In Brightest Day, In Darkest Night...
A Gabriel Knight Mystery
Chapter 2
"A thousand fantasies
Begin to throng into my memory
Of calling shapes, and beck'ning shadows dire,
And airy tongues that syllable men's names
On sands and desert wildernesses."
-- Milton
******************************
*Wednesday, 18 June*
Gabriel turned to Grace, who was in the aisle seat, typing away at her notebook computer. "Gracie, we'll be landing soon. Why don't you put that thing away, and we'll talk?"
She shot a momentarily irritated look at him, then sighed, and obliged him. "O.K. What do you want to talk about?"
"This St. Clair guy. You said you'd heard of him."
"Uh-huh. Michael St. Clair is considered one of the most brilliant and successful landscape artists in the world today. I used to copy his work in my art classes."
"A painter. Now what would a painter know about the Schattenjagers? And why would he be interested in serial killings in France?"
"I wondered the same thing, so I looked him up. Michael St. Clair is in his early thirties, single, has a home near Gisors, a farmhouse which has been in his family for several generations. His father was the late General St.Clair, French army, retired; his mother was a Scot, maiden name Rosalyn Church, and Michael himself had an expensive public school education in England. He spends most of time in Spain, painting. His parents died, a couple of years ago, within a few days of each other. Michael spends very little time in France."
"Still doesn't explain a damn thing to me, Gracie."
"Well, it didn't to me either. So I looked deeper into the St.Clair family. They've been associated with Gisors for a very long time. As far back as I can trace them. And Gisors is a well known Templar site. Several Templars, including Jacques de Molay, were held imprisoned in their castle at Gisors by order of Philip IV. There are rumours about the existence of a vast treasure somewhere in the castle grounds, but nothing's ever been found. There were some abortive attempts at excavating at the Chateau, for the Templar treasure, but each time, the excavation mysteriously fizzled into nothing. And this town is where, as we know, all the murders are happening. Coincidence?" She continued, eyes narrowed.
"Fact: St. Clair is a very prominent name in Templar history. There's even a Scots branch of the family, and the Order survived in Scotland after the Papal ban. Some believe a troop of Templars fought on the Scottish side at Bannockburn." Grace was wearing what Gabriel thought of as her "research mode expression".
"Which reminds me. I asked Gerde to find Wolfgang's research notes on the Templars. There are so many wild theories about them; I'd like to see what Wolfgang thought. She'll forward his notes to us in France when she does find them. And then there's this other little thing. The patron saint of the St.Clair family? Who else? St.George."
Gabriel looked thoughtful. "That's quite a few convenient coincidences, huh? You may be on to something here, Gracie. But this is mostly ancient history; I was hoping for something a little more current."
Grace sighed. "The key to the present is often in the past, Gabriel. I couldn't find too much about Michael St. Clair himself; he's apparently quite a private person, keeps to himself. Very rich, or so I hear. But then, his family's fairly well off, and his work sells, so there's nothing mysterious about that."
The 'fasten seatbelts' light came on, and the captain announced that they would be landing shortly, interrupting whatever Gabriel had been about to say.
A short while later, Gabriel and Grace were walking out into the arrival lounge at Paris. A tall, dark haired man approached them.
"Mr. Knight?" he enquired, holding out his hand.
"Yeah, and you must be Michael St. Clair," Gabriel said, taking the proferred hand. He assessed the man in front of him. Tall, fit, good looking, brown hair and brown eyes. Pleasant voice, Brit accent. "Uh, this is my associate, Grace Nakimura."
Grace smiled warmly, extending her hand. "It's a pleasure meeting you, Mr. St.Clair. I'm a great admirer of your work."
St.Clair took the hand and raised it to his lips in continental fashion. "The pleasure is mine, Ms. Nakimura. And please, call me Michael."
"All right. And I'm Grace, by the way." They stayed that way for a moment, smiling at each other, until Gabriel decided to interrupt.
"Fine. And I'm Gabriel. Now that we've got that out of the way, what do we do now?"
"This way," Michael said. "We'll drive down to my home, and I can answer your questions on the way."
A half hour later, Gabriel was sitting, silent and irritated, in the back seat of the car, listening to Grace and Michael in animated conversation about art and history. Answer my questions, huh? he repeated to himself.
There was a temporary break in the flow of discussion. He took advantage of the lull to clear his throat. "So, Michael, tell me how you got to hear about the Schattenjagers."
The painter shot him an amused look in the rear view mirror. "My family has always known of the Schattenjagers, Gabriel. You might say we're in a similar line of business."
"And that means what, exactly?"
"Not to put too fine a point on it, we're all, in a sense, crusaders for good. Your family has been playing witch hunter for centuries, and mine... well, let's just say that mine has a more specific job. We're both hunters, if that's the answer you want."
"Not really. I don't understand how you say your family has known about mine for so long; obviously the knowledge doesn't extend both ways. Fill in the gaps for me, would you?"
Michael shrugged. "Actually the connection goes back quite a long way, to the 12th century and even before. But it'll be easier for me to explain when we're home. There are some things you should see, and someone you'll meet."
"Great. Well, then maybe you can tell me about the murders. What's so important about these particular killings?"
"Have you ever heard of the Cult of the Serpent?"
Gabriel and Grace both sat up sharply. "I ran across something like that back in New Orleans..." Gabriel said.
"No, I'm not talking about the Voodoo cult of Damballah. Though they are related, in a way. The particular lot you wrote about in your book were a break-away group, but they were still Voudoun. That's more of an established religion than a secret cult. What I'm referring to is a sect that has existed secretly for centuries, a sort of underground dark magic society. They have an evil reputation, human sacrifice, demon worship, and worse."
"And you're saying there's a connection with these murders?"
"Well, yes. You see, my family has encountered similar series of murders before. There's always a set pattern to the killings. A specific purpose. And I believe that if these killings are not stopped in time, they will lead to something much worse."
"I don't get it. If your family has been taking care of this sort of thing for centuries, as you claim, why do you need me? Why not just do your 'crusader for right' thing by yourself? Or are you out of your depth this time?"
"Gabriel!" Grace exclaimed, embarrassed by the rudeness.
"No, it's all right, Grace, that's a fair question." Michael seemed undisturbed by either the bluntness or the implication. "It's true, I do need your help on this one. Though it's as much for your sake as mine. I've seen some things... Tell me, what was it that convinced you to come?"
The question brought Gabriel up short. "The drawings, you sent me, the first one: I saw the medallion thing in a dream. And... there aren't all that many people outside of Rittersberg who've seen the Ritter Talisman." He put up a hand to his chest to touch the Talisman that hung there, under his t-shirt.
"The medallion you saw in the sketch, and in your dream -- it was this one, wasn't it?" Michael asked, drawing something from a chain around his own neck. He handed it to Gabriel.
It was the original of the object Gabriel had seen. It was heavy, about the same size as the Ritter talisman, old gold, with clearly visible markings on it. Gabriel turned it over. On the reverse was a cross, and the words "Mithrae Invicto." He passed it on to Grace, who examined it in her turn.
"That's the one," he admitted slowly. "It that your family talisman?"
Grace repeated aloud "Mithrae Invicto - To Mithras, the Unconquered. I knew there had to be a connection! What is this artifact?"
"Among other things, it's known as the Seal of Solomon. And what you refer to as the Ritter talisman, is known to my family as the Key of St. George."
"'Nothing is wanting but the Key!'" Gabriel and Grace exclaimed together, quoting the inscription they had seen in Michael's drawing of the Seal. "But the key to what?" Gabriel asked.
"Good question. We're almost home, so I'll be able to show you shortly." Michael turned into an arched gate. A sign at the entrance announced, simply, 'St.Clair'. The building in front of them was an old fashioned farmhouse, and the car pulled into a garage that had obviously been modified from a barn.
Walking into the entrance hall, Gabriel noticed that the place was full of paintings. They were everywhere, lining the short passage into the main hall, on every vertical surface. "Did you paint all of this stuff?" he asked Michael, stopping to stare at a rendering of St.George slaying the Dragon.
"No, many of these paintings have been part of the family collection for years. Most of my own paintings are in my studio, in the back. The bedrooms are upstairs." He walked up the wooden stairway to the rear.
"I've put you in adjacent rooms," Michael said, gesturing at two doors on the right.
Gabriel noticed two doors on the opposite side of the passage. "Yours?" he asked, pointing.
"Yes, the last one is my room. The other one is a guest room. You'll meet the occupant soon. I'll see you downstairs when you're ready."
******************************
A short while later, Grace walked down into the main hall, and wandered around, looking at the paintings. She stopped in front of a large canvas above the fireplace. "'Les Bergers d'Arcadie' -- The Shepherds of Arcadia. Hmm. Isn't that a painting by Poussin?" she wondered aloud.
"Yes, this one's a copy. The original is much smaller," Michael said from behind her. He came to stand beside her, while she gazed intently at the canvas.
Gabriel walked in, joining the two in front of the fireplace. "So, you were going to show us something, right?"
Before Michael could respond, the front door opened, and an elderly man walked in. "Ah, just the man! Gabriel, Grace, I would like you to meet Monsieur Jean Gerard -- Father Jean, I call him."
The new comer was a slender old man, in his seventies at least, but with an air of vigour and health about him. His blue eyes were wise and penetrating, looking out at the world from a nest of laugh lines. He looked like a man who had seen a great deal of life, good and bad, and had come out of it enriched. Gabriel felt an immediate sense of kinship, trust; an odd sensation, as though he had known this man for a long time.
Michael walked up to the old man, embracing him warmly. "Father, meet Gabriel Knight of Rittersberg, and this is Grace Nakimura."
Jean Gerard shook their hands, looking at Gabriel with an appraising expression. "So, you would be Wolfgang Ritter's grand nephew, am I correct?" His English was excellent, if accented.
"You knew Uncle Wolfgang?" Gabriel asked. That was it! This man was oddly reminiscent of the previous Schattenjager. He radiated the same aura of wisdom and compassion, though without the odd, almost palpable tiredness that had surrounded Wolfgang.
"We met once, long ago. He was a remarkable man," Gerard said. "A man of great insight."
Grace had been frowning, trying to recall something. Her face suddenly lit up. "You're the Angel of Dieppe! Right? The man who smuggled all those Jews out of France during the Nazi occupation?"
"It was a long time ago, my dear. Many others did deeds of great heroism at the time; not all received the recognition they were due."
Gabriel whistled. "But you saved hundreds of lives! You spent some time in a Nazi prison, right? I read something about that..."
"Some time, yes. Fortunately for me, the Allies liberated Paris shortly afterward. As I said, it was a long time ago," Gerard shrugged.
Michael smiled wryly. "Father Jean doesn't like talking about himself. But he does, fortunately, talk about the questions you wanted answered. Father, I was just about to explain about the Key of St.George when you arrived."
Gerard nodded, as though it were something he had been expecting. "Shall we sit down? At my age, my joints won't permit me to stand for long. This will take a while."
They all seated themselves facing the ornate fireplace. Gabriel noticed with some annoyance that Michael sat down next to Grace on the couch. Something about that guy bothers me! he thought. Then Gerard's words brought his focus back to the problem at hand.
"I think I had better start at the beginning. It's a story that will be familiar to you."
He paused. "I won't say once upon a time, but it was certainly a long time ago: a certain kingdom was terrorised by the power of a Great Serpent. It was a dreadful beast, vicious and utterly evil. At first, it exacted tribute, gold, goods, livestock; then its tyrannies grew far worse. It demanded human sacrifices, young men, women, even children. The people lived in mortal terror of the horrific demands that might next be made. One fateful day, the virtuous and beautiful Sabra, princess of that land, was taken by the servants of the Serpent, to be the next sacrifice."
"But all was not lost. At the last minute, a knight in shining armour, a Hero, arrived. With his mystic sword Ascalon, he fought his way past the Serpent's minions, and at last, confronted the source of the evil: the Serpent himself. He dealt the Beast a mighty blow with his great sword, defeating it, and rescuing the fair maiden."
"And thus was born the Legend of St.George." Father Jean smiled ruefully. "But behind the legend was the story of a man. A brave man, a true hero, but above all, a man of conscience. There was far more to his life than the Legend that the world remembers. For instance, Sabra, the princess he had rescued, was both beautiful and grateful to the man who had saved her and her people. They were young, they fell in love and married."
"You see, the man behind the myth was a Roman citizen, a soldier by profession. At the time these things happened, Diocletian ruled over the mighty Roman Empire. George was no ordinary hero. His sword, the invincible Ascalon, had been given to him in token of his prowess as the sworn Champion of the Lord of Light, whom the Romans called Mithras. George was the Courier of the Sun, the God's fighting arm. The Emperor, Diocletian, himself a Mithran, favoured George, accepting him as a trusted counsellor."
"But things would change. First and foremost a politician, Diocletian sought to consolidate his power over the Empire absolutely. In 302 A.D., he began persecuting followers of other religions, including Christians, under the pretence of defending Mithraism. George, horrified at this perversion of faith, resigned from his position, and began secretly aiding the Christians to escape."
"Knowing the ruthless nature of the Emperor, he smuggled his wife and young son, under an assumed name, back into Palestine. Then he publicly denounced Diocletian, saying that Mithras did not require the torture and murder of innocents in his name. He even defended the Christian faith, saying that Christ was another face of the Saviour incarnated on earth to guide men. Predictably, Diocletian had George arrested, and finally beheaded for heresy. Ironic, for the next Emperor, Constantine, adopted Christianity, and exalted George's memory. Later, the Christian church would declare him a Saint."
Grace, engrossed in the tale, asked, "What happened to George's wife and son?"
Gerard shot a kindly but amused look at her. "Patience. I was just coming to that."
Gabriel hid a smile. Maybe that was what made Gracie such a good researcher: that ferocious curiosity about everything. A trait he himself had in common with her, though history didn't really interest him that much.
Gerard took up the tale again. "George's family settled down in Palestine, under a different name. George had left them an important legacy. Until the time came, it must remain hidden. They chose to hide it in the midst of another Legend."
"Jerusalem is an ancient city, a place of power. It is no wonder that it is considered a holy place by people of many faiths. There were many secrets hidden in the catacombs beneath the city. Inside the Temple of Solomon lay a great mystery. Few men knew what lay beneath the time-worn flagstones in the Holy of Holies. Many believed the Ark of the Covenant lay there. Others said the treasure of the Temple had been stolen by Egyptians who had invaded the city a thousand years before Christ."
"Until the sixth century, that was the situation. During the rule of Emperor Justinian, forces began to move. Rumours started circulating that certain relics, of great religious significance, were hidden somewhere in Jerusalem. The nature of these relics was not clear: some said it was the True Cross, on which Christ had been crucified; others said it was the Chalice from the Last Supper. Still others claimed it was the spear used to pierce the side of Christ, while he was on the Cross. The Empress Theodora, a brilliant but depraved woman, urged her husband to find this relic, whatever it was. They believed that the possessor would gain access to enormous power."
Gerard drew a deep breath. "We do not know exactly what transpired, but the secret of St.George's legacy was almost betrayed to Theodora. By one of his direct descendants. It was saved, but barely. The would-be traitor committed suicide, leaving his confession in the hands of his younger brother, John. It was John who decided that the secret must never again be entrusted to any one man."
"Remember, these were turbulent times. The Byzantine Empire was a hotbed of corruption and intrigue; Justinian was persecuting the "enemies of Christ", as he put it; by which he meant anyone who was not a Christian. Nonetheless, Mithraism still flourished in secret. Many of the senior figures in the army, for instance, were Mithrans. Still, John could not trust just anyone with his legacy; finally, he chose a young soldier, his friend, and fellow Mithran: while John had risen to the position of Courier of the Sun, his friend was somewhat lower than he on the seven-runged ladder: a Lion of Mithras."
"Uh, just a minute, sir: you lost me there," Gabriel interrupted. "What ladder? What's a 'Lion of Mithras'?"
"I'm sorry, I should have explained: you see, in the brotherhood of Mithras, there are seven ranks, from the lowest, the Raven, to the highest, the Father."
"Brotherhood? You mean, like monks?"
"Not quite in the sense you mean. Chastity was honoured, but not celibacy, as in the case of the Christian monastic orders... But as I was saying, there were seven steps on the hierarchy: the Lion is the fourth. Quite senior, actually; only one rank intervened between Lion and Courier of the Sun. The Courier was second only to the Father. He was Mithras' own Champion."
"Like St.George?"
"Yes," smiled Gerard, "like St.George. John chose this young Lion to share the legacy he himself had inherited. He gave him half of what would be required to retrieve and use the secret; while he himself kept the other half. Only by using both, could anyone hope to recover St.George's Prize."
"And one of these 'halves' wouldn't by any chance happen to be my Talisman, would it?" Gabriel raised a questioning eyebrow.
"Correct. It is in fact, the Key of St.George. The other half, as you will no doubt have guessed, hangs around Michael's neck at this very moment."
"You want me to help you find this secret, whatever it is, right? I don't know... if St.George wanted it saved for whatever reason, shouldn't we just leave it where it is? Beneath the Temple of Solomon, or wherever?" Gabriel had been growing increasingly nervous as this story unfolded. He was getting a bad feeling about this...
Michael spoke. "St.George's Treasure is not in Jerusalem any more. And I very much fear that the time for it to emerge has indeed arrived. There are forces at work, forces that threaten the very foundation of all that your ancestors and mine have fought for." He locked eyes with Gabriel, and there was no doubt that he was in deadly earnest. "Just hear Father Jean out."
Father Jean continued. "Michael is right, there is more to this story. Once the rumours of a secret treasure began, they never died out. Over the years, many changes occured. The first Crusade was the beginning of a huge upheaval. All over Europe, rumours of a 'Holy Grail' drove adventurers and mystics on quests; for the first time, rumours associated the Grail with St.George. And with the Temple. Its secret was at risk. Something had to be done. Part of the answer lay in the founding of the Templar Order. Now, a highly trained and dedicated force of soldiers would devote themselves to guarding the Temple. No outsider would penetrate the secret that lay below it. And no outsider knew that the Order was far more than it seemed."
"I knew it!" Grace exclaimed excitedly."The Templars were Mithrans!"
"Not all of them," Father Jean said mildly, "Though it is true that at least half of the founding members of the Order, were. And there remained a small core of Mithrans in the midst of the Order throughout its history. Those who rose to the level of Grand Master were all Mithrans."
"But they were a Catholic priesthood for Ch.. for heaven's sake! Wasn't that sort of... sacrilege?" Gabriel, who had never thought of himself as particularly religious, was nonetheless vaguely disturbed.
"Mithras does not seem to mind," Father Jean commented humourously. "Somehow, I don't think God shares our petty little misgivings over what name we call Him. In any case, even St.George himself said that Christ was another face of the Lord of Light. There was no real conflict of faith; most of the tenets of the two religions are the same. But I digress", he waved a deprecating hand, "To return to the story. Shortly after the founding of the Order, a Norman knight, Jean de la Salle, keeper of the Key of St.George, came to Jerusalem. Conveniently enough, the Chevalier de la Salle's cousin, Hughues de Payens, was one of the founders of the Order of the Temple. However, it was not de Payens he had come to meet."
The old man stopped. "Michael? Perhaps you should tell the rest of it."
Michael shifted in his seat, turning to face Gabriel. "Jean de la Salle met the man who was then the bearer of the Seal: his name was Geoffrey. The two men, who became close friends, renewed their oaths to protect the heritage of St.George; more than that, they would share his mission, to fight darkness in all it's forms, and they would pass on their oaths to their descendants. In the hands of the righteous, the Key and the Seal are powerful weapons. To protect their secret, they would separate: Jean de la Salle would disappear; he would found a new family and tradition in the mountains of distant Bavaria, the land of his wife's people. Geoffrey's family would continue to safeguard the Secret itself. Without the Key, not even his descendants could hope to retrieve the Treasure itself. The secret was safe. Or so they hoped. As the Crusades continued, Jerusalem's eventual fall to the Moslems became inevitable. It was clear that the Treasure had to be moved."
"In 1236, Johann Ritter, a Crusader Knight, came to Jerusalem, bringing with him something passed on to him by his father, Martin. The Key. From the Holy Land, he sailed to France with a small party of Templars; they carried the Treasure from beneath the Temple with them. Once in France, it was hidden underground, in a shrine of Mithras, and sealed off. As before, without the use of both the Seal and the Key, no one would be able to retrieve it. Less than eight years later, Jerusalem fell. The Christian kingdom in Palestine would last less than half a century longer."
"Poor Templars." Michael sighed. "As the original purpose of the Order of the Knights of the Temple of Solomon was lost, feeling against the Templars was growing. Envy, distrust, hate; you see, they were a contradiction in terms. Monks of War. Lions in battle, lambs in peace. Without the Crusades to justify them, they were lost souls. In Europe, they were bankers and soldiers, scientists and preachers, arrogant guardians of a heritage that everyone believed they had already lost. It did not help that they prospered even in exile from the Holy Land. What was their secret? What did they guard so zealously?"
"All questions that Philip the Fair of France asked himself. Already the most powerful ruler in Europe, Philip dreamed of ruling the world. Convinced by his advisor, Guillaume de Nogaret, that the Templars possessed a secret that would render the bearer invincible, he sought to join the Order as an honorary member. Rebuffed, his anger and greed overcame his discretion. He persuaded Pope Clement, his puppet, to issue an order for the Templars' arrest on charges of heresy. The Order had seen it coming for some time. But even in exile, the Templars had not lost their purpose. Their secret must be safeguarded at any cost. Too late, they realized their prominence was a double-edged sword. Now the price would be paid. Plans were made. A few would sacrifice themselves for the good of the many."
"Even as Templars scattered all over Europe, the leaders of the Order maintained a facade of complete ignorance. They agreed that Philip's attention would have to be distracted from the true Secret, and this could best be done by dazzling him with gold. The Order's fabulous wealth would be sacrificed; some Templars must also walk into the trap, to foster the belief that the Order was indeed dead."
"And that's what happened. Hundreds of Knights were arrested on that October morning in 1307. Not one, not a single one, of these iron men, these monks of war, who surely knew that charges of heresy meant trial by torture, even bothered to resist arrest. The King's bailiffs were given the run of the Templar castles. All the great storehouses of gold were meekly surrendered, without a single blow struck in their defence. Under excruciating torture, most of the Templars confessed to all kinds of bizarre heresies. They confessed to anything and everything they were accused of. Everything but the truth, that is."
Michael's voice was thick with sorrow. "Philip believed he had broken the Templars. He had most of their gold, but he had not found their mystic secret, whatever it was. No matter, he said to himself, if there was ever such a secret, none of these men know it. Not even the worst torments have drawn anything about this so-called mystery out of them. Well then, I'll grind them into the dust and forget about them forever."
"As the final nail in the Templar's coffin, Jacques de Molay, last Grand Master of the Order, who had endured horrific ordeals in prison, was to make a public admission of the iniquities of the Order. But the old man had one final surprise in store for the King. By now aware that his fellow Templars were safe, scattered to the four corners, he publicly retracted his confession. The Order is innocent, he declared. I am not guilty of heresy, neither are my brothers, and Philip is a thieving villain. In his rage and humiliation, Philip had him burned at the stake. Dying, de Molay cursed his tormentors. Nemesis will overtake you..."
"God will avenge us," Gabriel finished for him. His eyes, too, were now haunted with the past.
Michael threw him a thoughtful glance. "Yes."
"And I guess you could say that God did avenge them," Gabriel said. "But what they died for..."
"Is safe. You are living proof of that. As am I."
Grace let out the breath she had been holding for almost a minute. "So that's how the Schattenjagers started out. I always wondered... But Michael, what about your family -- how exactly do the St.Clairs fit in?"
It was Gerard who answered. "But Grace, surely the story you have heard tells you that? Michael is the last surviving descendant of St.George himself. The hereditary keeper of the Seal. The Champion of Light."
A thousand questions hung in the air, but none were uttered. The silence was deafening.
******************************
Gabriel stared silently up at the panelled ceiling above his bed. Memories of the evening he had just passed swirled through his head, stirring doubts and fears in their wake. Why was it that every time he found some answers, new questions always popped up like neon signs in front of him? Recalling the stunned silence after Father Jean had made that incredible statement, the whole scene replayed itself for him...
After a long moment, Gabriel recovered his voice. "What?" he asked quietly, with suppressed violence. "You're asking me to believe this? That Michael is the heir -- the direct descendant -- of St.George himself?"
"It is the truth," the old man shrugged.
Grace shifted her gaze between Gerard and Michael, unsure of her ground. She looked at Gabriel and saw the dawning incredulous anger in his eyes. She herself was feeling torn: her rational, practical side was telling her that this was impossible, unreal! But her instincts were screaming that it was nothing less than the truth.
Gabriel looked at Michael, forcing his words out around his anger. "What proof do you have that you are who you say?"
The answer was calm, accompanied by a steadfast look that could not be avoided. "None. I have no documents, no genealogy that will prove my claim." His eyes hardened, holding Gabriel's unrelentingly. "But you know. You know that I am who I say. Don't you, Hunter of Shadows?" The fierce eyes would not be turned aside, calling up what lay hidden inside Gabriel's soul; burning through the layers of his mind. And, incredibly, the truth was there. It would not be denied. It was Gabriel's gaze that dropped.
"All right, let's say you are the one. The Champion of Light or whatever you call it. But that isn't enough. You haven't convinced me that you really need this Secret -- this Treasure of St.George. You just said it yourself, others have tried to claim this Treasure for their own purposes. If I helped you, how do I know that I wouldn't be undoing all those centuries of work, keeping it hidden?" Jaw set stubbornly, he met Michael's eyes again with a challenge in his own.
"Gabriel!" Grace exclaimed.
"No, he's right. It is as much his heritage as it is mine. He has to be sure." Michael's gaze did not waver from Gabriel's.
Father Jean nodded agreement with Michael. "Guardianship of the Secret is part of your duty, Gabriel. You would be betraying that duty if you did not ensure that you are doing the right thing."
Forcing his voice into a calm he did not feel, Gabriel spoke more softly. "You said these murders are the reason you need the, uh, Treasure. Explain."
"I told you about the Cult of the Serpent. They are dedicated to the worship of Darkness: the one they call the Great Serpent. To appease his blood-lust, they perform ritual sacrifices. At first, animal sacrifices. Then humans. The victims are always mutilated in specific ways. The murders follow a sequence. Fortunately, for many generations, the forces of Light have managed to thwart the Cult's attempts."
"So, what's so different about this time?"
"There are two sequences. One, called the Lesser Ritual, calls upon the Serpent to bestow favours on its followers; in return for the sacrifices the worshippers ask for wealth, power, strength, unending youth; the usual sort of gifts. But the Greater Ritual is for a far darker purpose. If completed, it allows the Serpent himself to manifest physically on our world."
"Physically," Gabriel repeated nervously. "As in a real, live, fire breathing dragon?"
"The Serpent has many shapes, Gabriel," Father Jean said. "He chooses any form that suits his purpose."
Grace turned back to Michael. "So you're saying the murders are part of the Greater Ritual? How do you know?"
"The last time the Greater Ritual was invoked, it was St.George who defeated the Serpent. He left a chronicle: it describes the rituals that precede the 'Rule of the Dragon', as he called it. He says that if ever the same things occurred again, it would be time for his Secret to emerge once more."
"And these murders match the pattern?" Grace asked. "What was this sequence anyway?"
"You can read the chronicle: the Acts of St. George. There's a copy in my library." Michael said.
Gabriel touched his talisman nervously. His instincts were telling him that something very, very, evil was behind these murders. How the hell did I get myself into this? he asked himself. Every time I start one of these crazy quests, I get in over my head. And I can't seem to stop myself...He abruptly changed the subject. "So what is this Treasure anyway? You keep calling it the Secret; what is the secret?"
Michael stared at him, then grinned. "I think the answer will reveal itself to you. One way or another."
One way or another, huh? Gabriel thought to himself as he lay in bed. He was almost afraid to sleep for fear of what his dreams would be like...
******************************