Prophets of the Wasteland, Page 2

  “I am Erelim Xenakis,” said the blonde with scars on his neck. “And simple disobedience can lead to revolution.”

  The orphan was confused. “You’re not French?”

  “We’re Norman settlers of a stolen culture,” said Ario. “But as Templars we’re only arrogant about the strength of our humility.”

  “I was named by a Hospitaller after a nun cured me of the orphaned life,” said Xenakis. “My ancestors followed Ranulf Drengot to the Norman settlements in Magna Graecia, where my parents were enslaved by North African traders. Saracens disliked their merchant ports being dominated by mercenaries, so I was taken along trade routes into Greece by an Order that was recruiting new chaplains for the Crusades.”

  “Don’t you have a real name?”

  “There are better virtues than a title,” Grayson replied. “Christ said drink of this blood and never be thirsty, but that is a condition of spirituality. Looking for the actual cup would be as foolish as searching for Noah’s Ark. Templars simply give up the life that everyone fears they’ll lose, and to do that before death makes a person invincible.”

  The child nodded, though he didn’t understand. “Do you have the Grail with you or is it with the Pope?”

  “We’re descended from Vikings who believed that the path to Valhalla was death in battle,” Ario revealed. “Now Heaven is a peaceful place, but to die is still glorious work.”

  “God will guide our hearts,” said Erelim, wondering if the woman who saved him was still handing children over to Heaven through a war against the enemies of God.

  “I want to be a knight someday,” the boy said as he finished his food and curled up next to the campfire. “Then maybe I’ll see the Grail.”

  Tetricus smiled with the others. “Passion and ignorance...”

  * * * * *

  When the Great Dragon fell into oblivion, Erelim opened his eyes and reached for his sword. The last of the fire had burned to orange embers and charred white wood was cracking in the silence of the night. A whisper came from the trees where the boy was seated on a limb in the moonlight.

  “It’s okay,” he said. “I’m keeping watch.”

  The child had become a guardian quickly, so Xenakis rolled over and drifted from his recurring dream of Saint Michael banishing Lucifer to hell.

  * * * * *

  When morning arrived, the knights stretched in the fresh air as they were rudely ripped from slumber. After their camp was repacked and tracks erased, they started again towards Constantinople with the boy sitting on a cart’s wooden frame, bouncing along with the attendants. Though an unseasonable heat had settled by mid-afternoon, the soldiers wore their chainmail through a hostile region no longer protected by the Church.

  They reached the coast by late afternoon and waited for a ferry to usher them across the causeway of the Black Sea. The platform was stabilized before they stepped on, horses and all, and coins were dropped into canisters held by men who scurried around like rats. The Emperor of Byzantium did what he could to maintain power within the walls of his kingdom, but his prosperity was due to mingling trade routes and the port city could scarcely be called an empire at all.

  Since the First Crusade, Byzantine rulers with dwindling influence begged the fiefdoms in Europe to retake coastline cities to the holy land, but the soldiers who succeeded laid claim instead and new orders of succession were passed down in lineage struggles by Norman knights. The tide of insular concern was already moving back to Europe after the loss of Jerusalem, and knightly orders were springing up to help re-conquer southern Spain from Muslims, whose control had lasted for over five centuries. There would be a war with the Turks eventually, but not while the city of Constantine stood between continents.

  “This is the western end of the silk road that connects all of Asia,” Xenakis told the boy. “Across this path everything has traveled, even religion.”

  While the pilgrims with unusual customs searched a clouded sky that gave no release from the unusual warmth, the child stared at a man who had dark skin dotted with designs and a curved scimitar on his belt. “Whose God do we worship?”

  “Where Alexander ceased his campaign in the northern Indus Valley, the Vedas believe that every spirit is separate from and one with existence, like a drop of water in the ocean. Their highest God set forth the motion of all things, then created the sustainer of existence. Yeshua is this idea substantiated in the flesh. From basic dualism came the cycles of creation and destruction, but the oneness of impersonal energy is recognized by all religions.”

  Grayson laughed. “Keep talking, I think the boy understood a couple of your words when he was actually listening.”

  “To the Vedas,” Erelim continued. “What sustains humanity is the repetitious manifestation of virtue called prophets. To promote justice in the world, the nature of self-sacrifice assures that anyone who can be truly awakened is destined to work for the common good.”

  “My name is Edmund,” said the child, who watched waves slapping against the passing merchant ships as the Moor put down a finely woven mat and kneeled, facing southeast and bowing to the Earth. The orphan almost tumbled into the sea and cried out, “He’s an enemy of God!”

  “For all the misery and death of warfare,” Ario quieted him. “Worlds collide with creative fortune as well. Being at the center of it all, this city is a haven for scholars and exposure to new concepts coming from the Far East.”

  Edmund pointed to young women chatting beneath cloth coverings and vibrant dyes that seemed indelicate, like the durable fabric worn by nomads. He was fascinated by the charcoal that lined their eyes, accentuating the sultry features of the coy females.

  “Gypsies,” said Tetricus. “They could teach you more about northern India, starting with the Sutras. Better to learn young that some women wish to be passively penetrated while others devour with their body and soul. Or perhaps you should read the journal of the Venetian traveler Marco. He went further east than the Macedonians to witness the Mongol Khanate, along with a mystical black powder that ignites in various colors.”

  Edmund searched the exotic faces near the harbor while the mountains of Greece reflected the setting Sun. “This is a raft for lower people?”

  “They won’t allow us into Constantinople,” Xenakis told him. “After the First Crusade, territory in the holy land became a feudal concern over pious devotion. Templars in league with the Venetians ransacked part of the city during the Fourth Crusade to install a ruler who was friendly to the Norman Empire.”

  “What are Normans?” asked the boy.

  “Northmen,” said Ario. “Vikings who settled colonies in every country in Europe before they assimilated. We are unique among the societies of man. In the frozen north, the world outside is bitter and dark, so we do not let that darkness enter our homes. We love our women and their warmth, and we respect the strength they have that we do not.”

  “Those who helped the Pope get elected almost two hundred years ago,” said Grayson. “Men like Saint Bernard designed the Knights Templar and set in place nine men to rule over their affairs, spread from Scotland to Sinai. A small faction of our soldiers once defeated the great Saladin after he underestimated our knights and let his forces spread to plunder. When he turned his back, he was defeated, fitting Hugues de Payens’ observation of military history that a small army could overcome greater numbers if they were willing to die. To never surrender in battle, our advantage was the loss of fear by disregarding death, but at the Battle of Hattin the line of succession of Grand Master fell to Gerard de Ridefort, a terrible soldier who gave up after leading five hundred men into the desert to be slaughtered. He displayed the fallibility of the Templar code, that ideals are held by men and though these virtues may be perfect, mankind is not. What gave us power was beset by greed and now the war has ended.”

  With daylight fading, they seemed to be sunk below the Earth, riding with Charon the Boatman acros
s the River Styx. “What do the Gypsies think of you?” Edmund asked. “For having lost so much in worship of their demigod?”

  Erelim looked across the stone ramparts of Constantinople and said, “In the realm of contradiction, they would say that we pay too much heed to Shiva the destroyer.”

  * * * * *

  “I thought you had castles to rest in,” said the orphan, disheartened by their meager conditions. After the knights disembarked from the ferry at the outskirts of the city, they were far from the marketplace and the sight of wealthy men. Around them a dozen languages were spoken as Edmund scanned the foreign panoply in disgust. “My father said that there is no honor in the godless.”

  “We stay with our rural brothers,” said Ario. “There are some knights who still abide by the oaths we took.”

  “We’ll wait here overnight,” said Xenakis, helping the others tie the horses and set up tents near their supply carts at the edge of town. “By morning a ship will arrive from Sardinia to bring us to the Iberian coast.”

  “It would be best if we stayed unseen for the night,” Grayson warned. “There are rivals to the Order here. You expected gold and treasure, but all wealth in the true kingdom is not of this world.”

  The boy climbed onto one of the carts and watched the men create their nightly fire. “Some say you worship heads.”

  “Thought and emotion are faculties of the spirit. Though many tribes throughout history have viewed the head as the container of the soul, the Capetians hate us for our Gnosticism and respect for knowledge. The greatest enemy of an aristocracy is the oppressed population becoming aware of their potential freedom. Because serfs live in poverty of all forms, physical and mental, their rulers survive by keeping them naïve to the truth. This makes the monks who share wisdom the greatest danger to the decadent Holy Roman Empire. All kings must keep their people dependent on them and so does the Church.”

  “Faith is not for the brainwashed,” Edmund protested. “What else is the use of prayer?”

  Duncan readied their spiced meat and stirred the stew. “The Western Roman oligarchy was converted to the bishopric institution to maintain power during the rise of Christianity and the fall of their empire. The Church has to keep people from the optimism of Yeshua’s message, because if they received it themselves they wouldn’t need priests.”

  “That’s why Gnostics worship knowledge as the path to freedom from suffering,” Erelim added. “According to Anaximander in ancient Greece, the Apeiron was the first principle, the undivided essence of grace, peace, and purity. The radiance of this, called the Pleroma, was so effulgent that it folded back upon itself, creating self-reflection, and from that balance came the Perion, the void of separation from the Source. Both in unison create harmony and belief in the Monad holds that the gift of free will could be used to promote either light or dark. That is why we meditate.”

  “Both principles remain undivided in the Source,” said Duncan, continuing their lesson for the boy. “Pain is necessary to follow the higher path, where destruction is inherently connected to creation. We must have winter to have spring, old people must die and be replaced, and fire must consume the forest floor to make way for new seedlings. Therefore annihilation is a part of God.”

  “So what do Gnostics believe then?” asked the boy.

  “That the Demiurge is the structure of this world, the logical form of it without depth. That is why it’s so twisted. Osiris is the judge that maintains cosmic harmony at the boundary between the Underworld and complete non-existence, but during periods of time in which his mind is absent, when his brother Seth has broken him to pieces during eons that we call dark ages, the empty shape left behind creates a realm of punishment instead of justice. During the reign of the Demiurge, everyone suffers. Egyptian mythology stated that Horus as a bringer of light from the Sun god Ra had to gather the divided aspects of his father Osiris, essentially recreating law upon the Earth. The greatest of God’s children, the Archons, the healers and messengers called angels and the hellrunners called archangels, are all trying to guide existence back to the light of eternal harmony. We must sacrifice to break the Pleroma through the design of this chaotic realm and manifest divinity. That’s the reason for all the suffering in the world.” Erelim looked to the orphan, who raised his drowsy eyelids.

  Ario handed over a bowl of soup with partially spoiled meat. “Here, finish your lesson while you eat.”

  Edmund was quickly alert and stretched to get his share of the meal, though it was hardly enough to be considered charity. “Are you going to leave me with the Hospitallers?” he asked, taking in a mouthful of pungent soup.

  “You can go where you like,” said Grayson, who bit into a stale piece of bread and was glad to be spared the mold. “Tomorrow the Templar ship that dispatched us will return after collecting knights sent on missions throughout the region. You can be dropped at any port from here to Corsica.”

  “I can go where I want?”

  “You can go where you want and survive where you will, but remember that all of life is warfare,” Tetricus warned. “Those who forget are the first to fall.”

  “Do you want to know about the Holy Grail?” said Erelim, and Edmund nodded between juicy bites. “If the demigod of this fallible Universe is as sick and brutal as his creation, we shouldn’t spend our time wrapped in its illusions. It would be difficult to find evidence of a loving deity in such a dark place, but Templars believe that a death serving the true God will bring us into the light. Yeshua was a miracle among men, to reach the Source and teach others about the Pleroma, so we worship the cross because it was when Christ broke through. His crucifixion was the moment he left this place of injustice called life and opened the gates of Heaven with his blood.”

  “Knowledge is the sword and shield of God,” said Ario, pointing to the cart where Edmund was drifting to sleep.

  “The world will try to drag you down and rip the goodness from your heart,” Erelim continued in a soft voice, hoping that the boy still heard what he was saying. The rural brothers hadn’t listened to any of it, though, since philosophy was pointless when basic needs weren’t met. “Everything will be taken away from you. You will fall ill, grow old, and die. We are the children of the God who created all that contradicts itself, so let’s hope the angels are with you.”

  * * * * *

  Erelim woke to small hands shaking him. Edmund was leaning into his tent and urgently whispering about the infamous warriors of Hassan-i Sabbah, the secretive murderers of Seljuk Turks who were re-commissioned by latter warlords.

  Outside, the last logs in the campfire sent yellow tendrils reaching for the sky, where the cover of clouds obstructed the moonlight. Xenakis saw that the Sergeants who had gone to the marketplace earlier were missing, far from the city and the torches lining their streets. The Haggia Sophia in the distance looked like oversized Minoan pottery, as if the gods had dropped their treasure on Earth and humans were left to worship a broken fragment.

  When he heard scuffling in the dark, Erelim grabbed his sword. Through the faint glow in the shadows between the Templar tents, he saw someone in black holding a curved dagger. His reflexes were sharp as he tore the Asasiyun apart, pitching him backwards in a spray of blood. While the terrified Edmund huddled between carts, Grayson awoke to the ambush and peered from his tent. He swung a dull mace and snapped the intruders’ bones, startling Ario from sleep.

  An assassin tried to cut his throat by reaching through the fabric wall, but the knife failed to penetrate his chainmail. He split open the Ismaili Muslim with his crescent-shaped axe and the body fell into the campfire, throwing bright sparks over the rural brothers. As a few of the attendants were pulled into the darkness, the others ran to the horses and quickly untied them. Erelim was tackled to the ground, so he stabbed the hired killer in the face and warm blood rushed over him.

  He saw Edmund hiding under a cart and said, “It
is no longer safe to be around us, boy. Find someone wearing a black mantle and a white cross to take you in. Hospitallers are cousins to the Templars.”

  Soon after the child disappeared in the confusion, the enemy realized that the advantage of surprise was gone and abandoned the fight. The surviving knights mounted their horses and slipped away, leaving the dead to burn in their wake.

  * * * * *

  They rode far into the forests beyond the city. To the north, they could see the Balkan mountain range as day broke in the east with the light of dawn, bringing new sadness to the knights who realized how few of them had escaped.

  “How long shall we ride without food?” Tetricus groaned. “We were down to scraps before we stopped and now we have little to barter with.”

  “We’ll head to Sofia and find an inn that serves pilgrims,” said Erelim.

  “The warriors of Hassan are not commissioned easily,” said Grayson. “None of our rivals have access to killers beyond local mercenaries. Professional assassinations are political and those men were elite.”

  Ariovistes removed his knightly mantle. “We’re too low on supplies to ride to Aragon and I’ll not return to the city with a mark upon my forehead. As far as we know, our Templar ship will be docking in Constantinople within a few hours and I’d like to have more information before I go shouting conspiracy. The rest of us can scout as civilians while you continue on to Sofia. Once there, we’ll meet you with reinforcements.”

  “They knew where to find us,” said Erelim. “Be careful who you trust.”

  After stripping off declarations of Templar loyalty, Duncan and the others left the two remaining knights with their attendants.

  “Where’s Edmund?” Grayson noticed.

  “He escaped during the fight,” Xenakis replied.

  “Alone in the city? Might as well be thrown to wolves...”

  * * * * *

  They traveled northwest until reaching the mountains. Through weather dense enough to lose track of the days that passed, it was getting colder by the hour when they saw emaciated bodies slumped by the side of the road. Citizens who were near starvation started migrating as if something had scared them from their town, but they died while walking away and dropped where their strength had failed them.