Templar's Destiny (9780545415095) (19 page)

I alone had the sad task of delivering Gaston's body to his mother. The feel of her pain was something I would not shield against. I felt responsible, as if I should have thought to find him sooner. I should have kept this fate from him. I should have known.

“Ye did nothing wrong. Not even Alexander foresaw this happening.” Aine stood beside me in the dark outside the main house. I could not bring myself to be in the same house with Fabienne's pain. She needed space to grieve and, if nothing else, I would give that to her. The Templar had departed the preceptory at first light with the most important of the library and a good deal of the Templars' ready coin. With an escort of knights he moved with haste toward the borders. There was no way to reach him and let him know what had happened.

Torquil was awake and full of both pain and misery. Fabienne's house was not a place of joy, and I was not the only one who thought me responsible. It was strong in Fabienne's mind and a hairsbreadth from her lips.

“We should be on our way a' morning's light,” said Aine. “We are not wanted here.”

“I will see him laid to rest an' then we will go. He was my friend as he was yers.”

It was a full day before the preparations had been made for Gaston's burial. Though the ground was frozen, Fabienne's servants had managed to clear a grave. In the waning light of late afternoon beneath a sky whose ominous dark clouds spoke of snow, we stood in a half circle as the priest from the nearby village spoke the prayers that would commit his soul to the kingdom of the Lord. I prayed along silently, filled with sadness. Huddled in upon herself throughout the ceremony, Fabienne acted as though we were not there at all. I approached after Gaston's body was lowered into the ground.

Fabienne was still and unyielding, her eyes the red of blood. I reached out to comfort her but she pulled away sharply. “If you had not come. If I had not given you succor, my son would be here today. Do not touch me.”

It was as if a knife had been drawn along my throat. “My Lady, I am truly sorry for yer loss.”

She turned away without a sound and reached for Lisette, who stood still and white beside her mistress. I was overcome by the grief that consumed them both. I felt as though I had been beaten.

In many ways I knew that I had.

We left in the dark. Aine rode in the cart beside Torquil, who lay on his side in a bed of hay. I sat an old sway-backed mare that Fabienne's groom readied in the stables, pulling them through the rough, pitted roads to our destination. The trip had been the longer for it, and Torquil was in agony as the cart jounced and jarred his only partially healed body. I, for the most part, went over again everything that I could remember of Gaston's involvement.

I was no closer to the truth of who had killed the lad or why. What was he doing back at the castle when we had all quit the place, worried that Gaylen had gone to de Nogaret and that the King was about to have us all arrested and jailed any moment?

Though Gaston could have been attacked for his thieving, I was sure this was not the case, or perhaps not all of it, anyway. I saw again in my mind's eye the parchment with the wax seal on it. “Aine, join me in this,” I said softly. Without more of a prompt her song swirled softly about my mind. I dropped my shields and she did as well, and we were immediately as one in the power.

The vision of Gaston grew sharper, and my eyes were drawn to the seal on the document. I knew the impression was the same as the lead in the library. The seal of the fisherman was on the document that Gaston had seen in the drawer of the King's writing desk.

What could it possibly mean?

The Templar ship was loaded and ready when we arrived at the shore. Food and water awaited us, as did a complement of knights from preceptories all over France who were headed to Scotia, where the King had no jurisdiction. The knights traveled in the clothes of the common fisherman to avoid the eyes of any who would be watching, but swords and knives were tucked in their clothing and all around the ship for easy access. Though we still did not know what was going to happen, the Grand Master was being careful and thorough in his care of the knights under his command.

The carving had been glowing with a sullen heat since I had raced from Fabienne's to find Gaston. My guts were tight with foreboding, though I knew not where the evil would strike. Worry for Alexander stretched within me.

Aine helped Torquil up from below and they met me at the rail, staring ahead into the blackness. “How fare ye, Quill?”

“A sight better than before, but 'tis hard.” He sat atop a turned cask and looked off to the sails. He was hanging on tightly to his senses. His body was so frail and broken, my heart ached. Aine moved to his side and took his hand. I knew that she was the only one who could provide the comfort he would need to heal and I did not begrudge her attention to him, but I longed for her touch as well. Her eyes were strong on me.
I am here for ye,
she whispered into my mind.

I nodded. “I'm sorry that ye both were caught up in all o' this,” I said softly. “I don't, for once, know what is to come, an' for that I am grateful.”

Aine took my hand with her free one and closed my fingers in hers. Linked to Torquil on one side and me on the other, she softly began her song aloud. The ship slid out into the wash of the river and suddenly the power that swirled in the land, the sea, and the air rose up around the three of us. Torquil's eyes were closed, but Aine's were wide with wonder as the carving began to burn. Pinpricks of light danced over the dark decking. The wind whipped and howled, tossing the ship and filling the sails.

The vision that overtook us was one that was shared. Where my sight was usually fragmented, and Aine's was always an echo, Torquil's had sound, emotion, and immediacy. Together we were granted a vision as complete as I had ever seen.

An army of soldiers moved in the predawn silence, their armor and swords softly clinking, the rush of their booted feet thudding in the night. The gate to the Paris preceptory was open and the men spread out, surrounding all entrances and exits. At the fore was Guillaume de Nogaret.

“Open up in the name of the King. By order of the Holy Father and King Philippe, the Order of the Knights Templar are hereby arrested for the charges of blasphemy, heresy, high treason, and unlawful acts against man. Surrender your weapons and come peacefully and you will live. Fight and you will die.”

A handful of knights, servants, and workers were milling all over the grounds, pulled from their beds, bound, and herded like cattle into the courtyard. The Grand Master was the first to enter, calm, regal, and composed.
“Come peacefully, my brothers. We have done no wrong.”

De Nogaret advanced on him quickly and with the pommel of his sword struck the Grand Master against the side of his face. Blood poured from the wound but the Grand Master stood strong and silent in the face of the attack.
“It is over. You have lost and the King has won. All of your lands and your wealth will belong to the crown, and your precious Order will be disbanded in dishonor.”

“The Order of Poor Fellow-Soldiers of Christ will live on forever no matter what you do here today. You cannot silence God's servants.”
He lifted his hands and placed his wrists together to be bound.

De Nogaret was furious.
“We shall see about that. Take him. Take all of them.”
He stalked to the gate.
“Load up the treasure.”

A soldier appeared at his side, his face white and slack.
“There is nothing here. The treasure is gone.”

“What! Look again!”
he demanded.

“We have, my Lord Councillor. The vaults are empty.”

The vision faded as the men, with the Grand Master in the fore, were led in ropes and chains out of the preceptory.

The trip across the ocean was filled with many days and nights of shared visions. As Torquil joined with Aine and me, the power of the carving did much in healing the wounds of his body and soul.

From our linking, we learned that the King had demanded of the Holy Father an investigation of the Order. Templar preceptories all around the world had been surrounded at the same time and all within arrested, but because of the carving and the visions I had been granted, the Order had known enough in advance to get most of their men, all of their libraries, their treasure, and their ships moved off to distant lands and safety.

Some of the darkest visions were terrible to witness. We saw the Grand Master and a man of the upper ranks of the Order, who had elected to stay at their preceptories, tortured. Of the three trainees, two of them died in the prisons alongside the Templar dignitaries. The only one to survive was Zachariah, who disappeared before that fateful day and was never heard from again.

Scotia was a land riven with war when we arrived back home. Many of my brothers had gone off in support of Robert the Bruce, as had, I learned, a good portion of the Paris knights who had escaped. Torquil kept to himself most days, but when he wanted to talk I was there to listen and lend my support. Bridie had demanded they marry the moment he arrived back home, and she took the nursing of him back from Aine, who moved into our household as sister to my sibs and help to my mother with the new bairn, MaryAlice.

Two days past we had left the hut together, with the box that now held both pieces of the Holy Vessel. The cairn we had found up in the Highlands was just ahead on the slope, and Aine and I moved toward it anxiously.

“Are ye sure ye want to do this, Tormod? 'Tis a fair distance from home. What if ye should need it?” We stood on the crest of the hill outside the crumbled wall, looking toward the dark space of the doorway. Aine's hair had grown into its long and curly state once more and as she turned, it spread out on the wind, glistening with red and gold in the sunshine.

I turned to her and lifted my hand to cup her cheek. She kissed me softly. “We will know where 'tis if we need to find it. This is where it belongs.”

She nodded and we moved past the low overhang across the courtyard and into the dark. The stairs to below held just as much terror for her as they had when last we were here, but holding hands we made our way to the bottom.

Carefully, I placed the wooden box on the hard stone table in the absolute dark that was the space. The odd humming like a swarm of bees played at the edge of my hearing, and Aine's breath seemed to pant in time with it. “It will be all right, Aine,” I said, lifting the lid.

A spill of light, bright as the sun, filled the chamber as the carving began to glow. Aine gasped, and I turned to see what had caught her so.

In the illumination, we were able to see what we had not before. Every bit of the walls of the room were carved. In the center at the head of the table was the image of an enormous tree. The roots stretched around the whole of the room and its leafless limbs twined to the tops of the walls. In the space between were birds and beasts, some that we knew and others that we did not. On the ceiling were the images of clouds and sky.

In the middle of the table was a hollowed-out impression that seemed to have been worn by the touch of many hands. I ran my fingers along the edge and a great tingling sensation slid through them. Between the table and the ceiling was the odd space that Aine and I had felt before, blankness that was at once cold and strange.

“This is the feel that surrounded the land in France,” Aine said. “'Tis as if in this place something is wrong. Something is sickly. Up here” — she lifted her hand toward the ceiling — “all is well. And down there” — she ran her hands along the table and beneath — “'tis fine. But between there is a hole. I think the two were at one time connected, but now they are apart an' the lower part is growing ill.

“When ye took the Holy Vessel from the cave, tell me what the space looked like,” she said.

I thought back to the beginning. “Light radiated through the floor an' the walls an' ceiling as if the cave was connected to the Vessel,” I said, remembering the wondrous place.

“An' have ye seen it since in any of yer visions?” she asked.

“Aye. 'Tis just a cave now. The light is gone,” I said.

“That's it. That's why the land felt sickly. The Holy Vessel was bridging Heaven an' earth. When ye took it from that place, the bridge was destroyed.” I stared at her with growing understanding.

“The visions I saw o' the land, sickly, with gnarled roots an' poison leaching — it was the breaking down between the two. I destroyed the connection.” I was devastated by the thought.

“But perhaps it was all as it was meant to be, Tormod. Ye were meant to bring it here. To bring it home to the new resting place that had been prepared for it.”

With shaking hands, I drew the pieces of the Holy Vessel from the wooden box. Aine placed her hands on mine and at once her song reverberated through the space. Together we united the two.

Brilliant color washed through the room. Light. Heat. Joy. Wonder. The power from below surged to meet the power from above, funneling through the carving to the bowl, through Aine and me. And in the space, a perfect harmony settled.

Together we released the Holy Vessel and turned to view the room in awe. The walls, the ceiling, the floor, the table, and the Holy Vessel glowed a crystalline white.

“This is where it belongs,” I said.

“The bridge is once again complete,” she agreed.