The tall monk turned to them with a smile. “Can I be of assistance?”
“Yes. We want to pay a visit to Don Federico,” James used the title don’ which was a traditional way to address a monk who had taken monastic vows. “Where can we find him?”
The monk looked at them in surprise. “Brother Federico is not available for visitors. Are you acquaintances?”
Lino pulled out the top piece of paper from the clipboard he was carrying. “I’ve got permission from Cardinal Mori to visit him. Here is His Eminence’s letter,” he said and handed the paper to the monk. “We hope you’ll facilitate our meeting with Don Federico.”
Before the three of them had set off for the monastery, Lino had fulfilled his promise to check if the old monk was still alive and living there and get permission to interview him. He managed to complete this rather complicated task quickly due to his reputation as a long-term lay Catholic supporter and the connections of a cousin who was a secretary-clerk in the Vatican.
The tall monk read the letter. “Of course. At your service. Brother Pietro will take you to him.” He pointed to the monk with glasses, who nodded amicably.
“You’re Brother Federico’s first visitors for a long time,” said brother Pietro.
“Can we assume he’s in good health? We’ll be able to talk to him, won’t we?” asked James.
“For his age he’s in good physical condition. I don’t know if you’re aware … he’s not well in his mind.”
“We heard he was injured during some assault on him,” said Lino.
“It happened decades ago.” Brother Pietro paused briefly. “His skull was fractured. Since then, he became difficult to communicate with. He speaks very little and incoherently. It’s hardly possible to hear anything from him that makes sense.”
“Actually, that misfortune of his, the events and people involved in it, is what brings us here,” said James.
The monk wrinkled his nose in a sceptical grimace. “I hope you have success with him,” he said and looked around. “At this hour he normally sits in the chapel… Follow me, please.”
He led them towards the church. They walked through an open Gothic cloister. Its solid pillars, massive arches and the large flags that covered the ground were made of the same light-grey stone that was used for the construction of the monastic complex. Generations of Benedictines had not changed anything since the thirteenth century when the building had been completed. If one could clear one’s mind of daily preoccupations and worries for a few moments and cast a look at the surrounding centuries-old buildings, one would feel as if one had been transferred back in time.
James had this magnificent feeling while he walked next to brother Pietro. Many people probably come here when they reach a crossroads in life to try to discern which path to take, he thought. I have the same expectations, the same hope… The cult must be stopped.
Irina’s voice broke the flow of his thoughts. “Don Pietro, who attacked the poor old monk and why?”
“It was a burglary. He had just returned from a mission in Ecuador. He went to Rome in relation to some relics and texts which he brought from the mission. Before the incident, Brother Federico was an anthropologist. He had an interest in pre-Columbus civilizations. In Rome he was attacked. All these religious artefacts were stolen. The burglars hit him on the head and left him for dead. He survived, though. The burglars were never found.”
Another crime unsolved, thought James.
Before reaching the church’s main entrance, brother Pietro stopped next to a large wooden nail-studded door. He opened it with effort and led them inside. They walked along a spacious corridor, the walls of which were decorated with scenes of the life of Saint Benedict and some of the miracles he performed. At the end of the corridor, there was door, wide open.
“That’s the sacristy,” brother Pietro informed them as they entered. “From here you can get into the church.” He indicated to another open door, through which the church altar could be seen.
The sacristy was a large room with old wooden closets and benches along one of the walls. There were also some glass cases containing ritual priest garments, and a huge wooden table with chairs placed in the middle of the room.
“The chapel is underground,” said brother Pietro. He pointed to a staircase leading downwards, which their eyes had missed at first because the table was in the way. “Wait for me here. I must first talk to the monk who takes care of brother Federico.” He quickly descended the staircase and muted voices could be heard. Soon, brother Pietro’s head popped up above the floor. He invited them to climb down.
The underground room was well illuminated by many candles and some hidden electric lights – the only mark in this medieval atmosphere that hinted it was twenty-first century after all. The chapel had an oval ceiling and there were several tiers of stone benches in front of a small altar. Murals on the ceiling and walls depicted gospel scenes: the Holy Spirit descending over the twelve disciples; the Virgin and the infant; Judas’ kiss; Doubting Thomas, and others.
A stooping figure in a monastic robe sat on the first tier of benches. A tall middle-aged monk stood nearby.
Their guide introduced him. “Brother Lorenzo.” The monk walked towards them and said, “It’s better if only one of you talks with brother Federico. Too many unknown faces could be overwhelming for him. The rest of you can wait upstairs.”
Irina nodded to James. Lino gave him the clipboard and then followed Irina and brother Pietro back upstairs.
James approached the old monk. “Don Federico, my name is James Whiteway. I’d like to talk to you.”
The old monk’s face, furrowed with wrinkles, held no expression whatsoever. His eyelids were half shut. Behind them, a small part of his irises could be seen. They were empty and without focus. James waited a bit and asked if they could talk about his mission in Ecuador, and the religious texts and artefacts he had brought from there. Brother Federico did not respond, so James took the pieces of paper off the clipboard and placed them on the bench so the old monk could see them. On them were drawings of the symbols used by the cult. James slowly turned the sheets, showing each one to the old monk. There was no reaction. Disappointment seized James.
“Some days he doesn’t utter a word,” said brother Lorenzo, responding to the despairing look James gave him.
James was thinking about what he could do to catch the attention of brother Federico. He came up with an idea. He took out his pen and drew a swastika on the back of one of the sheets of paper. He then put it close to his chest and said, “The Deprived of Light is a Gift for the Wisdom Keeper.”
The old monk blinked quickly and opened his eyes. His voice was barely audible. “Pray for salvation.”
“Pray for the salvation of my soul?” asked James.
“Salvation of the light … from the abyss… Guard yourself from the Ancient Serpent who deceives the whole of existence…” uttered brother Federico in snatches. He leaned forward, grabbed and feebly tried to pull the picture of the swastika towards him.
James placed it on the bench next to him.
The old monk lowered his arm, his fingers moving in the air. It looked like he was tapping invisible piano keys. “They are here … among us…” he shouted.
“I’m sorry to interrupt you, sir.” Brother Lorenzo’s voice sounded excited. “Please, give him something to write on. The movement of his hand … it means he wants to write something down. He hasn’t expressed such a desire for years.”
James stuck a piece of paper onto the clipboard and passed it, together with his pen, to brother Federico. He took it and turned the sheet over. On it were two signs that had been drawn around the corpse of Stefan Costov. James had sketched these together on a separate sheet because they were the only symbols whose interpretation was still in question. One was the V-shaped symbol that resembled two inclined human stick figures looking in opposite directions. In his report to Peter Oliver, James had interpreted it as symbolizing the many
divisions in the contemporary world. The second sign resembled a man making an offering, or bowing, to two serpents. It symbolized the world order, which the cult was trying to impose.
Brother Federico very slowly began putting little crosses on the drawings at points where the joints of human figures would be. After a short while, he stopped as if he had lost interest in what he was doing. The pen slipped from between his fingers. The clipboard would have dropped to the floor if James had not caught it.
The old monk rested his shoulders against the bench. His lips formed the word, “Pray!”
James waited for a minute, but brother Federico had switched himself off from the world once more.
“It’s a miracle that you managed to make him so active,” brother Lorenzo told James when he stood up.
“We were told he practised impulsive writing. Could we take a look at some of his drawings? If some were preserved,” asked James.
“I saw him doing this many years ago, before I started to look after him,” responded brother Lorenzo. “I don’t know why anybody would preserve such drawings.” He thought for a moment before adding, “All brother Federico’s property is kept in a small chest in his room. If some of his writings were preserved, they would be there.”
“They’re here … among us… Murder!” shouted the old monk suddenly. He was pointing at the drawings of the swastika that James held in front of him.
“We’d like to see these drawings and writings. If they still exist,” said James.
“Only the Father Abbot can give permission for that to happen,” said brother Lorenzo. “Brother Pietro could make the request on your behalf.”
James thanked him and said goodbye. Now he knew that there was a real possibility they could establish a link between the cult and the discoveries brother Federico had made in Latin America. Unfortunately, the old monk’s entangled mind was the greatest keeper of the secret. The last hope could lie amongst his possessions.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
The Abbot did grant permission for brother Federico’s chest to be searched, but only on the condition that none of its contents would be taken outside the monastery. Neither were they allowed to photograph or make photocopies of any of the documents.
Brother Pietro left them alone in the room with a few chairs and a table with some bottles of mineral water and a stock of plastic cups on it.
In the chest, on the top, was a wooden crucifix on a rope designed to be worn around the neck. Under this, creased papers filled the chest. The drawings on most of them overlapped one another and were almost indistinguishable. There were also some older yellowing papers covered with short texts, indecipherable lines and words written randomly, and an old personal diary from the time before the attack.
Irina took a quick look at the chest’s contents before ordering a taxi to take her to Rome, where she intended to acquaint herself with the police archives on the assault on brother Federico. Meanwhile James and Lino remained in the room and began scrutinizing brother Federico’s drawings and writings.
“You say the old monk marked these points with crosses … after that he stopped paying attention to you?” asked Lino, pointing at the marks in question in succession with his index finger on the drawings of the two stick-figure symbols.
“Yes,” James confirmed, taking his eyes away from brother Federico’s diary for a moment.
Lino continued to stare at the drawings. He turned the sheet of paper several times and looked at it from different perspectives. “So, it’s possible that he intended to mark all the points where the lines of the drawings join.” He illustrated what he meant by again pointing on the drawing.
“Completely possible,” said James. “Why, does it matter?”
“I’ve got a hunch about what these markings could signify … stars. Yes, these are stars.”
James reached over the table and grabbed the sheet. He looked at it and then turned it as Lino had done. “Indeed!” he exclaimed and pointed at one of the symbols. “That symbol … it depicts the constellation Aquarius. When linked by lines, the stars of that constellation resemble a drawing of a man making an offering.”
“The one resembling two inclined human figures standing foot to foot are actually the linked stars of the constellation Pisces,” Lino added.
James enthusiastically slapped Lino’s shoulder. “Well done, Lino.”
“The question is how does this affect your interpretation of the symbols from the scene of the Bulgarian’s murder?”
“It sheds more light on them. These two symbols have given me a headache since the beginning. As they were drawn on both sides of the corpse, I considered each to be in a group with the closest symbols. In fact, they’re directly related to each other.”
“Aquarius and Pisces are neighbouring constellations. Astrologists say they’re the constellations that now influence the destiny of our world.”
“It appears that in the pictography at Costov’s murder scene, these two symbols indicate time. The present. From an astrological point of view, we’re in the time when the earth slips out of Pisces’ influence and falls under Aquarius’ influence. The cult obviously consider this transitional period as favourable for pursuing their goals. That’s why they’re perpetrating these ritual killings now.”
Contentment brightened Lino’s face. “We still haven’t looked at all of Don Federico’s writings and yet already we’re advancing. If Irina digs something up as well we’ll see the strings of their net more clearly.”
“If information relating the cult with the attack on Don Federico is stored in the police archives, she’ll find it,” said James with conviction.
“Okay. Let’s concentrate on the work,” said Lino.
Brother Federico’s drawings reflected his entangled visions after the incident. He must have leafed through them many times because they were creased and bore many fingerprints. Every centimetre was filled with a mixture of Christian symbols, biblical quotations, elements of pre-Columbus Indian iconography, unrelated words, and senseless scribbles. On the other hand, the diary included entries from before the incident. Judging by the content, this must have been Brother Federico’s anthropological field diary from his mission in Latin America. He obviously possessed great interest in the myths and legends of the Indian tribes he had been in contact with, as the diary was filled mostly with that type of text. It was clear that many of the entries had been written in the field because of the poor handwriting. Some parts were written legibly and methodically, with contiguous notes, dates and bibliographical references. On some pages, Brother Federico had included samples of Indian pictography as well as separate drawings with explanatory notes.
One or two drawings attracted James’ attention. One of them depicted a man sitting cross-legged next to a large sphere. Between the man and the sphere was what looked like a pipe with a funnel-like end. The funnel was right in front of the man’s face; its other end touched the sphere. On the next page was a drawing of some sort of building surrounded by water. The building was composed of three cylindrical segments – the widest segment was the fundament, the middle-sized one lay on top, and on the top of that was the narrowest segment. Clouds partially veiled the upper part of the building and a sun was shining above them. These two drawings illustrated a long article entitled ‘Dreams from the Old World’. In brackets beneath the title was written ‘Genesis’. On the last page of the notebook after this text was another drawing showing a murder scene. A man, holding something like a horn in the shape of an elongated spiral, was standing above a prone body.
Stefan Costov was stabbed in the heart with a horn, remembered James. He leafed back through the diary until the title ‘Dreams from the Old World’ appeared and immersed himself in reading: During the previous epoch, in the middle of the ocean the Island Mountain towered, and its peak reached up to the sky. Gods and people lived together on it. All venerated the Great Snake-Spirit – creator and destroyer of worlds – and Her god-Steward. The Snake-Spirit m
arked the gods, their priests and multitudes of servants so they could see each other’s souls. They lived on the higher flanks of the Island Mountain. The rest of the people, who didn’t bear the mark, inhabited its lower sides and the wild lands. They worked hard to provide for their gods and their servants, who spent their time in amusements and practicing the magical knowledge the Snake-Spirit had entrusted to them. The gods used magic to make people live in a dreamlike state. Thus, the people obeyed the gods’ will totally. If they were called to be sacrificed for the sake of the Great Snake-Spirit, they walked to the altar with a smile on their face. If they had to give up an offspring to satisfy the gods’ desires, they felt honoured. Order reigned over the earth and this order was never changed for generation after generation. The two snakes – that of the gods and that of the people – lived in peace and harmony. Order was maintained through the All-Seeing Eye. It could penetrate into the souls of the living and the dead. The Eye was hidden deep in the Island Mountain’s womb where it was darker than the darkest night. Priests gazed into the Eye day and night through telescopes made of four types of precious stone: yellow, red, blue and green. They could see what the Eye could see, and that’s how they watched over the world. Sometimes it happened that a few people woke up from the ‘sleepy’ magic of the gods. Awakening, they saw the world with unveiled eyes and wanted to obey the gods and venerate the Snake-Spirit no more. But the priests discovered them because their souls began to shine with a new light and they became distinctive to the All-Seeing Eye. The awakened ones were captured. The priests gave them the Oblivion Drink and then pierced their hearts with a horn. The awakened souls were channelled through the horn to be banished forever into the ‘World with no Exit’. Yet one day from the ocean an alien wind blew. It covered the Eye and the priests couldn’t see how one man stopped dreaming out his life. The light of his soul became bigger than the earth itself and there was no way to put it out. This man became the First Truly Awakened One. The Awakened One left his body so he could enter into the dreams of other people and teach them how to ignite the light of their souls His dream disciples woke up as well and passed his knowledge to others. Then the eyes of more people opened and they rebelled against the gods and their servants and took over the dwellings in the higher mountain areas. The people’s anger disturbed the magic that held the Island Mountain above the water and the ocean swallowed it. Many died. Thus, the dominance of the gods and the worshipping of the Great Snake-Spirit came to an end. Those amongst the people who managed to get onto the gods’ ships escaped the crumbling Island Mountain and the raging waters. They reached new land and settled on a blessed place beneath the rainbow, which the survivors had stolen from the peak of the Island Mountain. Among them were disciples of the First Awakened One and they led the people on the Path of Knowledge. The epoch of free humankind had begun.
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