The incense clogging the dark air was sweet, heavy, reminding the young man of things long dead. It smelled like his childhood -- the scent of finding his small brown puppy mangled in a Pittsburgh alley at the age of seven. That dog had been his only friend then, and the first of his hard lessons learned.
He was a long way from Pittsburgh today -- in England, of all godforsaken places. But, he supposed "God forsaken" was rather the point of this exercise. Lips twisting with amusement, he quickly looked down and let the chanting wash over him. Much of it was in Latin, and though he had studied the ritual of initiation, he knew the true meaning of the words went beyond their simple definitions.
"Who seeks admittance into the Monks of Medmenham?" The voice booming in the cavern was without accent to his American ears. Ah, so the Lord Imperial was a countryman.
"I do, my Lord," he replied, stepping forward and presenting the man his hand, palm up.
The dagger flashing in the Lord's hand may have looked like simple ceremonial gilt, but the slice was clean and deep. He collected the blood in a chalice and scratched an intricate symbol on the dirt floor with his left foot, dripping a bit into the design before passing it off to another hooded figure. The remainder would probably go for DNA analysis by their tame doctor.
Ah, well. He didn't mind. After all, they wanted him for his genes. He was the chosen herald of a new age. He kneeled, as instructed. Ironically, while kneeling he had an excuse to look up and so get a better view of the inner chamber.
Considering the garish décor and decadence of the abbey on Montpelier hill above, he was a little surprised it was a natural cave. The space was filled with huge golden statues of Egyptian gods, mixed with curious mishmashes of Catholic iconography.
Who'd have thought real power could be so…tacky.
"I bind you, by the rite of Saint-Secaire, by the mysteries of Harpocrates and Angerona," the Lord intoned.
"You are bound," chorused the hooded semi-circle.
"Speak not of the monks outside of the presence of your fellows."
"You are bound."
"You are bound by the law. Fay ce que voudras."
"You are bound."
He stifled a yawn.
"Rise, neophyte, and take your place with the Inner Circle," said the old man as he removed his gargoylish leather mask and pierced him with icy blue eyes. All around the room, fabric rustled as the shrouded figures one by one lowered their hoods, revealing the identities of the Lords Cardinal to the newcomer.
Sebastian Shaw flicked back the hood of his cloak and surveyed the room. He smiled.
"I am bound," he repeated. For now.
