A Templar's Apprentice (26 page)

I took a deep breath. “Aye,” I said. “I am.”

He nodded. “Pay heed to yer torch. If the light goes out it might mean the difference between life an' death. But if ye should lose it, look to yer other senses.”

I gathered my things and he helped me bundle the rest of the torches into my plaid. I was ready, and yet so unready I wanted to beg him to come with me.

“Godspeed, lad.” Something in his tone struck a strange chord in me.

“Ye will wait for me? Will ye not?” I asked, suddenly uneasy.

“Aye. As 'tis within my power to do so.”

I should have been assured, but for some reason a dark shadow hung heavy between us.

“All will be as it should, Tormod. It will be as it must.” He read my thoughts, just as he had always done, and that in and of itself was reassuring. I nodded and turned away. Holding the flaming torch before me, I began my journey into the belly of the mountain.

T
he dark in the caves was different than any place I could ever remember. It surrounded me, pressing against the light of the torch. I could see no farther than the glowing gold of the flame. My first few steps were halting, as if there was no earth beyond the step I took; but as the sameness continued, I became, if not comfortable, less wary.

The smell of ripe earth and wetness in the air made my clothes damp on my body. The path I chose branched away from the main, yet I knew the way deep in my bones. An odd tug in my gut drove me forward.

Time passed with no way of accounting for it, save the burn of the torches and the curl of hunger in my
stomach. I walked long, taking breaks when my legs were too tired to continue. I ate when I needed, slept when compelled, and woke when my body decided it was time.

The Templar was right. He would not have been able to make this journey. Though I was certain the carving was leading me along the correct path, I had no idea how far I had yet to go. I was down to one torch to which I tied strips of my tunic, but I knew there was coming a time when I would have nothing left to keep the torch alive. The thought made me extend my distance a little more each time I felt I could go no farther.

I pushed myself hard, making my way to the elusive place my body and the carving seemed to hunt. But during a rest I could delay no more, the flame that had become my only companion flickered and died.

When I awoke, it was to a blackness that was absolute. I cried out, feeling for my bundles and the staff that I had last used as a torch. Its end was warm, but there was no flame or ember. My light had gone. I could see nothing, not the walls of the cave around me, nor the tips of my fingers, though they were right before my eyes.

My heart beat so loud I could hear it in my ears, and my breath became short — as if along with the light, the air had suddenly disappeared.

It was then that I felt it, a sudden spark of warmth on my stomach, a heat so strong it was nearly pain. I scrambled to my knees and dug in my sporran. The glow of the carving was brilliant. It lit the space better than the best of my torches and gave off a path of sparkling light I knew to follow.

Moments later I stumbled into the cavern, barely able to believe my eyes; only in Heaven could there be such brilliance as this. The walls were lit from within.

In the center of the room an enormous pillar stood, one great stalagmite that seemed carved of ice. In a daze I moved toward it, holding the carving stretched out before me, prayer spilling from my lips. In the side of the pillar was a natural depression, a shelf that held something I knew eyes had not seen in over a thousand years.

To say that it was a bowl would be as like to describe the waterfall outside as a bit of rainfall. I placed the carving down on the ledge and, with a trembling hand, lifted the most fragile, beautiful vessel I had ever encountered.

Its brilliant white wood was hollowed and smoothed by loving hands. On the outer surface an intricate pattern of vines and roots wound in a delicate never-ending tracery. Tiny leaves covered bits and pieces, but never did they conceal or cut off the wonder of the curved vine.

While I held it, tingling warmth raced through me. Suddenly I knew what I was supposed to do. Slowly I
placed the vessel into the upraised hands of the carving, and for a moment that lasted a lifetime I cradled them both.

F
rom the tips of my fingers to the ends of my hair, energy crackled, whipping through my body like the wind.

Colors flared and swirled, taking my breath away. Beautiful. Vibrant. Life thrummed in and around me, and I was a part. Past, present, future — images flitted through my mind in a blur. Faces. Places. Births. Deaths. Generations of lives became my own.

They were protectors, linked in the duty this sacred vessel called me to fulfill. All were gifted, honest, dedicated, and strong. They were everything I longed to be, but knew I was not.

What was I doing? I was not brave nor strong. Everything I did was wrong. I would make a mistake, lose it or break it or give it to the wrong person. I was suddenly afraid. The responsibility was too much.

I willed my fingers to open, to break the hold the vessel had on me. As if in response, an image unfolded before me. A sword slack at the Templar's side. His eyes
blank, caught in the vision state. A shadow on the wall grew large. A sword arced, a life-stealing blow.

No! It could not be. I had to go to him. He had to be warned. But how?

Focus.
Details of the vision of the Templar came instantly at my call, clear and sharp. The sound of men moving up the rocks played in my ears, and the spicy smell of the herbs Ahram and his men used to clean their bodies filled my nose. I could not determine if the vision was of the present or future. Had it happened already or would it soon come to pass? All I wanted was to drop the vessel and rush to him, but I could not let go.

Ground.
Gritting my teeth, I concentrated, seeking the still and silent place within the swirl of color. I locked mind and body into the depths of the earth. The power flowed through me from the ground at my feet, branching like a tree reaching for the heavens as the earth's magic filled my veins. Strong. Powerful. Potent. “What do Ye want of me?” I shouted.

And then it came to me. Choose. Accept or deny the duty set before me.

Shield.
With a nearly effortless flick, I sent the well of power out toward the edges of my skin and looked down at the precious burden in my hands. Doubt fled. I needed the power of the vessel if I had any hope of saving him.

“I accept.”

Two simple words brought the chaos to an end as my fingers slowly unfurled and the bowl and carving tumbled to the cave floor.

I woke to blackness, but there was no fear of the dark within me. With a start I realized that the holy vessel was not in my hands. Scrambling, I reached for the carving and tucked it in my sporran. Then I gently wrapped the bowl in my plaid.

With a sense of purpose and direction I left the cavern. The cool scent of damp earth hung in the air and a new awareness of the land's power filled me.

I ran, as I had when this whole trek began. The thud of my feet echoed in the tunnels and time passed in a blur. Fear for the Templar and terror that I would be too late pushed me nearly beyond my limits.

But then, from a distance I felt him.
Alexander!
I reached — joy and relief so heady I could barely breathe — and saw the vision that held him.

Me. I saw myself running through the dark of the tunnels. Now.

Tormod! Go back!

I
stumbled, feeling the lash of his anger.
Take it an' go. Damn ye, lad!

But it was too late. I burst into the cave from a tunnel tucked in a fold of rock at his right, just as Philippe's soldiers rushed from beneath the falls. The Templar was as I'd seen him in the vision, his sword slack by his side, his eyes glazed, as battle cries bounced off the walls around us. I screamed and dove in front of him, my hand sweeping down and ripping the sword from his lax fingers.

It was heavy but felt right in my palm. I brought it up just as the first man came at me. The crack of his blade on mine brought me alive and I attacked with a vengeance, determined to protect the Templar until he could recover.

Ahram appeared at my side. Bakir and Fakih were at the cave's entrance heavily engaged. The Templar was suddenly behind me, out of his daze and shouting for his sword. I turned, distracted, and made to toss it to him just as the blade of the man before me snaked past my guard.

“No!” I screamed, filled with the knowledge of what would happen. As if time tried to reverse itself, the world slowed. Ahram dove toward us, his scimitar arcing down just as the sword of our attacker met its mark.

Blood from the man's arm splashed the runes on Ahram's face. I whirled and watched the Templar fall to his knees, clutching the blade in his chest.

“No! This will not be!” I drew the carving from my sporran, tossing off the plaid that covered the bowl. As the two reunited in my hands, the power of the land flared to life once more. Heat and color burst within me. Anger flooded my mind.

Men stopped midbattle, stumbling back, screaming in terror as a hot wind tore a circle around my body. I felt their fear and wanted them to suffer. I could think of nothing but destruction.

The blood in their bodies began to surge. I felt hearts pumping harder and faster and focused the power, unmoved by their screams.

Stop, Tormod!
The Templar's weak command broke into my haze.
We are no' meant to use the power this way. Ye're a Templar. Ye're o' the light. Push it away.

I was lost, confused. Staring around, I saw men cowering, white, bleeding. Others, released from my hold were clambering out of the cave.

“What have I done? Lord, what have I done?”

I turned to the Templar, begging for guidance,
dropping to his side. He was fading. Moving beyond. Leaving me.

“Please, Lord,” I begged. “I'll do anything Ye ask, be anything Ye need. Please help me, just this once!”

Power rose again at my call, illuminating the cave with the brilliance of day. Heat suffused me and, as I had done before, I used the shield command to push it out to the edges of my skin. With the vessel still tight in my fingers, I laid it on his chest and focused on the wound.

No.
His command was absolute.
The effort will steal yer strength. Take it from here, Tormod. This time ye will do as I say. Ye will change the outcome. I have seen it.

And then, the Templar was no longer in my mind. He was closed off to me. Slowly I watched his body grow still.

“Ahhh!” My cry was that of a bairn torn from the arms of its mother. “No, Lord.” I sobbed.

Ahram was beside me. “Tormod. More are coming. I'll see to him. There's nothing more you can do.”

I could barely hear him through my grief. And then his hands were on me, heavy. Sharply, he dragged me to my feet. “Go, boy! He gave his life for you. Be gone from here, now!”

I stood, wavering, barely comprehending Ahram's dark eyes, snapping with anger. “Get out and run!”

Understanding came on me in a rush. I grabbed my plaid and threw it over the carving and bowl. I could feel the life pulse of men beyond the falls and bolted into the nearest corridor as darkness embraced me and I ran for my life.

N
ight was as day. I could sense nothing of the turning of time in the corridors beneath the mountain. And yet I moved through the blackness with ease. Tears streaked my cheeks, and the pain in my heart felt like a wound. He was gone.

His face hung in the dark of my mind, white and still. I would never see him again, never be his apprentice. The thought was a knife to my soul. I wanted nothing but to go back in time and erase what had happened, to die in his stead, or to stop running and lie on the floor of the cave and never rise again.

But even in this black hour, I would not. I had accepted the charge given me. The holy vessel and its power were mine to safeguard. I had seen what it could do, felt the awesome temptation to use it for evil, and
understood how dangerous it was unguarded in the world.

I did not believe myself worthy, but I would do my best to ensure that not only the Templar's sacrifice, but that of Seamus and all of the others who had died in its service, were not in vain.

The beat of the land echoed in the wash of my blood. With a burdened heart I made my way through the dark, out into the light of a new day.

THE END

T
he main characters in this novel are fictitious, and their resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental. I did, however, bend facts with some of the historical characters, placing them in situations and geographical locations that helped the plot, and, in the case of Hughes de Payens, endowed him with the vision sense. Montségur was not a base for the Knights Hospitaller, but a twist of history I used to introduce readers to another important military body of the time, and also to explain the advanced system of checks and balances the Templars established. Please forgive my suggestion that the Popes Boniface and Benedict were part of a secret upper-echelon sect of the Templar Order. Although there is no evidence of this, imagining it adds depth to the mystery and makes a better story.