Mad Gods - Predatory Ethics: Book I (39 page)
TIME: FEBRUARY 7TH, 1965. DIGBY ISLAND, BRITISH COLUMBIA, CANADA
The Kennedy assassination dominated 1964. The Warren
Commission was then told to get to the bottom of the awful deed. Kosta believed
that, in reality, they met to plan the most plausible and publically acceptable
scenario.
In February, Adam got into a new toy Kosta ordered
from Sears & Roebuck: G.I. Joe. Well into March and April, he occupied
himself by devising all sorts of adventurous scenarios for the plastic soldier.
At the end of April, Kosta was distracted by the close Stanley Cup playoff between
the Leafs and Red Wings. Toronto finally pulled through, with four games to
three to claim the cup. Both Adam and Kosta were happy to see the likeable
Sidney Poitier win Best Actor for
Lilies
of the Field
, which Adam described as a so-so film. He was at an age where
too much talk made him lose interest in what he watched.
In May, they both avoided the daytime soap operas,
Another World
and
As the World Turns.
Adam much preferred his studies to what he
called “As His Stomach Turned.” They also made their monthly visit into
Vancouver, where Kosta picked up information, hard to find items, as well as
catching a few movies. They left
From
Russia With Love
humming
Love Me Do
,
while Adam stopped and deadpanned, “Bond, James Bond,” incessantly.
For Adam, that summer was his first introduction to
the Beatles, with the release of a seemingly endless supply of singles.
She Loves You, Hard Day’s Night, All My
Lovin’, Can’t Buy Me Love
were on his mind, and out of his mouth, most
every day. Kosta thought they were catchy tunes, but preferred Motown stuff
— Roy Orbison with
Where Did Our
Love Go,
and
Oh! Pretty Woman
;
the Beach Boys with
I Get Around. Louie
Louie
was deemed safe for radio again, though by that point, nobody cared.
All this happy music was interrupted with news of the
civil rights demonstrations, both in the south, as well as across the nation.
The summer ended bombings in North Vietnam; nobody believed that would be the
end of it.
After such a busy summer, there were a lot of
distractions for Adam on the tube. What seemed like an endless supply of really
great TV came out that year, which, along with his favorites vied for his
attention.
Bewitched, The Addams Family,
Daniel Boone, Gilligan’s Island, Man From U.N.C.L.E.
and the
Munsters
kept Adam, unblinking, before
the living room cyclops. The news also noted the findings of the Warren
Commission, citing Oswald acted as a lone gunman. Kosta was awed by the quiet
that followed this news. There were rumblings, to be sure, but on the whole,
they never simmered to a boil.
In November, the Second Vatican Council continued its
reforms, and in services, replaced Latin with English. None of this mattered to
Adam, as he looked forward to the release of another Bond flick in December.
After they watched
Goldfinger
in
Vancouver, Kosta had to suffer through a few hours of “Bond, James Bond.”
They brought home a few choice contraptions Kosta had
custom made for Digby Island. His precautions didn’t stop there. He reached out
to many whom he met while searching for the Codex and offered priceless texts
he obtained from the Library of Alexandria.
Mathematics and philosophy, in the original hand of
Archimedes or Plato, provided the money off which Kosta and Adam lived. Kosta
had set these sales up, well before his current existence of eluding shadow
groups and shadows. As the money flowed in, Kosta became one of the wealthiest
individuals in the world. With his bait and traps set, as well as money enough
for many lifetimes, Kosta’s mind was at ease. He settled down to read the rest
of the
Idammah-Gan
.
He did this outside their cabin while Adam watched TV. In the northern sun,
nothing dark endured, remaining hidden behind words, around sentences and under
letters.
-
Idammah-Gan
Codex
- Depth of
Correction VIII: Wounded Rib IV: -
TIME: MARCH 28TH, 1244 AD. MONTSEGUR, FRANCE
Ursus’ swollen head welcomed the stone floor. He awoke,
facedown and aching from the inquisitor’s efforts to force a renouncement of
his beliefs. He wasn’t alone in the dungeon where he had been flung and
forgotten. As he roused, he looked around.
He saw many of the other Perfecti, whom Natalie
called brothers, staring at him with horror or suspicion. The scars covering
his body were what they couldn’t see past. He did not begrudge people their
fears or their revulsion; he pitied they even noticed when they faced their
end. He didn’t wish for his blue robe to hide his awful features. There was no
longer any need to hide.
He tried to get up, but after a few attempts, fell
back. On the fifth attempt, he made it to his feet but then dropped to his
knees sending a shock through the room. He stood uncertainly for a few minutes
until he was sure that he wouldn’t fall again. He felt a welcome breeze on his
face and looked to a barred window on his right. His left leg felt broken but
he continued forward. On either side of the window, Cathari scattered out of
his way. He reached it and gripped the bars, looking out.
The window faced outward beyond Montsegur’s walls and
afforded an escape, if he was willing to attempt it. Despite his weakened
condition he might still be able to rip the bars out of the walls yet did not
wish to go on. Everything he cherished was gone in this world. It was better to
follow.
“Why don’t you just get out of here?” A familiar
voice approached him from behind. “Rip the bars out of the window and let
everyone else out too.”
Simon walked forward, looking disheveled, yet without
the marks, bruises or broken bones shared by most everyone in the dungeons. “Go
on, save them. There must be over two hundred Perfecti in these dungeons. If
you tear the bars out we’ll all go free.”
For a long time, Ursus looked at Simon in the
moonlight then glanced back outside. “For what purpose? To be hunted?
We’ve been running long enough. The
Romans won and that’s all there is. It’s over and the Cathari are finished.
I’m exhausted, Simon, I don’t have any
fight left in me. Aren’t you afraid someone will see you and finally recognize
what you are?”
Simon was shocked, but answered easily. “Here in the
dark they’ll think their eyes are lying to them, especially after the torture
everyone has suffered.” After a pause, he finally asked, “How did you know?”
“That you’re undead? When I first saw you at the
caves I knew. Despite what you do with your unnaturally long life, you are
still born of evil and that is what I was born to lead. I’m telling you this
because I no longer want to hide. I deserve a death, thousands of times worse
than what awaits me in the morning.”
Simon came forward, stood beside Ursus, and for a
long time, both remained silent. Neither wanted to speak, their situation
stealing their words. Both heard whispers in the dark and some sobbing. No one
screamed or cried out; most accepted the coming morning’s pyre. Thankfully,
most would go to their deaths without argument, preferring to die with dignity.
Ursus saw no dignity in their deaths, or even his own.
“Simon, why would I want to stay?
I came into this world to hold it for
my father and Natalie kept me from that.”
“Did
Natalie know?” Simon asked.
“Of course she knew. She was Sangrael; my opposite.
She told you this at Sabarthez, or did you forget? Oh, did she know about you?”
he chuckled, “No, Simon, rest assured, she didn’t know her mentor was Vrykol.”
Behind them, among the sobs and whispers, they turned
to see one of the pitiful, tortured souls come shuffling forward with bleeding
feet. He was a small man, who held his broken and bent hand to his chest, his
head bent low as he concentrated on moving to the window. Once he was a few
feet away, he raised his head and Ursus looked at pupils that were slits,
instead of round.
Some of the prisoners around the old man scurried to
get away from him as a voice, not his own, spoke in a guttural tone. “Lord, why
do you forsake us?” The little man’s back stooped lower with the additional
weight of another. “We look to you to lead us to our destiny, yet you plan to
leave us.”
Ursus sighed deeply and laboriously, finally
responding to the wretch. “Leave this pathetic soul alone now!”
The man collapsed and both Simon and Ursus felt an
icy chill fly past them, into the night. Simon blurted out, “How did he take
possession of a holy man like that? Are they now able to inhabit priests?”
“Priests? Why does it make a difference?” Ursus
replied, irritated at the intrusion. “This was just another attempt to get my
attention. I wish that there was a distraction from all of this death and
torture — something on which I could place my attention.” He continued to
think about this and vowed that when he returned, he would live his life to the
end. He and Natalie promised each other to see what a full life was. They
wanted to enjoy small things, instead of facing doom until a final bloody,
violent end. He would not seek grandeur or awesome spectacle. He would revel in
the mundane.
“You will not save yourself, but rather die?” Simon
asked.
“Yes, and willingly. The people, who have elected
themselves judges in this world, will exact their punishment. I can’t blame
them. Why would I continue to live, Simon?” He continued to think about the
wonderful times he and Natalie shared as they traversed Toulouse and Aragon
helping people.
“I’m not arguing with you,” Simon replied, “Everyone
has a right to choose their death.”
Against a far wall, there came a clamor of a key in a
locked door. The heavy wood swung open and two long pikes were thrust forward
to push anyone out of the way. At the end of the pikes were two burly, chain
mail-clad guards, followed by three others with drawn swords. Following them
were two black robed Dominicans and their bishop, who wore a red mantle over
his black robe and carried a scroll. Behind the armed guards, the two monks
kept their hoods drawn over their faces, while after them, the bishop drew his
back to reveal a stern, bearded, uncaring face. He drew out the scroll he
carried, and after unrolling it, proceeded to speak.
“We, inquisitors and vicars of the Bishop of Albi,
after having conferred with wise and expert men, and using the apostolic
authority vested in us, do state and pronounce sentence, without right of
appeal, that the houses, properties and dependencies of the guilty, be
completely and utterly destroyed. We also order that the materials from these
houses be given up to the flames, unless we decide that the said materials be
used for pious ends.”
Some laughter erupted in the back of the dungeon,
followed by jeers and cackles. “You can dress it up any way you want, brother,
and wear any robe you wish, but you’re nothing more than thieves.”
“How dare you?” the bishop asked. “Who said that?
You’re all heretics, preaching against the holy mother church! Come forward and
show yourself!”
“Why? So that I can be beaten further? Soon enough
I’ll die, but you’ll still be a murdering thief!” The voice stopped but for a
few seconds continued to chuckle in disgust.
One of the mailed soldiers who had drawn a sword
added, “Come on, Padre. Don’t pay any attention to heretical ravings.” With
that, the group retreated, their presence ending as it began, except for the
parting words from the soldier who had spoken last. “Make your prayers to God,
heretics. We’ll soon be back to lead you to your judgment.”
Sobs followed, and some of the imprisoned screamed at
their confirmed doom. Simon and Ursus turned back to the window and were silent
for a few moments.
“Natalie once told me that I didn’t have to cause so
much pain, because too much existed already. Over the past years I saw she was
right,” Ursus thought out loud. He remembered the vow they made to break the
chain they had followed for millennia. They would enjoy all their years
refusing to die brutally. No matter what they would refuse followers whether
they were right or wrong, because in the end, it’s just a matter of opinion.
“That is why the Gnosis of God is so vital,” Simon
said, snapping him out of his reverie. “Without faith, life has no meaning.
Rather, it is a long stream of experiences that have no significance.”
Ursus looked at Simon’s earnestness and faith and
despaired for mankind. He saw what most leaders saw at times — honest
belief given freely, or empty faith given desperately. He wanted neither. The
time for leadership was over and he deserved better. For him, the trappings of
power held no allure. He didn’t care to be Redeemer, Messiah, Savior, the
embodiment and culmination of ideals. He wanted to explain all of this to
Simon, but only answered with the most important point he had learned; through
lifetimes of toil, turmoil, blood, pain, torture and struggle.