with me.” The ghostly figure bowed his head. His face strained and he closed his eyes unable to look at me. “I could not let it go. Its power had entered my own heart and stitched itself to my soul. I had not lost a single battle. Every enemy I encountered, whether man or beast, fell to my blade. I returned to the shore, forced the natives to build me a boat, which they fashioned from the trunk of an enormous tree. I took several men to sail with me back across the great expanse of water. Eventually, after much struggle, I reached the southern shore of China. I followed the coast, through jungle and war-torn lands, and, there were times...” He shook his head sadly. “I’m not proud of my actions.” Armand was older now, with dark circles beneath his eyes. A series of images flashed before me. All were of Armand in battle. Brutal attacks, some against unarmed farmers and townsfolk. Blood dripped from his blade.
Armand’s voice lightened. “In India, I met a guru who sensed my pain, my burden. He sent me north into the tallest mountains I’d ever seen. To a spiritual oasis, where the river cascaded down the mountain before connecting with a wide river. There, in the temple at the top of the mountain, I found myself again.”
This mountain paradise was spectacular. Colorful temples perched on forested, rocky terraces, with clouds gathering below them. Bald men wrapped in orange robes sat motionless, meditating, or moved noiselessly around the temple. Armand sat among them writing in a journal.
“With these mystics, I buried the last heart, the one I could hardly bear to part with. I then committed my quest to parchment.”
“The journal,” I said, suddenly aware of the weight of
the book resting against my chest. “I don’t know what to say.” “Finish what I started. It’s up to you...”
The image faded into darkness.
Then out of the pitch black an explosion of color and movement. Blurry images flashed past, nearly blinding me with their intensity. I was tossed this way and that with dizzying speed, whirling and twirling in endless circles so that my head ached and my stomach roiled. I heard picks clattering against stone, hammers pinging against metal. Anguished moans rose up only to be silenced by the crack of a whip. As the vision finally came into focus, I saw a jagged mountain peak capped in snow and dotted with a cluster of exotic buildings tucked against its side. A crystal-clear stream tumbled down the rocky slope until joining a river topped with white-capped waves racing through the valley below. The ground shook, and the mountainside was ripped apart by a force beyond imagining. And then I saw it—a shimmering heart made of silvery molten stone burst forth as if cast out by the gods themselves. In the distance, a dragon’s deafening roar rolled over the mountain like thunder.
CHAPTER 7
BABYLON
I awoke, my arms flailing like a scared chicken. The journal fell to the floor kicking up a cloud of dust and I followed shortly with a thud. Rodin beat his wings and rose out of the hammock as the dust whipped around, and I could swear he was laughing as he hovered above me.
I sat up rubbing my head and brushing the dirt and dust from my back. My heart pounded and my temples throbbed, but with each breath the sensation eased. Rodin landed on my shoulder, and rubbed his head against mine.
“That was an intense dream,” I said. Rodin cocked head at me and held my gaze. “No. It was no ordinary dream. I think I saw where the hearts were hidden. And I have a very bad feeling, Rodin. I need to tell the baron.”
Iron Lotus Page 4
