In Brightest Day, In Darkest Night...
A Gabriel Knight Mystery
Chapter 1
"Like one that on a lonesome road
Doth walk in fear and dread,
And having once turned round walks on,
And turns no more his head,
Because he knows a frightful fiend
Doth close behind him tread."
-- Coleridge
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Interlude
He felt IT uncoiling again, the red hunger, his personal darkness, his own private piece of hell. Is all this -- slaughter -- really necessary? he asked silently.
*the strong hunt the weak / it is the way*
So much pain! his dying heart wept, in anguish at what he had done, what he would do again. Was anything worth that price?
*i like the pain* IT chuckled darkly *theirs and yours / a price must be paid / you should know that by now*
I can't go on! that small, dying part of himself cried out.
*you amuse me little man / after all these years you still surprise me / how remarkable / i do like you*
Then the darkness rushed up in a bloody tide, closing around him and choking his screams into silence.
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*Tuesday, 17 June*
By the afternoon, Gabriel had a pile of books at his desk, every single volume in his library that had anything to do with the Templar Knights. Grace had spent all morning at her computer, and had then abruptly left 'to look into a couple of things.' Gerde had found the family history that Wolfgang had been working on, and even pulled out some of the town hall records for Grace. She was downstairs now, supervising the plumbers working on the east wing of the castle.
Gabriel was accessing the new computerised database that Grace had been working on, checking for cross references to earlier Schattenjager cases. She had bullied him into buying a PC, and then forced him to learn how to use it. Gabriel surprised himself these days: he could actually say 'microprocessor' without stumbling. And he had to admit his word processing program saved a lot of trouble on rewrites of his novels. But he still kept his typewriter in the study; after all, you never knew.
He added a couple of notes and references to "Case in progress", and then sat back, running his fingers through his hair, reducing it to an even worse mess than it had been to start with. He frowned heavily, trying to piece the information together. "Ah, sh*t, ever since I decided to be Schattenjager, my life has turned into the Twilight Zone," he muttered. "I can't remember the last time I..."
The phone rang. Gabriel cursed and got up to answer it.
"Schloss Ritter," he growled.
"Mr. Knight? Mr. Gabriel Knight?" It was a deep male voice at the other end of the line.
"Yeah, this is Gabriel Knight."
"My name is Michael St.Clair, and I'm calling from France." The caller's voice was pleasant, speaking with a cultured British accent. "I understand we have some interests in common."
"Really? And what interests would those be?"
"I'd prefer to discuss them in person with you, Mr. Knight. I suggest you pay me a visit here, tomorrow if possible."
"What? Is this a joke? I've never even heard of you! Look, Mr. St.Clair or whatever your name is, I'm a busy man, and..."
"I assure you, this is no joke. I assume you read the newspapers."
"Yeah. So?"
"So, you're aware of the 'weekend slasher' murders?"
"Sure, yeah, they found the fourth victim on Sunday, right? I still don't see..."
"You are the new Schattenjager, aren't you, Mr. Knight?"
Gabriel was silent for a long moment.
"Yes," he said warily. "I am. What, exactly, are you suggesting, Mr St.Clair?"
"I understand you're also a fairly successful novelist. Perhaps it might be a good idea for you to research these murders for your next book. It's as good an excuse as any."
"I still don't understand. Why would anyone want a Schattenjager to look into these killings?"
"Unfortunately, it's something I cannot explain over the phone. But please, do come."
"I'm sorry, but you're going to have to be more specific than that. I'm not going to just drop everything and fly to France for nothing more than vague hints..."
"I assure you, it's a matter of life or death: perhaps yours."
"Is that a threat?"
"No. A warning, if you like. Believe me, we're on the same side. You will receive a package today: if the contents help you change your mind, my address and phone number will be in the accompanying letter. I shall look forward to hearing from you." *click*
"Wait a minute...hello? hello? Sonofa..." Gabriel put the phone down, puzzled and a bit annoyed. "This is all I need, mysterious phone calls from complete strangers, right after three sleepless nights..."
He heard someone running up the stairs. A moment later, Grace hurried into the room, carrying a sheaf of papers and her notebook computer.
"Gabriel, I think I know why..."
"Gracie, I just had..."
They both stopped, and started again.
"About the first part..."
"Just before you...'
They stopped again and laughed nervously at each other.
"You go first, Gabriel," Grace said quickly. "Did you find anything in Wolfgang's books?"
"Yeah, quite a lot, about the Templars, anyway." He sat down to consult his notes. "They were a Christian military order, founded in Jerusalem in 1119 A.D, sworn to recover Palestine from the Muslims. The order played an important role in the crusades of the 12th and 13th centuries. They grew very rich and powerful, until the crowned heads of Europe grew insecure about their increasing power. So Philip IV of France, who had borrowed huge amounts from the Order of the Temple, arranged for charges of heresy to be brought against its members in 1307. Many of its leaders were arrested and tortured, to try and get them to confess to blasphemy, and the order was abolished by a Papal order. In 1314, the Grand Master of the Order, Jacques de Molay, was burned at the stake. He died protesting his own and the Order's innocence. Wait a minute, let me find that passage..."
He pulled out a book from the pile on his desk, and opened it.
"Yeah, here it is...
'The following day the two Templars were taken to the Isle of Javiaux, a small island in the River Seine, and were put to death by burning, with a hot, smokeless fire prolonging their agony as their flesh slowly cooked and blackened. Molay insisted that his hands not be bound, waving away the executioner as he approached him, so that he could pray in his final moments. He cried out from the pyre that nemesis would swiftly overtake those who had wrongly condemned the Order - 'God will avenge us', he said. Before he died he cursed both Philip and Pope Clement, summoning both of them to appear before God, the supreme judge, before the year was out. Chillingly, Molay's final words did, in fact, come true. Pope Clement V died only a month later on 20th April, and Philip IV was killed while out hunting on 29th November 1314.' "
He paused. "Spooky, huh? So that seems to explain the torture scenes, and the execution. If that's what I saw. I've been reading up on the trials of the Templars, too." He sat back and cocked an eyebrow at her.
"You know, it looks to me like the whole thing was an elaborate scheme to frame the Order. There was no actual proof of any heresy, other than a few "confessions" extracted under torture; most of which were later retracted by the confessors." Gabriel slanted a look at Grace.
"So that seems to fit. Like Gerde said, the shield I saw was the shield of the Templar Knights: a red Latin cross on a white background. Didn't find anything on the medallion though. And I'll be damned if I can figure out what all this stuff has to do with me!"
"I may have some answers for you, Gabriel. Though I don't see all the connections yet."
"O.K., Grace, go ahead and enlighten me. What would I do without you anyway?"
"You'd still be using your typewriter to write your books, and swearing blue murder about your typos instead of using the Delete button."
"Aw, come on, Gracie, just because I'm not crazy about computers..."
"Can it, Knight. I had to drag you kicking and screaming into computer literacy, and you know it. Anyway, do you want to hear this or not?" She went on before he could reply.
"I looked up the names you heard in those chants -- Mithras, in particular. Take a look at this." She put a set of printouts in his hand.
Gabriel began reading.
'For over three centuries, the rulers of the Roman Empire worshipped the god Mithras. Known throughout Europe and Asia, worship of this god began some 4000 years ago in Persia. The religion spread east through India to China, and reached west throughout the entire length of the Roman empire.
In order to fully understand the religion of Mithraism, many scholars believe it necessary to look to its origins in Persia. According to ancient sources, Ahura-Mazda was the supreme god of goodness, and Ahriman, the ultimate embodiment of evil, the god of darkness. Mithras was created by Ahura Mazda to be the 'Judger of Souls'. He became the divine representative of Ahura Mazda on earth, and was directed to protect the righteous from the demonic forces of Ahriman. According to Persian traditions, the god Mithras was actually incarnated into the human form of the Saviour. Mithras was variously known as the God of Truth, and Lord of Heavenly Light, the Friend of Man, and the Good Shepherd. Men recognized Mithras as 'God of Light', 'Protector of Truth', and 'Enemy of Darkness'.
The major competitor with Christianity during the second and third centuries A.D., not even during the Muslim invasions had Europe come closer to adopting an Eastern religion than when Emperor Diocletian officially recognized Mithras as the protector of the Roman Empire.
When Emperor Constantine made Christianity the official religion of the Roman empire, Mithraism gradually went underground. Far from dying out, however, it survived secretly, despite religious persecution. Various sects whose origins can be traced to Mithraism still exist today.
Mithraism was quite often noted by many historians for its many astonishing similarities to Christianity.
Mithras was "the Light of the World", symbol of truth, justice, and loyalty. He was mediator between heaven and earth and was a member of a Holy Trinity. According to Persian mythology, Mithras was born of a virgin, who was given the title 'Mother of God'. Originally a pastoral God, Mithras represented a system of ethics in which men were encouraged to unify against the forces of evil.
The worshippers of Mithras held strong beliefs in a celestial heaven and an infernal hell. They looked forward to a final day of judgement in which the dead would resurrect, and to a final conflict that would destroy the existing order of all things to bring about the triumph of light over darkness.
Worshippers used caves and grottos as temples wherever possible, or at least gave temples the internal appearance of caves, or of being subterranean, by building steps leading down to the entrance.
Purification through a ritualistic baptism was required of the faithful, who also took part in a ceremony in which they drank wine and ate bread to symbolize the body and blood of the god. Sundays were held sacred, and the birth of the god was celebrated annually on December the 25th. After the earthly mission of this god had been accomplished, he took part in a Last Supper with his companions before ascending to heaven, to forever protect the faithful from above.
In the eyes of the worshippers of Mithras, resistance to evil deeds and immoral actions became just as valued as victory in glorious military exploits. They would fight the powers of evil in accordance with the ideals of Mithraism, in which life was conceived as a struggle against evil spirits.'
Gabriel looked up at Grace and made a face. "Whew. Fascinating. What are you sayin', Grace? That the cave I see in the dreams was some kind of temple of Mithras?"
"You tell me, Gabriel. You're the one with the visions."
"It seems to fit; the cave, the chanting; but what's the connection with the Templars? What's it got to do with my talisman?"
Grace shook her head. "I don't know for sure, yet. I did find a really obscure connection though. You know the other name you mentioned? Asmodeus? Well, that's the name of the 'Guardian spirit' who's supposed to have helped Solomon build his Temple in Jerusalem."
Gabriel snapped his fingers. "Don't tell me, this I know. The full name of the Templars was: the Order of the Knights of the Temple of Solomon. Because that's where they were originally housed, on the site of the Temple, in Jerusalem."
"Yes, and there's more. I called Professor Barclay in the States, and he called me back: apparently, one of the possible linguistic roots of the name Asmodeus, was, get this: Ahura Mazda."
"Whoa, Gracie. That's re-eally way out. Where are you going with this?"
"Gabriel, don't you think it's at least possible that some of the Templars were actually Mithrans? It wouldn't have been difficult for them to keep up appearances: Mithraic rituals were pretty similar to those of the early Catholic church. And it was considered a soldier's religion. I know that at this point, we don't have too many facts. Just a lot of speculations. But if were true, it would explain quite a few things..."
"Huh. Pretty heavy, Grace. That is one major medieval conspiracy theory. If I didn't know better, I'd say you were losing it."
"That's what you said when I was researching Ludwig, remember? And look how that turned out."
"O.K, Gracie, point taken. I promise not to run down your theories again. You gotta admit it though, this one is pretty far-fetched. Anyway, what does it have to do with me?"
"I've been looking up your family's history. Wolfgang, apparently, already came to some conclusions. Do you know that the Ritters just seem to have popped up out of nowhere in this area in 1190? There's absolutely no trace of the name "Ritter" in any earlier genealogical records. There is a record of a Chevalier de la Salle marrying a Margaret von Eschenbach in 1118. She was the last of the von Eschenbachs, who owned the land Schloss Ritter now stands on. After the marriage, they left this part of Germany, and were never heard of here again. Ten years later, a cousin of the founder of the Order of the Knights of the temple of Solomon, Hughues de Payens, visited him in Jerusalem. This cousin's name is recorded as Jean de la Salle, and he was accompanied by his wife, Margaret. Years later, in 1150, a Margaret Ritter, and her son, Jurgen Ritter, showed up with documents granting title to the von Eschenbach land. They didn't stick around for long, though. However, Martin Ritter appeared here in 1223, and started building Schloss Ritter, and Rittersberg came up around it. And you do know that the word 'Ritter' means the same as the French 'Chevalier', which means..."
"Which means 'Knight'. I know, Gracie."
"I also checked on the "Kreuzritters"; the Crusader Knights in your family. There were at least two: Conrad Ritter and Johann Ritter. Conrad was a Templar. He was in Palestine until 1291."
There was a knock at the door, startling both of them.
"Herr Knight? It's Gerde." She entered the study, carrying a package. "This just came in the mail. From France."
"A package? Oh, hey, yeah, that was what the guy on the phone said..."
"What guy on the phone?" Grace asked.
"I was just about to tell you when you came in. Some guy called Michael St.Clair, called from France. Weird. He wants me to visit him, says it's a 'matter of life or death'."
"Michael St.Clair? The painter?" Grace looked surprised and slightly awed.
"You've heard of this guy?"
"Of course I've heard of him! Where do you live, Gabriel, under a rock? He's only one of the most famous artists in Europe, that's all."
"Yeah, well, I wouldn't know a Renoir from a Picasso, Gracie. My father was the painter, remember? My idea of art is more like..." he remembered Gerde was with them, and stopped. He cleared his throat and changed the subject. "Let's see what this St.Clair guy has sent me, huh?"
He opened the package, which contained a letter and a notebook. Gabriel opened the notebook, and nearly dropped it in shock. Grace saw his stunned expression and moved around next to him to look at the notebook. It was a sketchbook. And the first page contained a beautifully executed water colour of a gold pendant on a chain. Round in shape, the pendant had engravings on it. An embossed circle surrounded a Star of David, with a cross-hilted sword in the centre. Along the edge of the circle, Grace could clearly make out the words "Si tatlia jungere possis sit tibi scire posse." Beneath the pendant, a scroll had been drawn, bearing the words "Nil nisi clavis deest".
"That's it! That's the medallion I saw in my dream!" Gabriel exclaimed. "How...' he turned the page and stopped again. "What the.."
It was a sketch, as beautifully drawn as the first, of the Ritter talisman. Accurate to the smallest detail.
Gabriel was looking grim by now, as he continued to look through the pages. The next page contained a sketch of a stained glass window. It seemed to depict a man on horseback, holding a golden medallion towards the sun. The rider wore a white tunic emblazoned with a red cross.
The next drawing showed another stained glass window, a familiar one: St. George, slaying the dragon with a flaming sword. He carried a white shield bearing a red latin cross. And on his chest was a gold medallion...
There were no other drawings in the book. Gabriel closed the book and put it slowly down on the desk.
Grace picked up the sketch book and looked at the first page. "Si tatlia jungere possis sit tibi scire posse -- hmm, let's see, that means -- If you can comprehend these things, you know enough' -- and the scroll says -- 'Nothing is wanting but the key' ", she said, looking thoughtful. "Maybe Michael St.Clair has the key to this mystery, Gabriel. What did he say to you on the phone?"
Gabriel scowled. "Not a whole helluva lot. Very cryptic guy, this Michael St.Clair. Let's see what other little surprises he's sent me, shall we?" he opened the letter and a small newspaper clipping slipped out. It was from the English edition of 'Le Monde'.
Slasher claims fourth victim
- Paris, 15 June.
The little town of Gisors in Val d'Oise is the center of horrified public attention as the authorities continue their search for the mysterious 'weekend slasher' who has claimed four lives in a bloody spree. The latest victim, well known pianist Vladimir Tornenkov, was the fourth in less than a month. Tornenkov had last been seen at a dinner party with a select group of friends the previous evening. It is estimated that the murder occurred around midnight. It is not clear why he had ventured outside the village at such a late hour.
All four bodies were discovered in the early hours of the morning just outside the village. The police have refused to confirm or deny rumours that the victims' bodies were found in horribly mutilated conditions. One eye witness, who wishes to remain anonymous, claims that he saw the heart of one of the victims had been cut out of the chest, and the face had been slashed several times.
Some sources claim that these are the latest in a series of cult related murders that have occurred across Europe over the last year. However, Police Commissioner Jean Claud Dernaud says "Nothing has been discovered to justify linking the murders to any particular group. At the moment, we are proceeding with our investigations on the basis of the evidence found at the crime scenes. Until all the evidence has been analysed, I advise against speculations of this nature."
Mayor Danielle Grellier says that tourism in the area has dropped by 95% since the second murder. The village of Gisors is a normally a popular tourist stop-over, especially since the late 1960s. Speculations that the lost treasure of the Templars may be buried somewhere in the area have drawn enthusiasts and treasure hunters from around the globe. The authorities advise all residents and visitors to remain indoors after dark, and not to venture out alone to any areas outside the main thouroughfares.'
"Great. Another series of brutal murders. That was all I was missing. And what other good news does Mr.St.Clair have for me, hmmm?" He read the letter aloud.
"Dear Mr.Knight,
We have never met, but our families are linked by an ancient tradition that has been nearly forgotten in recent years. Over the the last few days, it has been made clear that the revival of the link between the Ritters and the St.Clairs is vital. It may be our our only hope: for continued sanity, even survival. I am unable to disclose any details to you except in person: I do urge you to visit me immediately at my ancestral home here in Gisors. I hope the enclosed will serve to convince you to come. You may call me at any time at the following phone number..."
Gabriel looked up.
"Think I'd better call this guy."
Grace sat up."So, we're going to France, huh?"
"Whoa, what do you mean, we? You're not coming along, Grace. This sh*t sounds like it could be really dangerous, and I don't want you getting involved!"
"In case it's escaped your attention, Knight, I'm already involved! And just what makes you think you're any better equipped to face this than I am? You're not going back to your stupid 'I'm a man' crap again, are you?" Grace's eyes narrowed ominously.
"Oh now, Grace, don't let's start that again! I just don't want you getting hurt, that's all!"
"Yeah, well, then how come I'm the one who always has to pull your fat out of the fire, Mr. Knight? Or have you forgotten who saved your Schattenjager butt the last time?"
I'd maybe appreciate it more if you didn't gloat over it so much! he thought to himself, but didn't say it. If you want to win this argument, Knight, you're gonna have to be a little more subtle than that...
"Gee, Gracie, you sure are beautiful when you're mad," Gabriel drawled infuriatingly.
Grace froze, too angry to speak. She turned her back on him and took a few steps away. "Don't-you-dare-patronise-me, you jerk," she gritted out from between clenched teeth.
"Look, Grace, why don't you just stay with Gerde, and hold the fort here, and if I need you, I'll call. How's that? I mean, you know I need you to look up some more stuff, and this research is more your speed anyway," he said, cajolingly. He stepped forward and put a hand on her shoulder. "I can handle the leg work by myself, for now..."
"Oh yeah?" Grace said, her voice soft and dangerous.
The next second, Gabriel found himself flying through the air, to land heavily about four feet away, on the floor, hard.
"Handle that!" she snapped, and stormed out of the room.
"What did I say?" Gabriel enquired, turning a bewildered face to Gerde.
"You treated her very badly, Herr Knight," Gerde said disapprovingly. "I must say I think you got less than you deserved." She turned around and walked out of the room.
Gabriel, alone in the study, stared after her with chagrin writ large on his face. Now they were ganging up on him! Wincing, he pulled himself slowly to his feet, and limped carefully to his chair. Was Gerde right? Had he treated Grace badly? Sh*t, all he was trying to do was keep her out of danger, wasn't he? Was that so wrong? Here they were, both taking sides against him. Was it some kind of weird woman thing?
He worked himself up into a satisfying state of righteous indignation. He hadn't done a thing to deserve this kind of treatment! he told himself. Grace was just taking this too seriously. Trouble was, she took everything too seriously. Hardly ever smiled, or laughed. Except when she was being sarcastic or trying to give him a hard time. Which she did most of the time anyway, he thought sourly. What was he supposed to do, forget that she was a woman? And a damned attractive one at that. It didn't help that she'd never let him get within arms' reach of her. All the time they'd known each other, they'd never dated. He wasn't the one who'd been acting distant and nose-in-the-air!
Then a vision of Grace's face as she turned away stopped him short, right in the middle of his smug tirade. A twinge of conscience assailed him. Well, maybe he'd been a little flippant... "Gee, Grace, you're beautiful when you're mad." He winced. OK, so he'd been more than just a little flippant... But he couldn't get anything done in France if he had to take care of Grace and bail her out of trouble the whole time...
Who're you kidding, Knight? he asked himself. Mostly it's the other way around! Take care of Grace? Then why were you the one who ended up on the floor?
The whole scene replayed itself in his mind. He winced as he heard himself telling her that he'd call her if he needed to. He didn't usually act like a chauvinist idiot anymore. Oh sure, things had been different when he had first hired Grace, but he'd grown up a bit since then. Especially after the Von Glower affair... though he sure hadn't been acting like it in the last few minutes. Still, he didn't deserve the snide way she enjoyed putting him down! Well, maybe he did. Come to think of it, these days, she only did it when he was behaving like a jerk...
Face it, Knight, he thought. You really blew it. Maybe it's time to try and make it up to her, make a fresh start. If she'll let you...! But first, to call this St.Clair guy...
Twenty minutes later, he found Grace sitting in the garden, looking out across the valley. Her back was stiff, as though she were holding her temper in with great difficulty. She had to have heard him coming, but she paid no attention.
Apologize, Knight, Gabriel said to himself. Tell her that you were an insensitive moron. Get it over with.
"Grace?" he said hesitantly.
She didn't turn around to look at him. "What do you want, Gabriel?" she asked, her voice flat and cold.
"I'm sorry, Grace. I'm an idiot. I admit it. I was acting like a jerk."
"Yes, you were."
He let out his breath in a sigh. "I'm really sorry, Grace. Believe me, I've called myself every name in the book, and then some. You know I need you, Grace. I couldn't do without your help. It's just that..."
She turned around to look at him, and he saw the pinched, unhappy expression on her face. He felt even worse about himself.
"I thought we were friends, Gabriel. You promised not to act this way again. Don't go back to school, Grace. We're partners. That's what you said. Then how come you keep treating me like some sort of juvenile research machine? Sometimes I think you don't see me as a person at all!"
He rubbed at his hair, and then went to sit down carefully on the bench next to her. "I do see you as a person, Grace. You're very important to me. I know I can be really self-centred some of the time...Hell, most of the time! I don't know why you put up with me. But I'm not as dumb as I look, Gracie. I do know I couldn't do without you." He stopped and looked uncomfortably down at the ground.
"It's this Schattenjager thing, Grace. It's still so new, I... Each time I have one of these nightmares, it throws me off balance. Scares the hell outta me. And I keep thinking I have to protect you, keep you away from all the sh*t that seems to happen around me. I'll never forget seeing you lying in that hounfour in New Orleans. I felt so damned guilty about getting you into that mess! Sometimes I think you'd be so much better off back at school getting that Ph.D..."
"Gabriel, I do have a choice, you know," Grace said, in a gentler tone. "I chose to get involved with your problems. If you respect me as a person, you have to respect my right to make my own decisions."
"Yeah, I know. But call me a chauvinist pig, Grace, I still don't like it when you put yourself in harm's way." He held up his hands to forestall her retort. "Yeah, yeah, I know, that doesn't make me right. That's why I told St.Clair to expect the both of us tomorrow."
Grace's face lighted up. "Gabriel! Really?"
"Really. He was a little surprised, but I told him I never go anywhere without you."
She eyed him suspiciously. "Knowing you, that's not all of it."
"We-elll, he did ask about how many rooms we'd need, so I told him we'd share the same one." He ducked the punch she aimed at him. "Just kidding, Grace. Separate bedrooms! I told him separate bedrooms!"
"Hah! Grow up, Knight!" She couldn't hide her smile, though.
"You're not mad at me anymore?"
"I forgive you. For now. Maybe you're not as much of a pig as I thought."
"Great! Does that mean you might reconsider that bedroom thing too?"
"Don't push your luck, Knight."
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