by Athanasios
“Please, don’t be afraid. I am Cardinal Colletti.” He produced his most disarming smile and opened his arms to invite them forward. This was what Jose and Rosanna craved — a comforting strength from the church. They each kissed his hand and knelt before him.
“What should we do, Cardinal? Everyone hates us and wants Nino gone. Help us, please.” Jose was now crying tears of blind hope. He finally felt that he would be delivered from this nightmare of a life. He would do anything Colletti asked.
“Your son does, indeed, need the Church. I will take him and raise him to fear God.” Colletti felt that the family wouldn’t have any opposition to this proposition.
“You’ll take him?” Jose said incredulously. Indeed, the Church was merciful. Indeed, God was just. “Oh, thank you. Thank you. Thank you.”
It was that easy for him to be rid of his son. The only tears he cried were tears of gratitude and relief. Not even the barest measure of love cowered behind his terror. This was the father whom Nino would remember — uncaring and all too distant.
“You must never again speak of your son. This is God’s work that we are doing.” Colletti looked sternly at both of them.
They each looked at one another and, in unison, pronounced, “Yes, we swear, Cardinal! We swear!” They fell to the ground and began to kiss Colletti’s feet.
“Get up now, please. Get up. Pastor, please take them to the services that are about to start. Please get up. Go now. Go.” Colletti extended his hand at Nino who quickly accepted it, and accompanied the Cardinal.
Once they were outside, the Cardinal produced a revolver from his jacket. He pointed it all around, moving it from spot to spot, trying to locate a target. His arm extended protectively around the boy. He pulled him closer and Nino felt warmth through his clothes. It was a nice sensation — only warmth.
“Where are you? I’ve brought the boy. Show yourself.” He continued to wave the gun back and forth.
“Why do you have a gun, Cardinal? You aren’t going to do what I think you are?” The cardinal watched as the tan man purposefully strode to a stop, not three feet from him. “You’re a Jesuit, aren’t you, Cardinal Colletti?”
“What do you want with the boy?” the cardinal asked, the gun’s barrel level with Kostadino’s chest. “He is to come with me. Don’t try to stop me. I’ve come from the Vatican and have Papal dispensation.”
“Then where is your retinue, Cardinal?” He knew that Colletti was lying. No one else knew that he was here. Kostadino wondered how Colletti had known to be here? Slowly, the cardinal pointed the gun at Nino’s head. The barrel felt cold and dead. A pleading tear rolled down his cheek. “Forgive me, child.”
He did not have time to pull the trigger; his hand was now no more than a stump. The tan man had rushed forward and cleanly severed the threat. Colletti wanted to save the world from the Antichrist, but was too slow. When he had spoken to Father Pewter, he believed he was the first to know of this birth and determined to raise him to be the Messiah. He would have been exalted above all others in the history of the church. He would’ve been Aristotle to his Alexander. However, sadly for him, that never materialized.
The Cardinal collapsed on the ground. Nino stared at the hand that touched the cardinal’s and could not look away. He held up the left hand and marveled that he still felt the cardinal’s warmth seeping away from his skin. He continued to look beyond the hand and saw the tan figure kneel down and pick him up. He straightened and carried him off into the distance, and a waiting, dusty Chevy.
TIME: NOVEMBER 1ST, 1962. MEXICO CITY, MEXICO
“So.” Mossy looked at Mordecai with the glassy-eyed vacancy of a stuffed animal.
“You can dial the number yourself,” Mordecai replied. “I’m going to get my bags.”
“Get mine too. I’ll report into the Supreme Tribunal.” Mossy turned around and left Mordecai, looking after him in surprise. Was it so much to ask someone to dial a number for him? He was the Master’s right hand — this was beneath him.
Ten minutes later, Mossy hung up the telephone in disgust. Those international operators couldn’t tie their shoes, let alone put through an important call. He placed his little telephone book in his jacket pocket and looked around to find Mordecai.
Mossy looked at the floor; his eyes darted around, focusing on nothing. A cold hand caressed his spine. There was no other indication of his abject fear. He slowly walked to the exit, forgetting his bags as they took a fifth turn around the carousel. He had lost him. He merely turned his back and Mordecai had disappeared. Each of his feet seemed to weigh hundreds of pounds and moved of their own volition.
TIME: NOVEMBER 1ST, 1962. SOMEWHERE OUTSIDE OF TAMANDUA, BRAZIL
Kostadino drove along a back road, dust swirling behind the car. He had to stay away from airports or bus terminals, so he kept to the open road. Fewer people would see him, and fewer still would say anything.
He reached forward and turned on the radio, just loud enough to hear Bobby Vinton sing about roses being red. Pushing the dial further, he left it on a news broadcast. The UN reported world population was set to hit 3 billion souls by the end of the year. In the United States, blacks were fighting for their equality. One of their leaders, Martin Luther King, who followed the teachings of Gandhi, was put in jail, along with other protesters in Georgia. The American president was getting tough on the upstart communist nation in Cuba. Embargos had begun. Pope John XXIII made the empty pronouncement of excommunicating Fidel Castro and convened the Second Vatican Council.
This was interesting news. Cardinal Colletti would not be taking part. At first, he believed that Cardinal Colletti acted alone in wanting little Nino, but now he wasn’t sure. What if the Vatican Council met to discus the birth of their enemy? Dusty halls could be filled with whispered fears and veiled pronouncements.
There were two questions that disturbed Kosta’s calm. One: had the errant cardinal acted alone, without anyone else’s knowledge? Two: were the Templars involved? He stifled a chill going up his spine as he thought about having to deal with those zealots again.
He slowly spun the steering wheel to the right and began a long northwestern trek to the United States. Kosta knew he was well hidden. The Vatican couldn’t know about him. The Luciferians didn’t even know he existed. If the Vatican or the Luciferians did know they would have sent more than the single individuals Kosta already dealt with. They did, however, have an unparalleled target to follow.
Beside him, little Nino twisted in his sleep. Kosta understood the Luciferians would leave no stone unturned in their search for their messiah. He was their beacon and they would fly to him, no matter who got in their way. He also needed to be quite careful about what the child saw. He could not risk him growing up and attaining his destiny. The fate of the world rested on the hope the boy would grow up and care nothing for his mantle of power. Kosta wanted him to mature without seeing, or knowing, his birthright.
He robbed Revelation of its Beast and did not care. He would use their prophecy for his own ends. Kosta wanted to show what he discovered in the writings, scattered all over the globe. He wanted Nino to know the value and power of life — the simple, precious worth of living. He did not want to see the Luciferians replacing the Catholic Church with their own. They only wanted to hold the reins of a power, which evolved into the most massive of bureaucracies.
For centuries, the Vatican had existed as a nation without borders. They held property, wealth and influence over the entire world. They were also insightful enough to appear meek and devout. Though their façade was one of charity and humility, they actually amassed the largest non-taxable fortune known in modern times. At their height, they probably owned over a third of the total property in the known world. In modern times, they went through a constriction, but they would still put most on the Fortune 500 list to shame.
Kosta could not guess if they actually knew about the boy. If the Templars were after him, what were their intentions? Assassination was too si
mple. Even Cardinal Colletti was tempted to guide him away from his pre-ordained path. The boy held power — that was not disputed by any of the sides. The church did not need this, because they already had power. There was more to it than Kosta could see.
- Routine -
TIME: DECEMBER 21ST, 1962. WHITTIER MANSION, SAN FRANCISCO, CALIFORNIA, U.S.A
“You’re going to have to return on the next available flight.” Balzeer was still watching the vision of two men, looking at him. He anxiously paced in the chamber he used for summoning. All around him were the writhing forms, powering incantations that summoned and spoke across space and distance.
“That will be in another day or so, sir.”
“Drop everything, Mordecai. Get Mossy and get back here now!”
“He… I don’t know where he is, sir.” Mordecai had ditched Mossy as soon as they arrived at the Sao Paolo airport.
“Where are you? Mossy, why are you not with Mordecai?” The Supreme Tribunal was aghast. “What have you two been doing for the past three weeks? You knew you were to stay with him.” Balzeer now addressed the nervous, hat-covered man on the right of the vision.
What had, earlier, seemed like two men, standing side by side, was in actuality, two merged visions.
“Mordecai left me at the airport, sir. I continued as best as I could from there.” He wiped his brow with a kerchief. “I don’t know where he is.”
“You are both imbeciles! Shroud Keeper, bring them both here, now!” His voice was now a roar and both men cringed at its ferocity. A segmented, infant imp waved its right hand and both men materialized before the projected vision.
“I should add both of you to my wall, along with the rest of the wood,” Balzeer spat in contempt.
The two men glanced around, wide-eyed. No one had ever seen this room. It was sometimes mentioned in whispers, spoken of with dread. If a person were ever unfortunate enough to be in it, he would not be able to speak of it to anyone else.
“Mordecai, since you ditched your minder, you must’ve found something that was worth disobeying my order. What did your little Greek have to say?” Balzeer must get past his irritation at their juvenile antics and focus.
“Nothing, sir. He was dead.” Mordecai had underestimated Balzeer. He had believed his power was only bureaucratic. Now looking about him, he saw the brilliance of the room.
“How had he passed away?” Balzeer cherished his underling’s discomfort. “Did you ask him?” Balzeer’s patience did not cooperate. It was attempting to rebel against the stupidity of coaxing answers from Mordecai.
“No, sir, I did not have the time. I was in the process of attempting it when you brought me here,” he replied.
“Then bring the meat here, Shroud Keeper,” the Supreme Tribunal ordered.
There was a sharp sound of imploding air, which knocked both Mordecai and Mossy to the ground. They landed on top of the remains of John Haggios. With a few choice murmurs and waves of Balzeer’s hands, the other had joined their discussion.
“Haggios, who ended your life?” Balzeer was happy that he had control over this dead. Whatever he asked was to be answered truthfully.
“I don’t know. He strangled me from behind, so I never saw him.” The voice had no expression; it escaped past dry lips in a monotone.
“Did you find the Redeemer? Did you see him?” Flinty words were thrown at the dead Haggios.
“Yes. He was born to a Catholic couple, Jose and Maria Savourez. As prophesized, the mother died giving birth to the boy.” Haggios faced straight ahead, staring at his questioner.
“And why didn’t you bring him to us?” The question was implicit and demanding.
“I was going to when I was killed. I wanted to bring glory to myself and rise in our ranks by bringing him into our fold.”
“But you failed.” Balzeer’s abrupt interruption brought Haggios up short. “Why didn’t you tell Mordecai, your superior, about this?”
“He would have taken it from me. I would’ve lost the reward to him.”
“Anything you do is mine to take, fool!” Mordecai lashed out, hurt that a lover would do this to him.
“Silence!” The words stung like a whip. Both Mossy and Mordecai cringed. “When I want some input from you, I’ll tell you.” Balzeer then returned his attention to Haggios. “Then you were to come to me. Now we have lost our Redeemer, though we had come so close to bringing him where he belongs.”
“You would’ve taken him from me as well. Then you would have killed me.” His lack of inflection lent finality to the statement.
“Yes, that’s probably true, but we would now have him! Do you understand? It is not simply your glory, rather ours! We would now be raising him and molding him to his birthright. Who knows where is now?” Balzeer was indignant they had come so close to their goal, despite the change in the prophecy.
“I don’t know…”
“I know you don’t, it’s a rhetorical question! Send this fool back to the cold ground, Shroud Keeper. Get him out of my sight,” he said as he dismissed him to his damnation.
All who followed the devil’s path in life did so because they thirsted for power and fear. They might get these things, but once they left the mortal coil, they became the playthings of true evil, untainted by human desire. Those who dwelt in the pits committed evil deeds because inflicting pain brought them pleasure, and sustained them. Souls, unfortunate enough to be sent to the depths of hell, became the playthings of the hellish inhabitants. Those born in the pits knew and loved their depths; only their master longed to leave, for he once knew other delights.
Finally, the animated corpse was gone — once again banished to the pits. Standing before Balzeer were the two incompetent men too frightened to breathe. He reveled in their discomfort as he contemplated their fate. Mordecai’s failings were due to over ambition for Balzeer’s place. He had risen through their ranks, leaving them decimated killing anyone who opposed him. Balzeer only killed those who failed him. Any opposition, if competent, was too valuable to the organization to be destroyed. Mordecai, however, lost sight of their true purpose, to elevate their master’s cause on earth.
Mossy, on the other hand, had proven true incompetence. He rose through the ranks by taking advantage of others work. He had no true ambition, save for ease of life for which he never worked. He achieved his station on the backs, and through the efforts, of whomever he happened to be aligned. Had the trip to Brazil been successful, he would’ve taken full credit, even though he failed to keep Mordecai in sight, losing him at the first opportunity.
After this short period of contemplation, the choices were obvious.
“Mossy, you need correction. This organization requires that everyone must contribute. You may not simply go through the motions, stealing the hard work of others.” Balzeer walked the few paces between them. “Remove your clothes and go to the far wall.”
Mossy did as commanded, all the while quivering with terror. With halting steps, he walked to the far wall. He turned, noting that Balzeer was holding wooden stakes in each of his hands. The sleeves of his black sweater had crept past his wrists and revealed tattoos, which glowed brightly against his white skin and the black fabric.
“Mordecai, you will do exactly as I tell you. Go and spread Mossy’s arms against the wall.”
Mordecai did as was told, watching Mossy’s barely-contained terror and pain.
“No, not both arms at once, first the right. Hold it out with both hands.” Mordecai felt a rush of air, followed by a thunk sound. Impossibly, the wood had penetrated the stone. The surprise in Mordecai’s eyes did not match the surprise, which registered in Mossy’s bulging pupils. Mossy’s breath came in sputtering gasps as he attempted to keep his remaining dignity. Despite the pain, he did not want to cry out. He certainly would not face the universe of agony, threatening to overwhelm him. Instead, he stared accusingly into Mordecai’s eyes. He knew that this was his fault. If he had followed orders, and if they had stayed together
, this would not be happening.
“Now for the left. Don’t worry, my aim is supreme.”
Mossy’s eyes were now closed. He could not bear the impending addition to the pain that already consumed him. Mordecai held out the left arm and the same sound and rush of air followed, barely seconds after he positioned the target. He even felt the wood quivering, just above his hands.
“Now, come here. This correction will soon be over. Well, not quite for you, Mossy. You’ll stay there until you’ve learned your lesson.”
Mordecai walked forward to stand beside his master. Here in this room, Balzeer was a god. He had access to powers, unlike any Mordecai had ever seen.
“Shroud Keeper, be gone. Go make yourself whole again and remember what I require of you.”
At Balzeer’s command, the infant disappeared. As it left, Mordecai felt a chill run up his spine. Mossy’s impalement had taken place outside the protection of the pentagram. All the while, he was at the creature’s mercy; only Balzeer’s hold kept him from being dragged down into the hellish depths. That apprehension dwarfed the earlier fear that the stakes holding Mossy to the stone wall could have impaled both of them.
“Mossy, soon enough you will be brought back to your current station. Do not despair; only remember this pain as a lesson to add value to this organization, rather than merely taking up space.” Balzeer motioned for Mordecai to come closer.
“Mordecai, come. We have much to do.”
After he whispered a few incantations under his breath, they emerged in the main library. One second Mordecai was looking at Balzeer’s torture chamber, the next; he saw the same chamber, practically duplicated in the massive mantles. Mordecai had always believed that they were mere ornaments to suit Balzeer’s whimsy and to inspire dread in all those who viewed them.
