by Athanasios
“She called it instinct, something you could not help, and that is why we moved to the Ornolac caves. I would be a voice in the darkness and she would not have to worry about others I might harm or kill,” Ursus smiled at his memory. “Why was she forbidden and who dared to forbid her?”
“The Grand Master at that time, Arnold de Toroga, forbade her to enter into an order that rejected breeding. Her blood was the most righteous of any other on earth. He said that it must be passed on to other families. It had to continue; it could not die out.
“We returned to de Toroga’s chapter house and told him that the line could not die out if she became a Parfait. Natalie was not an only child, but Templars, being Templars, remained adamant, until Natalie suggested a bargain. She noted one of her nieces was quite friendly with one of Arnold’s nephews, so she proposed a marriage. By mingling with the Sangrael, his house would gain prestige, and Natalie could gain his allowance.”
“Why did she need his permission?” Ursus asked.
“For centuries, the Templars have protected the Sangrael. Well, before Templars, they were Essenes, who watched over Mary, with Rachel and their descendants. This continued to the Merovingian kings when they sat on the French throne. Even after they became regular folk their bloodlines were revered. So they, of the Sangrael, listened to the Templars out of, what Natalie called it; instinct.” Simon smiled, “You understand instinct, don’t you?”
Ursus smiled back and nodded.
“So, with that bargain, she became a Parfait, as if born to it, and the Cathari gained a way to salvage their beliefs.”
“So, the Templars guard Natalie’s family and have for centuries? I’ve always heard others speak of the Sangrael, and mention her royal blood. Are there more of her family in France?”
Simon was becoming confused by the conversation. “There is at least a family, or several, close to every Templar chapter house in Christendom. They are always vigilant and have never revealed their true mission to the Catholics.” Simon continued, “You mean, you never knew Natalie’s family? What this Sangrael is, to which everyone has referred for all these years?”
“It is as the name says, royal blood: sange real. The Merovingians, you just told me.” Ursus’ brows met over the top of his nose.
“How far into your initiations has Natalie led you?” Simon asked. “For how many years did she teach the Gospels?”
“It will be twelve years, or would’ve been, with the new summer,” he replied.
“So, you know of the crucifixion and Jesus is our savior, the one we revere. Did she teach you that Cathari, and the earlier Gnostics, believe that Jesus was an extraordinary man, but human, just the same? Some believe he never died on the cross and the Essenes sacrificed one of their own in his place.” Simon saw Ursus was not following what he was saying.
“The point on which most do agree, at least Gnostics, Cathari and Templars, is Jesus was a man who grew to adulthood and fathered children. Their descendants came to France and were the Merovingians, including Natalie, her brothers, sisters and any of their children.”
Ursus looked at Simon in disbelief. Disbelief was then followed by confusion, followed by anger, once again confusion, and finally replaced with understanding. “Natalie never came out and said it, so I never even thought that anyone descended from Jesus, but she did tell me of past lives. Some we shared. In one, we were crucified at the hands of the Romans. Now, once again, the Romans are winning.”
Simon asked another question. “This past life you mentioned, what do you remember of her story?”
“What we both remembered was not knowing who we were. Whether it was because of the pain of the nails that held us to the crosses, or the nearness of death, but we could not even remember our names. There were two others on the hill, with a sky over us like the end of the world. The heavens waited in frustrated rage, ready to fall on all who watched us die,” Ursus spoke as if it happened in his own lifetime. He had the same emotional attachment as when he spoke about his childhood or meeting Natalie. This was real, though he was someone else and breathed through different lungs and lips.
“I heard someone say to forgive them, and in the final moment of fear, ask why his father had forsaken him. I can’t recall if it was me, and Natalie could not either, but we were there as one of them.”
For a few moments, Simon was silent and looked at the big man, trying to see this life of which he spoke. In the returned gaze, he saw no guile, no attempt to deceive. In truth, he did not think anyone could make Ursus do anything he did not wish.
“Did Natalie seek you out because of this — these shared lifetimes?” Simon asked.
“Why else would anyone love this sight?” he asked in return.
“I did,” Simon responded.
“I’m grateful, Simon, but you never looked at me the way she did. Nowhere else have I seen the same complete acceptance. It was that easy. As easy as saying it, no, thinking it,” Ursus said.
“You’re right, but why do you think she wanted to connect with this other part of herself?” Simon’s question was easily answered.
“Instinct. Her instinct was to complete herself. It is the same reason she wanted to be a Perfecti; she was driven to it. She wanted and needed to help the world around her. She had to find her other half, the rest of her soul. I also felt complete when I was with her. This is something which most will never feel,” Ursus said.
“I’ve heard the troubadours call it courtly or romantic love. Chaste love,” Simon said.
“Those wandering minstrels wouldn’t understand,” Ursus snapped. “They talk about hidden glances and secret meanings. None of that ever happened with us. Our love went beyond anything written in verse, or which will ever be understood. Sever your limbs, all of them, and then put them back in such a way that it seems that they were never severed. This is the connection we shared. We were one, not like the romances, full of hidden and double meanings. We were a single soul, not two connected. A single soul.”
Ursus stopped, not knowing how to explain further. Finally, Simon understood his love for her; no explanation was necessary.
“Put limbs onto someone born without them, or give sight to someone who is blind, and that was what you two were,” Simon said.
“Exactly,” Ursus exhaled, “exactly.”
“In these past lives, some we lived as one, in others we lived separately. About those we told the other, and came out of it with conscious lessons, lest we repeat wasted efforts. In the last life, Natalie showed me that a sacrifice counts to those attaching value to it,” Ursus said.
“What did she mean?” Simon looked at him quizzically.
“Jesus, dying on the cross, only had meaning to those who believe he was the messiah. To others, it was a criminal executed, while to others their enemy the Weakling, was defeated. Even those who saw value in his death cannot agree what that value was, or how to show it to the world. These diluted interpretations ruin the sacrifice. Each of us has lost the true meaning of the sacrifice. More importantly, we have missed the entire point of the sacrifice, making his life, and all the torment and terror through which he went, pointless.”
Simon looked stricken. “Then why do you believe and practice the Cathari way? What’s the point, if you say this with such belief? Did Natalie think this too?”
“She’s the one who first said it,” Ursus answered.
“Then why did she not renounce her calling? Give up this pointless life?” This upset Simon tremendously.
“Her beliefs weren’t pointless the sacrifice was. We were saddened the teaching of this extraordinary man was lost to history and interpretation. None ever understood the true reason for which he was killed,” Ursus sighed regretfully. “Now, the Cathari are being wiped out for the same reason.”
Simon nodded agreement. “I cannot believe a church who murders, speaks for Jesus. He was never that unkind. He loved everyone, whores, lepers, thieves and murderers.”
“His powerful church pr
onounces they teach his true words will kill any who disagree. Not only kill, but torture and malign until they say that the church is right,” Ursus said under his breath.
“I don’t think they’ll go against anyone who disagrees with them,” Simon added half-heatedly. “They took decades, trying to change or win back the Cathari. They could’ve begun the crusade in the Third Lateran Council, years ago.”
“They started burning heretics well before then, Simon.” Ursus continued, “This Domingo de Guzman is a very dangerous man. He has a small mind and believes he is a genius. He will destroy anyone who does not agree. He is the perfect Catholic.”
“After he failed to convert the Cathars he spurred Innocent to call the crusade. Since its success Honorious gave him his own Order of preaching brothers, the Dominicans. I see the horrible fire he ignited here, continuing past the inferno he set at Languedoc. He will kill many more and his Order will kill more still.”
Simon agreed, “Yes, the Dominicans are zealots. We will have to hide any of our faith very well. I fear even the Templars won’t be able to stand against them. In time, I think that they will also fall, and what will the world do then?”
“The world will continue on with or without us. It did before and it will again,” Ursus said, surprising even himself.
- Brought To Light -
TIME: JANUARY 5TH, 1964. PRINCE RUPERT, BRITISH COLUMBIA, CANADA
A dusty, grey Chevy cab pulled into the Prince Rupert general store. The old Grand Trunk terminus was pretty remote, and apart from the rail lines ending there it did not have access to any highways. That suited most of the Tsimshian natives just fine. The town elders decided the railroad brought in enough bad influences. Three of them sat and watched the latest newbie come down the 16. Most came into Paul on the train, but this one came in on his own, without so much as a by your leave. Floyd noted this intrusion, mentioning it to his brother, Chuck, as they sat rocking back and forth, judging the day’s weather to be colder than a witch’s tit.
Chuck turned to the third in their trio, Gordon, and nodded over to the fella, exiting the Chevy.
“I can see, ya fool,” Gordon snapped. Chuck flinched at the unprovoked smack down and sulked. Always the quieter of the two brothers, Floyd nodded at the man who walked past them. Chuck would’ve said something in greeting, but still smarted from Gordon’s earlier rebuff.
“I heard tell that he’s up at Digby Island with a kid. Some of the women say he’s got a nice size cabin with the biggest TV antenna you could imagine. That’s sweet,” Gordon offered up.
“They got electricity up at Digby?” Floyd asked.
“The women, well, my sister-in-law, Sheryl, said he’s got his own generator.” Gordon said.
“How’s Sheryl know all this?” Chuck asked.
“She’s heard,” Gordon replied.
“Some say he’s planning on opening a camp for rich kids up there,” Chuck said.
“Oh, how sweet,” Gordon snapped again.
“Hey now, what’s your problem, Gordo? You’ve been on my ass since yesterday. What did I do to piss on your cornflakes, fucker?” Chuck normally didn’t snap back, but he’d taken enough abuse.
“Huh? You don’t know, I ain’t telling you. You know what you did,” Gordon said petulantly.
“Shut up, both of you whiny shits, bickering like a couple of old hens. Pawk, pawk, pawk; shut up, bitches!” Floyd was fed up. “He’s mad ‘cause you had the last beer he saved for himself, and he’s too big a baby to tell you. So, there ya go. Shut up, kiss and make up, ya pansies. Sheesh, the both of ya!”
Both Gordon and Chuck looked down, ashamed of being scolded in public. Each looked around to see who heard the dressing-down and breathed a sigh of relief when they saw no one else was around.
There were a few minutes of uncomfortable silence, broken by the sound of the opening door. The tan man’s boots echoed on the wooden porch and down the steps. He carried a box full of books, records, his own monthly stash of newspapers and magazines and a few other odds and ends. He opened the rear door, put the box in the back seat, and got behind the wheel.
As he was about to drive away, a thin man opened the passenger door and climbed into the car. Behind him, two gleaming Cadillacs sat on either side of the Chevy’s rear bumper. Kosta palmed his snub-nosed canon, but thought better of it and replaced it under his arm.
The man lit a cigarette and said pleasantly, “Drive, Mr. Paleologos. My men will follow us until we’re outside of town, then we’ll sit and talk in the beautiful countryside,” he exhaled smoke and his words in a long, languid breath, “amid all this cold, white snow.”
“You’re not CIA, FBI, mob or government, so you’re part of the Brotherhood,” Kosta said off-handedly and backed away from the front of the store.
“Very good, sir, very good. Bravo. But did you think that, maybe, I could be working for both the government and the Brotherhood?” The man smiled pleasantly. “Albert Pike, sir and I’ve heard quite a lot about you Mr. Paleologos. Your family was once Nobility.”
The Chevy turned and continued past the three old folks, sitting on the Bay’s front porch.
“I wonder who that is?” Floyd puzzled. “They just appeared out of nowhere. Either of you ladies see them pull up?”
“No, I didn’t notice anything. I hope everything’s okay. He didn’t seem to be forced to go anywhere. In fact, it looked like they knew each other. They looked like mafia to me,” Chuck answered.
“Hey, it’s J. Edgar fucking Hoover!” Gordon shot.
“Would you drop it, ya little bitch!?” Chuck finally snapped. They went back to their bickering and Floyd got up and walked away forgetting the trio of cars.
“Why the entourage, Pike?” Kosta asked.
“Them? Oh, they’re my babysitters. Anybody in the Nobility has to have at least one of them. They’re mostly for errands.” As they continued on the route out of Prince Rupert, Kosta noted Pike’s cigarette barely burned at all.
“Pike isn’t one of the thirteen about whom I’ve ever heard. Freeman, Russell, Rothschild, which is it?” Kosta asked.
“Russell,” Pike said, “on my mother’s side. My blood isn’t as undiluted as some. I’m surprised you like such a rustic place.” These last words were stated with contempt, a hair’s breadth above annoyance. It seemed Mr. Pike was not there willingly.
“So, Pike is a skin you’re wearing. A beard, if you will.” Kosta continued past an intersection. “What do you want, Mr. Pike?”
“I want to sit between the thighs of a six foot tall, obese Filipino woman and fall asleep against her rolls of flesh, but I find myself here. We are attempting to find the Frenchman’s third antichrist. Failing that, we have alternate plans, so I’m here to ask if you’ve ever come across any of the following books.” He handed Kosta a folded sheet of paper.
Kosta took it, but didn’t look at it until they came to a stop a few minutes later. He unfolded it and read the three titles listed. “Why not just buy them? They’re all codexes, unique, so very collectible. Any book collector would pay handsomely to have them.”
“Two of them are in the Vatican’s Archives. They are unavailable. The third has long been a rumor. We’re not even sure it exists.” Pike was still on the same cigarette, pulling at it like an old maid and her rum totty without any haste or care. “One of the Nobility of the Kennedy family, tried to infiltrate the Archives. The fool is going to ruin everything. Since Joe pushed his son into the Oval Office, the family has become too public. They’ve been dealt with and made an example of.”
“So, what do you want from me?” Kosta repeated.
“We want your advice, and any suggestions you may have, about how these books can be found and who can find them,” Pike finished and took a tiny puff from his slow-burning cigarette. “Ideally, I would get them myself, but that would set off too many alarms in the Vatican and with the Luciferians.”
Kosta began to write on the same paper Pike gave him. “These are
the names of five discreet professionals who will do what you need. The first three will purchase the books without attracting undue attention. If you need them quickly, the other two will procure them through other means.” Kosta folded the paper and handed it back. “My suggestion, provided your schedule allows this option, is to buy the books legitimately, through any of the names I’ve written down.”
Pike took the paper and nodded his thanks as he exhaled smoke from his nostrils.
“We have time enough. Thank you. In you, the Nobility and the Plan have found a true believer.” Kosta nodded in turn. “Why are you so far from the flesh monkeys?”
“My reasons are my own, sir. Above all else, I value my solitude. If the Brotherhood wants to contact me in the future, I ask that it be done by mail, not publicly, as you have done today. These natives have a tendency to talk, and I also value my privacy, as with any other part of the plan. I have my own path to follow; I don’t need unsolicited interference.” Kosta tone was clipped and almost severe. He did not enjoy having the Nobility’s dog come sniffing at his ass. “I don’t want some blundering idiots, either Romans or Luciferians, to find me and ruin all my careful work.” Kosta had to ensure he was left unbothered.
“Your points are understood, Mr. Paleologos. As for the Luciferians, don’t worry. They are well under control despite the disarray they were left in.” Pike glanced away from Kosta.
“Disarray? What do you mean?” Kosta feigned ignorance.
“No, they are true believers, but they were attacked and no one can identify the man who did it,” Pike answered. “A single man invaded the San Francisco chapel, and by the time it was all over, McGrath was nothing but mush.”
“A single man killed McGrath and laid waste to the chapel?” Kosta feigned shock. “Was it a Templar? Who else could have the skills and the audacity to do something like that?”
“The man could have been a Templar, but he was accompanied by the Messiah. The formerly lost Redeemer even helped him with the slaughter. If he was a Templar, he is not acting on Roman sanctions. Either he is alone, or we have new heretics in the world.”