Sixth Chapter – In nomine Dæmoni
Floyd, Fresno County, Duchy of California, Holy Britannian Empire
26th of July 2033 a.t.b.
The staircase was surprisingly long.
There was no source of light and thus I had to feel my way around on the railing. Just how far below ground was I? I had the unpleasant feeling that the secret awaiting me at the bottom of this staircase was bigger than anything I could ever expect.
Suddenly my feet found no further steps. Had I reached the ground of this well-like staircase? I could not see a thing in the profound darkness surrounding me, so I reached out my arms, searching for something. The stair's wooden newel to my left, the concrete wall to my right – and cold steel directly in front of me. I knocked against it. It sounded hollow; the metallic sound echoed even louder in the deep, narrow well.
A door? Frenetic I searched for a handle of sorts (for there was no way back now), found none – but then I held a simple steel door handle in my hand. I opened the door without much of a effort, then had to shield my aching eyes that had spent too much time in the dark against the bright flare lighting the room.
Almost half a minute I stood there on the stair, waiting for my eyes getting used to the light again. Then, when I could perceive something again, I entered and looked around astonished.
The room was furnished Spartan at most, yet spectacular. It was sized around five times five metres, but high above my head in five meters height alike a ribbed vault like a medieval cathedral's nave seemed to levitate. Everything consisted entirely out of glaring white marble. In the centre of the hall was a grand, perfectly circular fountain of dark granite.
Who built such a thing?, I wondered incredulous. A dozen meters or more below the ground, directly under an orange plantation?
Then I noticed the doors; there were four of them. The one through which I had entered, two white, wooden double doors to the right and left which seemed to be locked, and a huge portal with heavy, dark wooden doors, richly decorated with carvings – all kinds of plants, geometric patterns, coats of arms and scenes from Britannian history – and those went up almost to the ceiling vault. They were ajar.
I walked around the fountain to examine the portal. I could not look through the gap, the doors were too thick for that, but perhaps I could open one of them?
I could, it was surprisingly easy. It seemed as though they were opened regularly.
Eventually I had opened one of the wings far enough to slip through – and once again stood in the darkness of a giant room of black marble.
The door behind me thud shut. Now however I could perceive one – no, two – small and weak sources of light in about fifty metres distance. Carefully I approached them, but I soon found that I could not miss the way – I walked on a thick rug laid out dead straight on the cool black marble and only had to follow it.
When I approached the lights I recognised what they were – two tall, thick candles on a vast and massive block of bright white marble.
An … altar? So this hall was some kind of cathedral?
Now I stepped closer, putting my hand on this altar. In the candles' light I examined it: a simple, undecorated block of marble. On it, though, was a cloth of black velvet, about a meter long when put together as it was. No, wait – on second view I saw three golden cords and atop of it something which looked a lot like a leathern mask. So then it was … a kind of garment?
I ran my hand through the cloth and almost immediately noticed something hard wrapped in it. I pulled up on of the two candles and opened the bundle.
In the soft bed of a jet black cloak was a sword.
It was inside a splendid black-leathern sheath decorated with silver marquetry, the sword belt beside it. The hilt was entirely of ebony, the pommel was inscribed with the same coat of arms as one the door above set in silver.
Carefully, my hands trembling, I took the hilt and unsheathed the sword. It was quite heavy – I duly admired the blade. It was perfectly smooth, the stainless steel polished and sharp. Then I turned around the blade – and tensed.
There, on the fuller, were engraved letters, words – words I already knew from a certain painting in Jeremiah's office. They read REQUIEM ÆTERNAM DONA EIS DOMINE ET LUX PERPETUA LUCEAT EIS. The words on Lelouch's sword. Grant them eternal rest, oh Lord, and may eternal light shine them. The introduction of the requiem mass.
For a moment I just stood there, unsure of what to do, the sword in my hand, but then I sheathed it again and put it back to the altar. Instead I took one of the candles and began to explore the hall walking along its walls.
I did not discover much. The room – the chapel – was about a hundred metres long and fifty metres wide. The altar seemed to be at the exact centre of that and thus was fifty meters from the door (this sheet of paper sadly is not sufficient to illustrate those measurements. I would kindly recommend you to go to a local gym. But on the other hand you who shall read this already know about this place, don't you?). I did not know if there was a vault as in the vestibule as the light of my candle only illuminated a few meters. But then I noticed something I had missed before: the wall opposite to the door felt different. It was far rougher than the smooth, cool marble walls. When I held the candle closer, I perceived colours – a lot of gold, some brown and a little green – and obscure structures which I could not decipher from this close. A mosaic, it seemed.
I wondered how to light it enough to perceive something. There had to be some possibility; perhaps there was … a light switch?
For now I turned to the altar again, went towards the weak light of the other candle – and bumped against a waist-high wall half the way. My right hand accidentally dipped in some cool liquid. In the light of my candle I irritatedly examined the wall – the basin. I recognised a familiar scent. It took me but a moment to remember, what it meant: I knew this scent from the scarce teaching in natural sciences I had been given. That was … hexane? And hexane was used as lamp oil occasionally.
I first looked at my candle, then on that on the altar. Then I shrugged, carefully moved my candle's flame to the liquid's surface – and backed off with a surprised outcry when out of a sudden darting flames emerged. Now the fire quickly spread across the whole length of the surface and quickly the hexane burned, calm and bright.
Now that I had light I turned back to the fresco on the front wall, which I could no perceive perfectly clear.
It was vast indeed and took up the entire wall. They had lavishly used gold colour and jewels like on a Byzantine icon, so that the entire mosaic sparkled and glowed mysteriously. Along its entire width on its upper and lower border the Latin introit of the mass for the dead was given in palm-sized golden letters – Requiem æternam dona eis, Domine / Et lux perpetua luceat eis / Te decet hymnus, Deus, in Sion / Et tibi reddetur votum in Jerusalem / Exaudi orationem meam / Ad te omnis caro veniet / Requiem æternam dona eis, Domine … I shuddered, momentarily was glad to be a member of the Britannic-Anglican church as the heir of the House of Britannia-Tudor.
What really frightened me and caught my eye first, though, was not the text, but the rest of the mural:
On a rock, in front of a bright golden background of clouds and pure light stood none other than Lelouch in the white, jewelled robe he had made his habit. His gaze was transfigured and distantly going skywards, with his right he carelessly sheathed a flamingly golden blade. He was flanked to his right by the sitting Clio, muse of history, who clearly had the features of the Empress, my mother, and to his left by an approaching beautiful woman with … green hair?, in a simple white stole offering Lelouch the laurel wreath, thus probably depicting the goddess of victory or of peace.
Confusedly I reeled back – no wonder Jeremiah had wanted to hide a mural such as this, such a … temple of the demon. Indeed, with Empress Nunnally at her brother's side it bordered on open treason! If anyone should ever know that the Knight of One hid something like this … no. Of course nobody would know about it; the consequences were unthinkable – and probably I owed something to Jeremiah.
But then what was this gruesome mural supposed to say? Lelouch as the prince of peace? Jeremiah just could not follow him this fanatically. But then what? It was completely obscure to me.
Slowly I went back around the wall of fire to the altar, put my candle down again. I decided to examine the cloak the sword had been wrapped in more closely, if just to distract me from the mosaic. But it was indeed a simple cloak with three golden cords that were probably supposed to belt it. It made me remember something, but I did not know what exactly. On the breast was embroidered a coat of arms: the same one as in the empty guest room on the wall and the sword's pommel; the shield per fess Gules and Sable, a fess Argent semy of Gouttes du sang, issuant from the fess in chief a Sun in her splendour Or, thereupon a Dove of the second carrying an olive branch Vert, in base a sword Argent hilt downwards Or. The mask was a simple, black renaissance style mask – it hid eyes, temples and nose behind black leather.
I was cold, so I got it on. It had no sleeves, but still gave more than enough freedom of movement and warmth. And, as I did not want to just let it lie there – and because I did not yet know what Jeremiah wanted to do – I also took the sword belt.
Jeremiah. He had just locked me here and now – albeit at least an hour had gone by – had not yet been done here, to do whatever he was supposed to do. Was he trying to starve me down here?
No, probably not. Jeremiah was – so much I had gathered for sure – incredibly loyal to the Crown; I was certain that this polite, educated knight (knight of Lelouch) would do me no harm. Probably he had just locked me here in the heat of the moment; certainly he was simply too embarrassed to come down here – but entering I had found the candles on the altar and the light in the antechamber burning, and on the altar had been this black cloak, the mask and especially the sword.
Had I been supposed to come down here? Had I been supposed to find all that? Had I only thought to have acted in free will – was I a mere puppet in fact?
I sat on the floor, leaning on the altar, my back to the mosaic. My hand was wrapped firmly around the sword's hilt – probably only to give me a false feeling of security; I had always been hopeless in fencing – and thus I soon fell asleep.
I only awakened when the chapel was filled with ghostly whispers, footsteps and the rustling of cloth. Immediately I jumped up, put my hand to the hilt. How long had I slept?
The hexane fire still lighted the horrid mosaic on the front wall, and still the two candles on the altar burned – in their shine I now perceived a group of dark, formless silhouettes.
With some effort I suppressed a scream of fear; instead unsheathed the sword to my side. If I would have to fight, I'd have no chance, but how else could I defend against those … followers of Lelouch?
I was – I got to admit it – panicking, and thus I turned to the entrance – but there as well stood a dark silhouette that was even more ghostly in the shine of the fire. Then I turned to the altar and there was another figure: the Demon on the mosaic seemed to smirk.
Slowly and completely shocked I turned around. There they stood – in two swords' length distance, one each to my right, my left, behind and in front of me – only four, but still far too many. All of them were dressed in black cloaks like mine. They as well carried swords, three of them also carried burning candles.
Overwhelmed I sank on my knees, letting my blade fall to the ground. The sound of steel on marble echoed loudly in the chapel.
But then one of them, the one that had stood at the altar and carried no candle, stepped forth. His face was masked.
He spoke. Obviously it was a man; he had a deep, beautiful voice. Jeremiah's voice.
"My Lords – my Ladies. As it is the custom, I summoned ye together here to bear witness. He who bears any oppositions against this searcher may now bring them forth to us all or be silenced for eternity."
Jeremiah paused. There was no answer.
A … searcher? He must have meant me by that. Just, what did I search for, then?
I thought of my mother. Had not aunt Cornelia said that Jeremiah was a good friend of hers and the Empress when she educated me of the decision to send me here? Then Jeremiah had to be a master of deception. A follower of the Demon as the Knight of One!
I suddenly doubted I would survive this night. Strangely this did not frighten me in the slightest: instead it filled me with a dark pleasure, no, with distanced bemusement. Come on, kill me! I've got nothing to lose; my sudden death will not touch anybody. But I have to thank you, Jeremiah, for the time at yours.
"Faramond Ichiro Alexander," the one suddenly approached me. "Art thou willing to forsake of worldly pleasures and to forget all its lies? Art thou willed to walk the shining path of knowledge?"
I wanted to give a sharp answer (as I would die nonetheless). But I couldn't … the words just wouldn't come out.
I realised that I had to know, whatever it was that he wanted to tell me.
In hindsight I have to laugh at that. But then it seemed to me the most important thing in the world to answer my many open question before leaving this world – was Jeremiah a follower of Lelouch indeed? What was this chapel? And … why did mother trust him? I did not even think of the most important questions – how should I, as an unknowing?
And thus I simply answered "yes". I wanted to know where this was headed.
"Very well then. Faramond Ichiro Alexander, Prince of Wales and Newfoundland, of the right imperial and royal House of Britannia-Tudor, dost thou, upon this day, pledge thy fidelity to the Holy Britannian Empire and wilt thou stand firmly as a Knight of the Order of the Zero Requiem?"
It took me a moment to understand these words. Those were … the ancient words of the ceremony of knighting! On the other hand – one could only be knighted by a superior. That could be an officer in the army or a higher noble, but an Imperial Prince (as I was) could only receive knighthood from the Empress herself …
I had the unpleasant feeling that Jeremiah might have turned mad. Still I answered according to the protocol with "Yes, my Lord.".
His eyes I was unable to see, but Jeremiah seemed to smile.
"Wilt thou forsake thyself and be sword and shield for the greater good?," he continued. I answered as above.
And then Jeremiah opened the black cloak he wore – below was an equally black court uniform – and unsheathed the broad sword to his side.
It was the golden blade that had pierced Lelouch. In the shine of the fire I saw stains of blood.
However, instead of killing me or at least touching my shoulders and head with the sword, he stepped to the altar and put it down. Then he turned to me again. Loudly he proclaimed to me; his deep voice echoing in the chapel.
"The 28th day of the month of September in the first and sole year of Lelouch, the two-thousand-and-eighteenth year by the ascension of His Majesty, the First Emperor Eowyn, to the Holy Britannian Throne in the city of Tokyo the last phase of a divine plan began that His Majesty the ninety-ninth Emperor Lelouch had created to unite the world and create the peace He had promised His beloved sister, Her Majesty The Empress Nunnally. In an apartment in Shinjuku, a dead man prepared himself to forsake his old self and become a dark knight of justice. On His own order he then dressed in the costume of the fallen rebel, the Black Knight's, the costume and the mask of Zero. Hence he became Lord Zero of Nowhere. And thus he confronted, as it was planned, His Majesty the Demon and slew Him, the sacrifice on the altar of peace: so that all hatred shall be united on and in the person of His Majesty, that the world shall be at peace everlasting. And he that did it bare record, and his record is true: and he knoweth that he saith true, that ye might believe."
I had been close to laughing out loud after hearing the first sentences. It sounded too much like childish wishful thinking … in the eyes of Lelouch's followers their lord seemed to be a sort of messiah, a demigod, that could not have been killed by a mere mortal. Thus they had invented a ridiculous story by that Lelouch had been killed by Zero at his own orders. After all it could not be possible that even the demon was just human? Q.E.D., thus it was Lelouch's plan.
But then Jeremiah had ended. Zero, the dark knight, the mysterious fury of heavens and defender of my mother was supposed to be on their side? Distinct possible from likely. Then again they had a Knight of Rounds. In any case I simply had to know the truth, I had to know whether Jeremiah could really bring Zero as a witness.
Now, however, Jeremiah took up the sword again. I still knelt before him when he vertically raised the blade and solemnly asked whether I believed.
I answered, no. I demanded proof.
Suddenly the Lelouch on the mosaic did not look all that intimidating any more.
Jeremiah was about to respond, but then behind me sounded a distorted voice, a voice known to the world. I heard heavy steps as the newcomer left the black carpet and went over the cool marble to take his place.
"I bear record."
It was the voice of Zero.
Shocked I looked over my shoulder, and indeed: there he stood, the only one not to wear a black cloak but Zero's usual cape. Mask, voice, costume, everything was right.
A phoney, a double?
Very much possible, even probable. But I would never know if I resisted, and other than that it was my best chance of survival.
"Yes, my Lord. I believe."
"Then so it be."
Jeremiah reached out the blade again; it was stained with blood. The golden sword's tip floated over my right shoulder and would furthermore touch my left and finally my temple.
"Thus I, Jeremiah Gottwald, Marquess of Reynosa, First Knight of the Round Table, do hereby dub thee a Knight of the Crown and of The Most Privy Order of the Zero Requiem in the name of the witch … and of the traitor … and of the Demon. May the secrets of the Order that have now been revealed to thee always be protected in thy hands – rise as a knight, Sir Faramond."
I rose as a knight. Jeremiah sheathed the sword and took of his mask – it was indeed Jeremiah, the golden plate was not mistakable. I turned around – the other three figures in black had as well taken of their masks; I recognised their faces!
There was … Earl Lloyd Asplund, the scientist leading the team Camelot who had developed the legendary Lancelot as well as the more modern Parceval – his former coworker, Dame Cecile Groomy, who held the highly respected Ricardean Chair of Technology at the Imperial Yale University – and Lady Sayoko Shinozaki, who was the confidant and aide-de-camp to my mother, Her Majesty the Empress. I could barely believe that persons this esteemed were members of this … Order of the Zero Requiem.
Shinozaki stepped forth, warmly smiling, and hugged me. Slightly uncomfortable I returned the gesture. "Welcome to the Order, my prince," she said, "Welcome to the centre of power."
"The … centre of power?," I confusedly asked. I felt a heavy, warm hand on my shoulder, it was Jeremiah's.
"Indeed, Faramond," he responded. "It is us, The Order of Zero Requiem, who control this realm and almost all actions of the government and of Her Majesty match with our interests, of course excepting this disastrous fratricidal war – but we didn't much of a choice on that. After all we can't just surrender Britannia and her people to this tyrant imitating Lelouch without understanding Him."
I was more than simply surprised, I was aghast. Just how was it possible that a small group such as this one had so much influence?
"That's because we are a small, completely loyal group of individuals of a high rank," Jeremiah responded when I asked him. "Besides those Ladies and Gentlemen you see here our members are Lady Kozuki, the Red Lotus of the Black Knights, Lady Einstein, leader of In Vogue who is better than her best-known invention – the FLEIJA bomb – makes one think, the Princess Cornelia herself and … your mother, Faramond. Empress Nunnally is a member of the Order. That should answer your question."
I was far too stunned to answer. With some effort I could imagine Cornelia – but the Empress? Never. Otherwise … it did explain why Jeremiah had been introduced to me as a good friend of hers and Cornelia – still I simply would not believe that my mother should be member of an order exalting the Demon.
Then again, had she not been the one to withdraw every year at Lelouch's death- and birthday to mourn in private and thus provoke several scandals?
Zero had not taken off his mask.
I silently turned to him. The dark knight shortly bowed his head, silent as well, but did not remove his mask. I shortly fought against the urge, then I broke eye-contact.
Jeremiah contently clapped his hands together. "Well then, Faramond. Be welcomed, for you are amongst brothers and sisters. May you always protect and honour the ideals of Lelouch and never let His holy oath to His sister be broken."
Somewhere in the French Alps
The same time
Gently He touched her shoulders and her head with the blade's tip. She may rise.
His daughter complied, closely nestling and looking up to Him.
"So then I am a knight now, papa? A dame of Zero Requiem?"
He chuckled deeply, kissing her on the lips. "Of course," He gently aspirated between two kisses. "Thus I told you. Would I ever lie to you?"
The girl repelled another kiss, instead putting her cheek to His chest and closing the eyes.
"Why now?," she asked her father, "When you for all these years declined to knight me?"
"For the same reason your namesake got her chance to save France," her mother explained instead without turning her eyes from the glorious, sacrosanct piece of food in front of her. "Jeanne would never have managed to convince the Dauphin, not even with her Geass, had not the English's complete victory been imminent."
Meanwhile her father was already busy caressing her neck and her décolleté. "Is that true, papa?," she interrupted him. She looked up to the gruesome, beautiful monumental mural of the Last Judgement on the wall; blood, screams, fear and tears. "Will we be in trouble?"
Suddenly her father got serious. He stopped kissing her, instead softly taking her chin, forcing her to look into His eyes.
"Jeanne," He said, "you are mere fifteen years old. I would never endanger you like this."
She blushed. "But … mama's right, isn't she?"
Her father silenced. With his right hand He thoughtfully continued caressing her thigh, but He stared out to the night, on snow-covered mountaintops and a starlit sky through the façade of glass.
Then He said: "A tempest shall come, that is for certain. This disgusting civil war will have its consequences here as well. But … for now, don't worry, mon chéri. We shall have more than enough time to prepare everything."
Again He fondly smiled at His daughter, stroking her cheek with His finger. "Come," He said, "let us go to bed."
Yet Jeanne did not let Him mislead her. "But … the tempest will come for sure, isn't that so?"
Her father feinted offence. "Don't you trust me?," He asked, "Don't you believe me that I will protect you?"
Again she blushed. "I do … I do, of course. You're right – whatever may happen … as long as I'm with you – and mama –, I've got no reason to be afraid." She got on her tiptoes to give Him a kiss, then she took His hand and drew Him with her. "Yes papa, let us go to bed. You want me, and I want you, we should just go to bed."
"Have fun," her mother mumbled when the two of them left. Then she took the last slice of pizza from the box on her lap. After the last bit she stared into space.
"Shut the hell up, Jeanne. You killed me … twice … so kindly don't you call me ungrateful. … No. No, I definitely won't join in with the two. Mon Dieu, and you they called The Virgin …"
