Blood Infernal

by James Rollins

  Hugh beamed at the lion. “Remarkable,” he murmured. “Something wholly new. A creature tainted not by darkness, but rather illuminated by light. May I ask how you came by him, Father Korza?”

  Rhun looked surprised that Hugh knew his name, but Erin suspected the man knew much more than his pleasant demeanor implied. One didn’t survive for centuries, hiding from the Sanguinist order, without honing some talent at subterfuge

  “I killed his mother in the desert in Egypt,” Rhun explained. “She was an injured blasphemare.”

  Hugh straightened. “I imagine she was one of those unfortunate beasts caught by that holy blast in the desert.”

  “That’s right,” Rhun said slowly.

  Even this surprised Erin. Only a handful of people knew about that event. Most of them were right in this room. So this hermit was more attuned to current events than anyone would have guessed.

  “After I slew his mother, the cub came to me,” Rhun explained. “I brought him away to keep him safe.”

  “By the rules of your order, you should have killed the child. Yet, you did not.” Hugh shook his head in mock disapproval. “Did you know that the Buddhists consider lions to be bodhisattvas—sons of the Buddha? They are thought to be beings who have attained a high level of spiritual enlightenment. They stay in this world to free others from their suffering. You are fortunate indeed, Father Korza, that this beast chose you. Perhaps it’s because you wear the crown of the Knight of Christ.”

  Hugh eyed Erin and Jordan. “And travel with the Warrior of Man and the Woman of Learning.”

  Jordan spoke up. “How come you know so much about us?”

  His question was ignored as Hugh ran his fingers along the cub’s side, eliciting a steady purr. Only then did he rise again and face Jordan, but instead of answering his question, he held out a hand.

  “May I see the gemstone you carry in your pocket?”

  Jordan took a step back, but Erin grabbed his elbow. There was no reason to keep any secrets, especially as this man seemed to know theirs anyway. And they needed any answers that Hugh de Payens might provide.

  “Show him,” Erin urged.

  Jordan dug around in his pants pocket and pulled out the two pieces of the broken green stone.

  Hugh took them and nudged the two halves together in his palm. He held the stone up to the torchlight, as if to verify the design infused into its surface. “It’s been centuries since I last saw this stone, when it was intact, uncorrupted.”

  He lowered his hand and passed the pieces back to Jordan. He paused only long enough to cock his head, staring at the design twined across Jordan’s skin. “It seems you are indeed a fitting bearer of this particular gem,” he said cryptically.

  Erin used this statement as a way to broach the reason they had traveled here. “We are looking for two more stones. Very much like this one.”

  Hugh smiled at her. “You are mistaken. The other two are nothing like this one.”

  “So you know of them?” Rhun moved closer. “We believe that they are key to—”

  “To fulfilling your latest prophecy.”

  “Will you help us?” Erin asked.

  Before Hugh could answer, the cub let out a mewling cry of simple hunger.

  “It seems there are more immediate concerns to address first.” Hugh gestured toward the archway that led farther into the mountain. “Join me in my home. I have dry towels, along with food and wine for those in need of nourishment.”

  He rubbed the lion’s head with one knuckle. “And of course, meat and milk for you, my friend.”

  Erin followed Hugh de Payens, as he led them deeper into the mysteries locked within this mountain.

  But can we trust him?

  March 19, 4:48 P.M. CET

  Pyrenees Mountains, France

  Rhun dropped his hand on the lion’s head as they followed Hugh through the second doorway, which revealed a winding staircase heading up, cut through the same stone. As the group ascended, they passed landings leading to other levels, each sealed with stout doors. He pictured the labyrinth of tunnels that likely coursed through this mountain.

  But their host led them ever upward, holding aloft a smoky torch.

  The stairway ended at another door, this one wood strapped in iron.

  “Open!” called Hugh through it.

  The thick portal swung wide. Rhun followed Hugh over the threshold into what appeared to be a church. To the far left was the tall door they had spotted through the waterfall. It was presently closed, but he still heard the muffled roar beyond, picturing what it must look like when those massive double doors were thrown open upon that cascading veil, the waters lit by the eastern sun when a new day dawned.

  Through the windows on either side and above the door, he could catch some glimpse of that spectacle, but the glass was stained, the work of a true master. The circle over the door displayed a perfect rose, its petals blooming in every shade of red. The smaller flanking windows showed flowering trees, their bowers full of doves and ravens, their shadows hiding deer and wolves, lambs and lions, all living in harmony.

  Rhun stepped farther in the room, but he cautioned the others to hang back.

  They were not alone.

  In the deeper shadows at the other end of the church stalked the four shaggy dogs that had attacked them in the forest. Other beasts stirred back there, crimson eyes glowing, revealing their accursed natures. He spotted a pair of grimwolves, a black leopard, and hulking on one knuckle was a mountain gorilla.

  “Do not be afraid,” Hugh said, standing to the side with the torch. “You are my guests . . . until I say otherwise.”

  Rhun moved out with the others, but he kept everyone back from that dark menagerie, whose eyes watched their group with equal suspicion. He frowned at the state of this small cathedral. The nave held no pews, and the stone floor was spread with straw. A dozen cots lined the walls, while smaller side chapels were penned off, revealing troughs and thick beds of loose hay.

  Sophia nudged Rhun, nodding toward tall, thin figures hovering near marble statues.

  Strigoi.

  At least a dozen.

  The strigoi had no weapons that he could see, save perhaps those garden tools leaning against the walls—rakes, hoes, and spades.

  “You need fear no one here, Father Korza,” Hugh tried to reassure him.

  Rhun hoped that he was telling the truth. He glanced around at the building itself. Rather than raw rock, the walls were covered in white bricks, soaring up into great gothic vaults. Huge wrought-iron chandeliers hung down, dripping with candlewax.

  Even up there, creatures stirred.

  Hugh noted his attention, lifted an arm and whistled.

  A shred of black shadow broke away and swept down, landing on his wrist.

  It was an ebony-feathered raven with glowing eyes. Its beak was a spear, its claws true talons. Hugh used a finger to gently ruffle the feathers along its neck. The bird bowed, rubbing back in turn.

  “This is Muninn.” Hugh glanced upward, searching the roof. “Huginn is up there, too. Or perhaps he’s off hunting.”

  Erin must have recognized the names. “Odin’s ravens,” she said. “They were said to be able to fly around the world, bringing information to the Norse god, keeping him informed of everything. You’re not suggesting these are—”

  “The same ones? No, my dear,” Hugh said with a smile. “It just amuses me to call them by those names. And the pair is but two of a great flock that haunts these forests, a mix of blasphemare and natural birds.”

  “Amazing,” Erin said, her gaze searching the ceilings.

  Rhun suspected she wasn’t looking for more birds, but her attention was captured by the decoration across the vaulted roof. The ceiling was white, but red stars and blue wheels had been painted across its surface, forming an elaborate, fanciful design.

  “The frescoes above,” Erin muttered, confirming Rhun’s guess. “They’re extraordinary. They look Middle Eastern—with the whe
els and stars—but not quite, somehow.”

  She wandered off a few steps to better take them in.

  Jordan kept to her side. Elizabeth trailed after them after Rhun quietly signaled her to do so.

  Sophia waved to the beasts and strigoi. “How did they come to be here?”

  Hugh looked lovingly upon his flock, as Muninn hopped to his shoulder. “It is my experience that creatures seek out their true masters. To reach my sanctuary, many blasphemare and strigoi traveled hundreds of miles. I did not call them. They are drawn to me, just as this sweet lion was drawn to Rhun.”

  Rhun rubbed the cub’s head. “But how do you keep them from killing in these mountains?”

  Hugh lifted his arms. “Because, like you, they have made peace with their nature. Instead of being ruled by their savage blood, they control it. They are no longer killers.”

  Sophia looked little convinced by the man’s words.

  Rhun could not blame her. “How does one find peace outside the bounds of the Church?”

  “Acceptance and mindfulness,” Hugh answered. “I was taught certain techniques during my travels long ago, ways to open your mind and develop patience and love. I can teach them to you, if you like. All are welcome here.”

  Hugh motioned gently behind him. “Francesca, would you join us? I’ve found truths are best heard from the lips of those who have experienced them firsthand.”

  A slim woman parted from the shadows only yards away. Rhun had not even known she had been there. She was likely once beautiful, with long pale blond hair and supple limbs, but there was a gentle frailty about her thin frame. She smiled at Hugh, love shining from her eyes.

  Rhun noted the hint of fangs, the lack of a heartbeat.

  “Tell them,” Hugh said.

  “We were first taught awareness,” she whispered reverently. “Awareness of our nature, of who we are. To know we are one of God’s creatures.”

  Sophia made a scoffing noise. “You are predators, preying upon the weak.”

  Francesca smiled sadly at her. “No one judges a lion for bringing down a gazelle. It is the lion’s nature, and the lion need feel no guilt or shame.”

  Hugh moved to a stool and sat down. A three-legged gray fox scurried over and jumped onto Hugh’s lap. A clean white bandage had been fastened around its stump, and Rhun felt a twinge of sympathy for it. When Hugh stroked its back, the fox leaned against him, showing no fear, not even of the lion, whose ears had perked up at the sight of the injured animal.

  “But how do you sustain yourselves?” Rhun asked.

  “Somewhat with wine,” Hugh answered. “Like you.”

  “Monsieur de Payens, can you still consecrate wine, even after turning your back upon the Church?” Elizabeth asked.

  “A priest bears an indelible mark upon his soul,” Rhun explained, “which means that one remains a priest and can consecrate wine even after one leaves the Church.”

  Sophia picked out a guileful detail to the man’s explanation. “You said wine somewhat sustains you. What else does it take?”

  “Blood, of course.” Hugh showed no sign of shame or guilt at this admission. “As Francesca has told you, we are all predators and must accept our natures.”

  Rhun felt sickened, remembering how Rasputin’s followers mixed wine with human blood to survive. They remained killers. It seemed Hugh had fallen into the same sinful trap. He remembered too well the taste of Rasputin’s blood-damned wine.

  Hugh held up a hand. “Understand, we take as little as we need to survive—but we also have a right to survive. As I mentioned awareness is but one half of a whole. Mindfulness is just as important.”

  Francesca nodded in agreement, explaining, “While we accept and are aware of our nature, we must be mindful not to lose control. We meditate, learn to separate need from desire, taking only what is necessary and right.”

  “How can any killing be right?” Rhun asked.

  Francesca folded her thin hands. “We only take the blood from those who are suffering or those who inflict suffering upon others.”

  “Our purpose is to end suffering,” Hugh expounded. “We find those who are in terrible pain and wish to die. Those who are so wracked with disease and will never recover. We end their lives with mercy, grace, and joy.”

  As a priest, Rhun had spent time with the dying. While he balked at such a concept as killing as an act of mercy, he knew how man had created technology to stave off death, but so often it seemed these methods were used to extend suffering, to prolong an inevitable end to an unnatural length.

  Hugh sighed. “And when we can find no others, we sometimes take the lives of those who inflict suffering on the innocent. Rapists, murderers. But in truth, we rarely need to resort to such means. Like I said, we sustain ourselves on as little blood as possible.”

  Jordan spoke up, reminding them that this was not why they had come. “All well and good, but what about those other two stones?”

  “I am in possession of one of the stones,” Hugh admitted. “But it must be earned. To prove you are worthy to bear it from here.”

  “Earned how?” Jordan asked.

  “Your Woman of Learning must show her worth.” Hugh’s eyes settled on Erin. “She must prove her grasp of awareness to find where the stone has been hidden—and demonstrate her mindfulness to discover where it must be taken.”

  5:07 P.M.

  Great, Erin thought sardonically. Should be a walk in the park.

  On the helicopter flight, she had read up on Hugh de Payens and his history with the Knights Templars, but she likely hadn’t learned even a tenth of what she might need to know to face his challenge.

  Hugh stood up from his stool, sending the injured fox back to his den in the shadows. “So, Woman of Learning, what can you tell me of this place?”

  She glanced around the surrounding chapels, vaults, and walls, noting the crosslike shape typical of all great churches, but her gaze settled on the most unique detail: the roof.

  “Medieval churches aren’t my specialty,” she admitted. “But some of these decorations are similar to those at St. Christophe’s Chapel in Montsaunes, France, a building built by the Templars, the order you founded.”

  “I remember that chapel’s construction.”

  She took this as a positive sign and studied the frescoes above more attentively. Was this the test of her awareness? Was she supposed to decipher the riddle up there?

  Tilting her head, she searched for clues. Amid the kaleidoscope of red stars and blue wheels overhead, other fanciful designs had been painted there: moons, suns, and a variety of geometric shapes. She saw influences from both Islamic and Egyptian culture. That multispoked wheel definitely looked Buddhist. Her eyes began to blur at the sheer volume, the disharmony of its design.

  Staring up, she suspected this was done purposefully, to make the viewer miss the forest for the trees. It would indeed require awareness to ignore the chaos and see through to the inner truth.

  She stared up and slowly stripped each culture’s iconography from that vast fresco, turning it in her mind’s eye, judging it on its own. Unfortunately, she found nothing significant in this exercise. She wondered if these were examples of the cultures that Hugh had visited after leaving the Church. Cardinal Bernard said Hugh had traveled much of the globe before settling in France.

  But how does that help me? She closed her eyes. What am I not seeing?

  Then she knew.

  She opened her eyes, clearing those symbols off the roof, looking for the truth hidden behind the noise, behind the cacophony of mankind.

  The forest behind the trees.

  Once the fanciful decorations were stripped away in her mind’s eye, only one display was still left painted up there, in the background of the clutter.

  The stars.

  They were eternal.

  “Paper,” she said, holding out an arm. “And a pen.”

  Rhun rummaged through her pack and passed her a notebook and a ballpoint. She set ab
out mapping those stars, noting the constellations. Several were larger, more prominently displayed. The stars painted in those constellations were six-pointed, not five like the others.

  As she worked, she heard Jordan confront Hugh. “Why can’t you just tell us?”

  “It is a test,” Hugh repeated adamantly. “The trio must show themselves to be worthy.”

  “Then what’s my test?” Jordan pressed.

  “You already passed it. In the forest, you sacrificed yourself without a fight, proving you were a Warrior who could achieve his goals through peace and nonviolence.”

  “Then what about my test?” Rhun asked.

  “It came with you.” Hugh bowed his head toward the cub. “You, a Knight of Christ, took pity and mercy on a creature you believed to be born of darkness, defying the edicts of your order to kill it on sight. For such mercy, you came away with a miracle of light and grace.”

  And now it’s my turn.

  Erin suddenly wished she had gotten a simpler test. But she was the Woman of Learning. She must figure this out on her own.

  She did a final comparison between the star map painted on the ceiling and what she had copied down. Satisfied, she headed back to Hugh with notebook in hand. She felt like a student coming to the front of the class to solve a problem on the blackboard.

  “It’s the stars,” she said. “That’s what you wanted me to be aware of through all that noise above.”

  Hugh smiled, but remained silent.

  I’m on the right track.

  She remembered a Hermetic principle often associated with the Knights Templar: As above, so below. Stars had been a tool for navigation since the beginning of civilization, to use the positions of the stars above, to find meaning down here on earth.

  She worked it out aloud, pacing. “I’m supposed to figure out where on earth this sky would be visible, but to do that I would need to know which date this particular sky would appear.”

  She studied her page in the notebook. The more prominent constellations depicted above were those associated with spring: Cancer, Leo, Virgo . . .

  So this must be a spring sky.