The Keepers of the Key

By Eric Howard

The Keepers of the Key is a fast paced work of Supernatural Fiction about the loss and rediscovery of a powerful relic - the Key - which could destroy or save humanity. A powerful mystery thriller set both in the Mediterranean of the Crusades and in present day Britain.
A young Knight Templar must fight his way across Medieval Europe to recover the artefact from King Saladin's stronghold of Acre while the city is under siege. Meanwhile in the modern day, Dowd and Jonathan must race to uncover the forgotten history of the Key and recover the fabled artefact before it falls into the hands of those that would use its power for evil.
Great and ancient powers arise from humanity's forgotten history to take sides in this fight. One sends a terrible Golem to destroy them - it cannot be harmed, it cannot be stopped and it will never give up. Another, the Archangel Michael freed from his servitude, seems content to merely watch though he has the power to sway the battle as he sees fit.
And throughout all of this walk the children of the Watchers. Giants sired by disloyal Angels, they posses fearsome powers and greater wisdom yet they choose to remain in the shadows, guiding and advising - but can their motives be trusted?
The fate of humanity lies with these men and pivots on their willingness to believe in themselves and each other. Strength and knowledge alone cannot defeat the enemies they face, but where might fails, maybe faith can succeed.

The Keepers of the Key is Book 1 of the Keepers Trilogy.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Eric Howard
• Release date: Jan 16, 2012
• ISBN: 9781466152304

Eric Howard

Hi! I am a 37 year old guy living in Sheffield, UK, with my partner of 13 years, Jane. I started writing after getting made redundant a few years back and suddenly realising I had the time to do what I had always wanted to do! My first book, The Keepers of the Key, is part one of a trilogy, the second part of which I am furiously working on now. Beyond the Keepers Trilogy, I have plans for another 7 books (so far!) encompassing a range of genres from hard sci-fi to children's books to a vampire novel! Feel free to friend me on Facebook or link to the Keepers page I've set up there. I hope you like my stories and I look forward to hearing any feedback you have for me.

Book preview

The Keepers of the Key

By Eric Howard

Smashwords Edition

Copyright © 2011

All Rights Reserved.

All characters in this publication, other than those clearly in the public domain, are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Sincere thanks and admiration to Bogdan BAM Diaconu for creating the excellent cover art.

View his amazing work at http://www.bamisme.me/

For Jane

You let me bring Amélien to life.

Without you, he never would have run free…

Chapter

November, 2009

It always starts with rain. To hell with the light, I’d swear there was always rain first…

On the top floor balcony of the abandoned factory, Brayan leant on the railing and studied the view of the dark city before him, its shape picked out in street-lights, the details distorted by the rain. Leaning further out, he let the rain play on his head and face for a moment. His eyes closed, his mind lifetimes and continents away, he savoured the water’s cool freshness and breathed in its slightly metallic fragrance.

It’s not the same, though. The smell, the taste, is different. They finally managed to change even that.

Water poured from the decrepit guttering, splashing loudly on the ground four stories below. The small cobbled courtyard was flooded hours ago, broken wood, paper and leaves overwhelming the century old drainage. The night was still, the sky laden yet calm. Only the rhythmic pour of water filled the air.

His thoughts returned to the present as he opened his eyes and ran one huge hand over his shaven head, brushing the water from his skin. Idly examining the silhouetted dockland buildings, he smiled to himself as he thought how that scene had changed since last he was here.

Like so many Christmas toys. Cherished and important at first; unwanted and forgotten in the end…

Brayan, Alexander said behind him, stirring the great man from his reverie You seem ill at ease, old friend.

The beginning is always the hardest, Alexander, Brayan said, his voice deep and resonant, his pure-white teeth startlingly bright against jet-black skin as he smiled There are still so many things unknown and undecided.

Still so many things to worry about, you mean?

Yes. What if Jonathan does not follow his path? I fear for what your visions tell us.

And what if Dowd cannot overcome his fears? What if they never find the Key? What if our adversaries are better prepared this time? Alexander said, laying a kind hand on Brayan's hugely muscled arm You cannot fret for every little detail.

I know, but being so inactive, restraining ourselves from any interference; it is a hard thing to do.

We are not inactive, Brayan. We just have to let the humans do this on their own. You know that as well as I.

I do, brother, Brayan said, turning around once more to look out over the city But I worry that they will fail again. That we will be betrayed again. There is so much at stake and yet even making them realise that fact is an impossible task.

Not every human has failed us, my friend, Alexander said, his face suddenly tinged with sorrow.

Forgive me, Alexander, Brayan said, shaking his head in regret I did not mean what I said. I must learn patience is all.

After more than forty centuries I am certain that even you can last a few more days, Alexander said, his warm, charming smile returning Now come inside, our brothers and sisters arrive.

As soon as he finished speaking, the loading doors at the far end of the room swung open and a group of people entered and walked over to stand near the two men. Alexander turned to look at the nine beautiful faces behind him, the familiar shapes of loved ones now dressed so differently since last he saw them.

My friends, it is good to see you after so long apart, he said, nodding in welcome to each of them We are here once more at a time of change, another fragile line in history where we may alter what is to come. That which was lost will soon be found. The game shall have new players this time.

The one who finds it, a female voice spoke out from the group will he not just take it to his masters?

I doubt he will get the chance. He gained only a part of the information he required and so does not know how to handle such a thing. This will be his undoing.

Very well. We will observe the outcome and learn what we can of our new players.

Yes, as ever we must be watchful but this time our role goes much further. The chance for a conclusion is finally upon us but it will not happen if we stay in the shadows.

We are still to take direct action? another voice from the group asked What of the consequences; the risks?

It will not be easy. We must play enough of our hand to ensure the outcome yet not so much that we change it. Our fate in this is already set but the way ahead is dark indeed if we sit idle. We must risk everything we have to bring this to an end.

Looking around the group one last time, Alexander nodded slowly as Brayan closed the doors behind them, shutting out the wind and rain, leaving it to batter against the glass.

It is time, he said softly It begins again.

Chapter

4689BC

The battle had raged for days. Fire and ash streamed into the air from great tears in the ground before falling back from the sky like burning snow, coating the plain in a crimson and grey blanket. Thousands of warriors from each side still fought, the cries of the angels as they struck with fist and sword almost drowned out by the screaming roars of the demon horde. Bodies wrapped in blood and gore littered the landscape in a layer many feet deep; the palpable stench of burning flesh hung like a fog.

The death toll of the demons was vast but their numbers were greater still. While the angels fought with a removed austerity, their swords working quickly and efficiently to kill their prey, the hordes of demons relied on brute strength and vast numbers, charging at their targets savagely and with utter disregard for themselves. In the distance, the ruins of the great human city smouldered beneath a cloud of circling carrion beasts, its centuries old walls smashed and broken, its libraries defiled, its magnificent gardens razed.

Amid this all stood the glorious figure of the archangel. Striding up a mound of the fallen, he surveyed the battlefield, his sword burning brilliant gold in his hand, his mighty wings half spread, surrounding him in the purest, shimmering light. He looked out at the carnage around him, his sorrow at the destruction before him and the part he had played in it weighing heavily on his brow.

That so much destruction could be wrought before our intervention is worrisome, he mused Why must these creatures strike so at the humans and how do their attacks go unnoticed for so long? Our vigilance must increase!

A noise behind him struck out above the sounds of battle, catching his attention: a human voice, crying out in fear.

Praise be! he called aloud as his wings bore him gracefully into the air and above the combatants A survivor!.

Through the smoke he spotted the tiny figure as it ran across a small clearing. In pursuit was a Devourer, a huge four-legged nightmare of teeth and claws that towered over even the largest of men.

This man falls under my care, demon! the Archangel cried as he dove at the beast, his sword carving a fiery arc through the sky You shall not have him!

His attack opened a huge wound in the massive creature’s side and knocked it from its feet, sending it sprawling in the dirt, twitching and roaring in pain.

Sheathing his weapon, the archangel stooped low and held out his hand. Instead of being relieved however, the man seemed terrified, dropping to his knees to sob uncontrollably.

Be not afraid, my child. You are safe now, he said, kneeling before the man Why do you prostrate yourself so?

So that you may spare my life, Lord, pitiful as it is. Please; you have taken everything else from me already!

I do not understand. We are here to save you from these foul beasts. I am only sorry that your city was lost before we arrived.

Save us? the man said, some of his panic lost in incomprehension Forgive me, Lord, is this...is this a trial? Do you test me?

I still do not understand, my child. Speak to me only the truth and I swear no harm will come to you, whatever your words reveal. There is nothing to fear whilst you stand in my light.

Swallowing hard, his fear shaking him to the core, the man blurted out his words: My Lord, the beasts did not attack us. They appeared after the angels did. It was they that tried to stop the destruction of our city!

The man's words hit the archangel hard for he knew them to be true as soon as they were spoken.

My brethren did this? They drew first blood?

Yes, my lord, the man said, prostrating himself on the floor A dozen or so appeared on the first night and demanded we gather in the city square. Once we were all together they attacked us without so much as a word. Thousands of innocents cut down without warning.

I...I had no knowledge of this, the archangel said How can this be? I do not understand.

That is because it is a lie, brother, said the angel Uriel as he swept out of the sky Thank you for finding and holding this heretic. His fate is already set like the rest of his people.

Uriel? You did this? You attacked these people?

Of course! Their wickedness had to be driven from the world. Our Lord is tolerant but he will not accept those who denounce him, who stray from his word.

We have done no wrong, my Lords! the man wailed My people are humble souls who give thanks to our Lord each day.

Blasphemer! Uriel cried stepping forward, his hand to his sword How dare you even speak his name? I will hear your lies no longer!

Stay your hand, Uriel! the archangel commanded This man speaks the truth. Surely you can see that?

That is how deep this corruption goes, brother! Our Lord told me that we could not rely on our senses when judging these people. Their wickedness is so vile that it confounds and confuses even us. He must be destroyed!

I said no! You have taken leave of yourself, Uriel. This man is no more corrupt than I.

Maybe that is the case, brother. Maybe you are the cause of this blackness that has tainted mens' hearts, Uriel sneered, drawing his sword.

You raise your sword to me? Truly have you gone mad!

I will do whatever is needed to serve my Lord, even if that means destroying you. For now though, I shall finish the task I started. Your fate will lie with our master.

Uriel thrust his sword out to the side, scything it back towards the kneeling man's bowed head. With a cry the archangel swept his sword forward to block the blow, the blade flaring brightly in his hands. The force of the blow sheared clean through Uriel's sword and struck his right wing halfway along its length. The angel screamed in pain and grasped at the tattered and burning remains of his wing, dropping his sword, smothering the fire with his hands.

My wing! he cried out, dropping to his knees What have you done to my wing?!

You brought this upon yourself, Uriel, the archangel said as he sheathed his sword once more To even consider the action you attempted makes plain your corruption and weakness. I can have no sympathy for you.

Lies! Uriel spat as he curled on the floor, his eyes streaming with tears It was you, betrayer! You brought this to me! I sought only to follow the will of our Lord but your ego stopped me. He will know of your treachery!

Oh he will know of my actions, of that you may be certain. After this man leaves here under my protection I will face him myself, Uriel. No snivelling messenger dog need tell my tales. Be gone from my sight!

Carefully picking up the trembling man in his arms, the archangel spread his luminous wings and stepped lightly into the air.

I do not know how this came to pass, my child, he said, a stern and determined look marring his beautiful face But I vow to you now it shall never come again. I give you my word that no human shall ever suffer at the hands of my kind from this day forth.

With smoke and flames billowing around him, he rose higher into the air, carrying the man far away from the battle and the whimpering cries of Uriel.

Chapter

November, 2009

Stepping out of the subway and into the dull-grey half light of a winter morning, Tracy made her way towards work, her eyes scanning over the early edition paper she held folded in one hand while she sipped distractedly at the coffee in her other. The human traffic was at a changeover point, the last strays from the previous night’s partying still making their way unsteadily home while a few bleary eyed commuters were just heading out for a pre-dawn start. The wind was picking up, whipping at coats and scarves, making everyone pull their clothes tight about them and glance up at the sky, now heavy with the promise of snow.

A few minutes walk brought Tracy in sight of the London hospital in which she worked, its curtains still drawn against the cold, electric light streaming out from its entrance. Heading inside, nodding and smiling to familiar, tired faces, she rode the elevator to the maternity ward and made her way along the almost silent corridors to the nurse’s break room.

God - its bitter out there, she said, putting her coffee down and rubbing her hands together.

Has the snow held off? Teresa, one of her colleagues, asked.

Only just, love. I think it’ll be falling before I leave tonight.

Well as long as it stays clear for the next two hours so I can get home, Teresa said, smiling.

Oh charming! Leave us to get snowed in! Tracy said with mock indignation.

Teach you not to bring your skis, wont it? Teresa quipped, grinning, heading for the door Come through to the station when you’re ready and we’ll do the hand over.

Be right there, love

Coffee finished, handbag and coat stowed in her locker, Tracy adjusted her uniform, tied her hair back and scrubbed and disinfected her hands before following Teresa out into the ward. At the nurses station, a large curved desk in the middle of the ward’s length, the two women made their way through the traditional morning handover. Reports on all the patients currently in their care were updated and checked, medications verified and strategies discussed; every note carefully filed.

How’s Amy doing? Tracy asked, a worried frown creeping across her brow.

No better, Teresa sighed sadly Poor girl still won’t talk or feed herself. She just lies there - sleeping for the most part - with one arm on Rupert’s bassinet.

Still no family come forward?

No. The police came again and took her picture and her finger prints. She didn’t even seem to notice them. We’ve heard nothing though.

She’s stable though?

Oh yes. No complications from the birth…well…not since… her voice trailed off , her face creasing as a memory tried to resurface for a moment She’ll eat a little if you sit with her. Rupert is fine though. Strong little guy, he is. Quietest baby I’ve ever seen in my life though. He’s never made a sound that I know of. We may have to get him checked for deafness.

Ok then, Tracy said, scribbling a few notes on the clipboard that contained Amy’s chart I’ll keep an eye on her and I’ll give Paediatrics a call later this morning, see if they can get someone down here.

Well, that’s everything, love. I’ll leave you to it. Have a good day.

You too, Teresa. Love to Mike.

-

A few hours later the patients were awake, the curtains open and the remains of breakfast being cleared up. Tracy sat on the side of Amy’s bed, the partition drawn around them, and quietly chatted to the frail young girl as she offered her small spoons of oatmeal. Her vacant eyes glazed into some far, unseen distance as her mouth worked at the gooey paste with utter disinterest. As usual she had put up no fight when the nurses came to give her a sponge bath and change and dress her, standing or sitting as limply as a discarded doll save for that one arm stretched out to Rupert’s plastic bed.

As a nurse of over twenty years, Tracy had seen a great many conditions in her time and dealt with sorts of behaviour, but something about this waking coma of Amy’s disturbed her. There was clearly something going on in there, some struggle making its way through whatever trauma had caused this, yet it never quite reached the surface. With the food finished, she smiled ruefully and wiped a cloth around the young girl’s mouth, telling her gently what a good girl she was and how much better she was doing today. Clearing the tray aside she stood up and walked around to Rupert. There he lay, sleeping silently, his belly full of formula after his morning feed. He looked utterly peaceful, Tracy thought as she watched him, reaching out to stroke his cheek with one finger. Sighing, unable to shake a nagging feeling that she was missing something, that with just the right words she could snap this girl awake and make everything better, she picked up the tray, drew back the partitions and headed away.

Behind her, Amy’s eyes flicked quickly around the room as though checking for something before landing firmly on the sleeping child at her side. A glimmer, the tiniest subtle hint of a smile, trembled over her lips as she looked at him. It had worked, she thought, they were safe. Here in this place, in this self-contained world of process and procedure, she had gotten away with it. Despite their vigilance and before their watchful eyes, the birth of a god had gone completely unnoticed.

Chapter

September, 1189

Amélien tore down the stone corridor at full speed, sounds of his pursuers echoing behind. His right hand held the heavy, leather-wrapped package, his left steadied the pommel of his sheathed sword. T-junction: go right, must head west. Another corridor. Keep going, keep pace. Door. It's defensive, brace on this side: Blast! Through the door, slammed shut behind. Spiral stairs. Go up, three, four at a time. A landing. Go up. Heart beating strong, chest working steadily. Plenty of power left.

Half way up to the next floor he heard voices above, coming down: his pursuers were closing in on him. Back down, hit the landing running, head west again. Shouts behind him receding. Keep going. Another door, no locks. Straight through: Store room. Wine and food in barrels and sacks. Out the other side; more corridor. Barred door at the end. More stairs. No sounds: go up! One floor, two. The living areas: balconies on the seaward side. Will have to risk the jump. No pursuers now. Stop. Take stock. Breathe deep and steady: focus.

It had taken many days for the four brothers to trace the lost artefact to King Saladin, and more still to learn that it had been taken to the stronghold of Acre, but once it was confirmed, Amélien was adamant: it was his charge and he alone would recover it. His three brothers argued with him for many hours, insisting that they must come along to help but he was convinced he had to go alone and not even Father Mainardus could change his mind. Journeying from Italy, another traveller in the steady stream of people heading toward the Crusade, he made his way to Kingdom of Saladin and on to the city of Acre. A garrison of fifteen thousand Muslims waited inside the great city while King Guy's force, less than eight thousand strong, laid siege from the East. The Italian fleet was positioned off the western coast and rumours grew that a Danish and Frisian fleet were on their way. Breaking into this besieged city and getting out alive, his brothers told him, would be impossible.

Amélien had waited patiently on rooftops for a full day and night, watching the movement of the guards, calculating where he could breach the defences. In the early hours of the morning he made his move, slinking along walls and roofs before dropping down during a gap in the patrols. Once inside his looks and dress let him blend in with the men stationed there, drifting through their ranks as just another exhausted soldier. He managed to make it all the way to vaults and retrieve the artefact before he was spotted. Now it was just a matter of getting out.

Time to move. Down this hall, through one door and then right, through one of the bed chambers; less than twenty yards in total. Still no pursuers, take it easy. He moved along the corridor, hand still on his sword.

Suddenly there were voices coming toward him from the other side of the door! No time to think, have to go through them. Move closer, crouch low, wait for the handle…to…move…GO!

Amélien leapt forward like a cat to prey, taking the five feet to the door in one stride, his armoured shoulder hitting it dead centre. The wood bent then exploded inward, splitting clean in two along its length. The man opening the door did not even have time to register astonishment before he was hit in the face by the edge of the wood, shattering his nose and teeth. Second stride, Amélien raised the package in his left hand, brought it round with the full force of his momentum and slammed it into the side of the next fighters head. The soldier’s helmet collapsed inward as if hit with a hammer, blood spraying out from beneath. In the same movement, Amélien drew his sword with his right hand, arcing it up through the air it connected with the third man's throat, slicing skin and crunching bone. Third stride, the men behind still falling, Amélien, his sword still raised high, fell on the final man as he fumbled for his weapon. The pommel met the man’s forehead with a visceral crack. Eyes shot red, mouth hung limply open, he folded quietly to the floor.

Still now, breathing slowly, he checked the bodies: all dead. Someone will have heard this; keep moving forward. Down the corridor, into the bed chamber. There was the balcony. Leaning over the iron railing he could only hear the sea. It was too dark to see how far he needed to jump to clear the rocks he knew were down there. In the distance he could make out the lamps and lanterns burning on the Italian ships stationed offshore, blockading the seaward access to Acre. Sheathing his sword, he wiped the blood and gore from the box he carried. Noises behind him, the next party come searching. Reciting a small prayer, he crossed himself and looked to the star filled sky. Well, he’d just need a little faith, he thought, smiling as he leapt into the dark.

Chapter

November, 2009

Tel hurried along the alleyway, his shabby great-coat bundled tight about him, the bulk of the book held to his chest through the cloth. The usual stink of stale beer and disinfectant that leaked from the enormous recycling bins behind the nightclub had lessened that night, all but washed away by the hammering rain.

He followed the chain-link fence in the dark, running his hand along it to find the section he had cut through weeks earlier. Carefully unhooking his makeshift repair, he slipped through and closed the gap behind him.

Through the pouring rain, he could see the light on the security camera at the back of the club and just make out the whine of its motor as it swept back and forth. He waited, like every night, until it was half way through its turn to the right and then hurried across the cobblestones, safe in the camera’s blind spot. Swiftly, relying more on memory than sight, he felt out and unlocked the large metal hatchway. Crouching down, the heavy book balanced on his knees beneath his coat, he hefted up one of the doors and moved down into the basement.

Row upon row of bottles filled the underground space. Beers from all over the world, wine from countries Tel had only read about, all neatly arranged, clearly labelled and climate controlled. In years since past this space would have housed great kegs of beer beneath its arched recesses, but times changed. Even longer ago Tel would have been more than keen to sample some of the expensive bottles that now lined the walls, but…that was a different life. He had better things to do now.

Moving quickly and quietly he made his way to the end of the room furthest from the exit and carefully moved aside the large recycling bin that stood there. The stretch of wall behind was the same as the rest of the room at first glance but careful inspection revealed a small section, less than half a metre each side, which had no mortar.

Pushing the bricks inward, he crawled feet first into the space and pulled the recycler behind him until it obscured the hole completely. A few moments of scrabbling in the dark and he retrieved the torch and shovel from where he had left them. The bright halogen strip lit up the space he had entered: twenty metres long by ten wide but less than one high, the walls and ceiling constructed of a crumbling brown stone, much older than the building above it. The floor was a waste-ground of soil, crumbled brick and masonry, remnants of the building that once stood here.

Hunched over double, he grabbed his tools and crawled to his current excavation. The pit, like the twenty he had dug before, was two metres on a side and, so far, around the same deep. Clambering in he took off his coat, carefully bundling the large tome in it, and placed it up on the side of the hole. Grasping the shovel, he squinted at the earth, chose a spot and started digging.

Two and a half metres down. Progress was slow. Each shovel full of earth was lifted high and thrown up and over toward the last pit he had dug, now half refilled. Three metres down. His shovel clanged into stones, rocks and broken masonry more frequently the further he dug and the earth became colder and harder.

He had been coming here for weeks now and digging these holes. His hands were blistered and swollen, his finger nails broken and blackened and his back ached fiercely. Yet still he dug, each shovel full of earth bringing the tingle of expectation. Was this the right spot? Was he digging deep enough? When would he find it?

He knew it was here. His research was flawless as always. He had decoded the book perfectly, broken the secrets of those damned Templar ciphers like eggs and sucked every morsel from them. He knew he was right. But...but what if the book was no longer accurate. He was certain it had been buried here, but what if it had been found? Eight hundred years was a long time for anything to stay hidden.

Fear crept in, the electric tingle of panic. What if he could not find it? He busied himself with his work, letting the exertion and pain push his doubts away. He simply had to find it or he would lose everything. He knew he should not be there. The breaking and entering be damned, he knew he would pay dearly for this insubordination if his master found out. Even after four hundred years of faithful service this indiscretion would be hard to overlook and he would come down hard on him.

After a further half hour he stopped digging, exhausted, and planted the shovel in the ground before reaching up to his coat and grabbing the bottle of water he had brought along. Leaning against the side of the pit he drained the water in one long gulp and stood panting, mopping his brow as he looked down at the exposed earth. He sighed. Another pit dug and no results. Time to move to the next one. Throwing the bottle up out of the hole he pulled himself up after it but as he hooked his leg over the edge, the earth beneath him shifted. He froze, struggling for balance but it was hopeless. A huge wedge of earth freed itself and collapsed into the hole taking Tel along with it, half burying him. Spitting out mouthfuls of dirt he dragged himself free, soil cascading away from him, and stood brushing himself all over.

"Son of a bitch! he yelled as he shook soil from his hair That's all I bloody need," Grabbing the torch he peered around in the bottom of the pit for his shovel and as he did so something caught his eye in the now concave side. A neat line of brickwork had been revealed, their edges blurred and crumbling with age. Digging with his hands, Tel cleared away the earth, slowly at first but with more enthusiasm as his hope grew. After only a few minutes work the entire shape was revealed: a brick box, rather like a small chimney stack, not more than half a metre tall, with a slate lid and bottom. Carefully he teased the edge of the box, pulling at an exposed brick to try and loose it. With a smell of mould and damp, the whole side collapsed, the rotted bricks crumbling completely, showering Tel and the floor with a sticky yellow coating; but there, underneath the dirt, he saw it. A pristine white surface gleaming like wet marble was revealed, the dirt and muck already sliding away, unable to cling on. He pulled it free and stood admiring his prize: a box maybe thirty centimetres long by twenty wide and five deep, its edges smooth and bevelled with no sign of hinge or opening.

"I've found it! It's still here!" he said, holding it out in front of him, his fingers turning white from the force of his grip.

Almost reverentially he placed the box up on the side of the pit and, with considerably more care this time, dragged himself out as well. Squatting cross legged on the floor he gathered the box, his torch and the book in front of him. Selecting a sheaf of loose pages that he had tucked inside the cover of the book, he leafed through them, scanning the masses of cramped handwriting and carefully sketched drawings, until he found the one he wanted: a sheet of tissue-thin paper covered in an intricate, spiral pencil drawing. Laying the A4 sized page over the top of the box, he inhaled deeply to steady himself, eyes closed in concentration.

This is it, Tel. One chance. One chance to change the rules and stack the cards in our favour. Once chance to become a player in this game. You know what you are doing and you know how to do it, he said, reassuring himself Well bollocks to it. One out of two and some good hacking will have to do.

He began the routines he had set in place, reciting the keys and triggers, the words flowing into rhythmic chants, streaming like lines of computer code, activating the data processing systems within his brain. Next came the boost to his senses, the world lighting up with a thousand minute details, all examined and streamed back to the waiting computational centres. Finally he worked through his physiology, activating glands, routing glycogen directly to the hotspots, unleashing endorphins and adrenalin into his blood stream.

He opened his eyes. The air was thick and oily with data, the very dust that hung motionless before him demanding analysis. Below his view, his hands moved, seemingly sluggish and heavy but blurring with speed to an outside observer. The breath he had drawn in at the start of the process was only now beginning to seep out between his lips, oozing like chilled treacle.

Slowly moving his eyes round to look at the box, he examined the intricate design of concentric circles on the paper; bands covered with symbols and pictograms, nestled one inside the other. Selecting seven symbols he reached out and touched them all at precisely the same time and was rewarded with a glow from beneath the paper, a brief flash of golden light outlining the same concentric circles on the box below. Less than half a second. That was the length of the window he had just opened and in that time he had to enter a code made up of fourteen distinct parts. No worries.

His fingers went to work. Some inputs required simple taps as on a keyboard, others needed to be held and repositioned like dialling a rotary phone. The fourteenth symbol was entered, the glow faded from the box. Tel smiled to himself and was about to disengage his routines when suddenly the box flashed once more, the circles reappearing. There was a second part to the code?! None of his research had indicated this: he had no idea what to enter! He watched in horror as the glow faded, his hand, painfully slowly, reaching for the talisman he wore around his neck. His fingers curled around its shape as the box began to glow, a blinding white light that burned through his eyelids.

Damn you, Alexander, he thought as the world slowly, ever so slowly, exploded around him, you tricked me!

-

The tremor was felt two kilometres away. It triggered car alarms, cracked windows and walked ornaments off their ledges. Dogs awoke and howled furiously at the dark, their ears ringing from something no human heard. With no noise accompanying the disturbance, most people assumed it was just a slight earthquake; nothing with which to concern themselves. The city simply rolled over and went back to sleep.

Chapter

April, 1188

I am so proud of you my son. In these ever darkening days even our own brotherhood has rotted at the edges, bringing shame to us all. Yet you bring us great honour, Amélien. Your ceaseless, tireless pursuit of justice in the name of our Lord is an inspiration to all Templar everywhere.

You honour me father, but it is not I who should be praised for my actions. I am merely the tool, the vessel for the will of our Lord. He has seen fit to task me with these endeavours. All I must do is be strong enough to know I will succeed.

Vaasco reached across from his horse to that of his son and grasped his boy’s shoulder tightly.

Amélien, how can one so young be so selfless and noble?

Amélien, placing his hand on his father’s, turned to face him, smiling.

By following where my parents led me, father.

They rode on in silence for a time, enjoying the hot summer sun that beamed down on them from a clear, cobalt-blue sky. A breeze rippled through the dusty vineyards around them, wafting the heady, musty scents of the ripened grapes. In the distance, the Italian labourers could be heard, chatting and laughing as they brought in the harvest.

Vaasco found himself looking at his son again. Beneath the swarthy looks he had inherited from his Portuguese father he was the very image of his late mother. Bright-blue eyes, delicate nose and a perpetual smile made him a handsome sight. He rode his horse with the same graceful ease he performed every task, his innate prowess with physical action able to exceed the honed talents of those whom others would call expert. As usual his expression was open and honest, eager to see what lay ahead yet with no hint of impatience. In all the years Vaasco had watched him, never once had he seen even a flicker of anger or pride and always he welcomed everything and everyone he met, both new and old

Well, we are nearly at our destination, Amélien, Vaasco said, spotting the small chapel over the next rise Are you prepared for what is ahead?

Surely you are to be the judge of that, father?

"I believe you are capable of meeting the challenge but my question was more concerned with how you feel about it."

The council’s hand is steered by God. Whatever they have decided for me is as it should be. I am eager to see what challenge awaits me and what new way I can serve.

Good, Amélien, very good. I am pleased you are clear on this. The council has a great task for you and I only wished to be sure you were going into it with both eyes open. Forgive an old man for worrying for his only son, said Vaasco smiling.

Not so old, father, Amélien said, patting his father’s shoulder Not so old.

They rode on up to the chapel and dismounted by the stables that lay alongside the farmhouse, the field workers greeting them respectfully but keeping their distance, busying themselves with their work. A young boy that Vaasco vaguely recognised spotted them as they stabled their horses and ran swiftly over to the chapel, disappearing inside. He emerged again a few moments later, pointing excitedly at Vaasco and Amélien and was followed by three men, all dressed similarly in loose, white-cotton tunics and pants, but all strikingly different. The first man, Commander Joham, looked much the same as Amélien and Vaasco; dark skinned with thick black hair but much older than either, maybe in his late fifties. The second man, Alexander, was taller and more lithe than the others and clearly Caucasian in origin but deeply tanned and weather worn, with long brown hair gathered loosely back. The third man, Brayan, was the most striking. Over six and a half feet tall and built like an ox, his jet-black skin glistened with sweat in the afternoon sunshine.

Vaasco! Amélien! Joham called, his arms held wide in greeting Good to see you my friends.

Reaching the two men, Joham embraced Vaasco warmly before turning to Amélien.

It is good to see you my boy. It has been some time, has it not? Come let me introduce you to Alexander and Brayan. They take care of this estate for us, amongst other things.

Alexander stepped forward and stood before Amélien smiling. The boy found himself fascinated by the man's face, drawn into his features which, while young, seemed filled with detail, as if its owner had already lived many lifetimes.

I am pleased to meet you Amélien, Alexander said I have heard a great deal about you and have looked forward to our meeting for some time. You understand we have a special task for you; an assignment that will most likely consume the rest of your life in its completion?

I do. I am honoured to be considered for such service.

You are not being considered, Amélien. You are simply the one to whom this task falls.

I am not certain I understand…

Yet you will accept none the less, yes?

If it is my destiny - my duty - to do this thing then I accept without question, Amélien said solemnly.

Then take my hand; let me show you what lies ahead, Alexander said, extending his arm forwards.

Without hesitation, Amélien grasped the other man's forearm firmly and Alexander returned his grip…

…And the world flooded in.

Amélien stepped sharply back, his arms flung outward to steady himself. Vaasco reached forward to offer him support but was stilled with a wave of Amélien’s hand.

In but a moment… he gasped, his breath short I saw so much. Whole lives…whole worlds…so many people!

He straightened up, steady once again, and looked squarely at Alexander, his eyes wide and shining with wonder.

"You were there. You, Brayan and others. You were there at Calvary on the day he died. You watched him suffer on the cross, heard his last words. You spoke with him!"

As have you, Amélien. As you have witnessed my life, I have glimpsed yours. You are to be commended for recognising your dream for what it was. What did he tell you?

Just one thing. That I would save him.

Now do you see why you have been brought here?

"Yes: because I must be brought here."

Yes, Amélien; yes. And do you see the sword; the Key?

I see it, yes, but I do not know what it is.

Come inside. Let us show you what we know, said Joham, moving behind the group and ushering them towards the chapel.

The chapel was a small stone structure barely able to hold a dozen men; a simple wooden pulpit, a handful of cushions for kneeling and a few candles were all it contained. Brayan stepped ahead of the group and carefully moved the pulpit to one side before reaching down and lifting one of the enormous flagstones up like a cellar door, revealing a steep stairway beneath.

The passageway angled sharply downwards, dropping at least ten metres through solid rock, the air getting gradually colder and more damp as they descended. A small tunnel led from the foot of the stairs to a candlelit oval room barely two metres high and five wide whose centre was taken up with a platform of naked rock rising out of the floor. Oval in shape and waist high to a man, it filled most of the room, leaving only a slim walkway around the edge. Covering the surface of the plinth was a large red cloth bearing a simple crucifix design at its centre and held down by thin, weighted tassels.

Alexander moved into the room and began withdrawing the cloth from the plinth while the others filed in behind him.

You have seen a glimpse of the truth, Amélien, how the sword was found in the cave where Jesus of Nazareth was laid to rest when his followers rolled away the stone. How those people present all witnessed the same waking dream in which Jesus told them to keep the weapon safe and that one day it would be needed to save us all. How it was secreted away lest those that killed him should come to find it. How it has been kept safe with our help for over one thousand years.

Alexander finished removing the cloth revealing a recess cut into the rock underneath. Lined with worn and faded purple velvet, the shape of a large sword had been carved into the stone and laying within was the sword itself: Ancient looking and black as iron, it was like no weapon Amélien had ever seen before.

You are being entrusted with this knowledge and brought into the circle of men that guard it now. For ten generations a handful of the Knights Templar have been charged with this duty, of keeping the Key safe, said Joham.

I understand, said Amélien but from whom do we hide this?

From far too many eyes, said Joham grimly Many men wish to steal it simply to own it, others for perceived financial gain. Men are, however, not our only concern.

It was then that Brayan spoke for the first time in his deep, booming baritone voice:

"Those who first protected the sword, those who saw the vision of Christ, they all spoke of another presence in their dream. A great, dark entity; corruption and malice given form. It fought and wailed like a trapped animal, seemingly trying to stop the message being delivered and it is in preparation for defence against this thing that we now guard this weapon.

As you have seen today, Amélien, there are others amongst you on this earth. Some are as old as we, the children of the Watchers, some younger and some unseen by anything that lives under the sun. Their true intent may remain unknown to us and their actions may be hidden behind mortal man, secreted away from the light, but they are there, and they desire the Key.

Amélien looked between the men in turn, a sombre expression upon his face.

What say you, Amélien? asked Joham Will you take up this task?

Amélien looked the commander straight in the eye but said nothing, instead stepping forward and, with one hand on its hilt and the other on its blade, he lifted the sword reverentially from its rest and held it out before him.

As was said at the start, there is no decision to be made. This is my task and it has always been so. I will stand with you, my brothers, and fight off the hands that pry and the minds that envy. We shall face the darkness and know no fear for I shall be at your back and you at mine: brothers all!

-

Amélien left the cold darkness of the tunnels and walked out in to the bright afternoon sunshine. Things seemed different to him somehow; darker yet with more purpose. He felt more connected to the world, more involved, yet it seemed now a much larger and less certain place.

It feels strange does it not, Amélien? said Joham, walking to his side Suddenly having the bounds of ones world pushed back and light shone into places you never knew existed.

It is true that the world seems a little different now, Joham, but somehow it does not feel unfamiliar. It is as if I have been reminded of something long forgotten rather than discovering it for the first time.

Those who are called to this service have a fate different than others. Their destiny is guided, though not completely foretold. I have always felt that each man who serves to protect the sword is a little closer to the divine.

Who are the others? Amélien asked Will I meet them soon?

This is a time of change for our brothers. Those who protect the sword cannot do so indefinitely. The task is too hard to bear for long and their faces can become known to those they seek to avoid. That is why the sword is here, now, so that we can bring in a new guard and begin our vigil afresh.

The sword is not normally kept here?

No. This place was its home for many hundreds of years while Alexander’s people guarded it but since its protection fell to the Templar, we have had to use different means. We discovered that, without harm, the Key can be dismantled into four parts. We took these parts and hid them within vessels and then moved them throughout the known world, keeping them from the sight of our enemies. Each time a new team is selected the parts are reunited here so that we may began again.

For how long has this gone on?

The first group was formed in 982, exactly two hundred years ago.

Am I the first of this new group, Joham?

You were the first chosen, Amélien, but not the first to arrive. Another already journeyed here a day ahead of you. He accepted his role and has been awaiting your arrival. He is out in the north fields now, away from the vineyards. You should go and meet him.

Amélien nodded and turned to walk away in the direction Joham had indicated.

Be aware though, brother; while all may seem tranquil and at peace, we are still in danger. Some of our brothers are patrolling the far reaches of this piece of land and will warn us of any threats but attacks could come at any time. Vigilance and speed of action are your main defences now, brother.

-

The vineyards were extensive and it took Amélien nearly twenty minutes of walking over the powder-dry earth to cross them. It was early summer and the higher vineyards were being harvested, the musty scent of the grapes mixing with the delicate fragrance of the wild flowers in the northern fields. Reaching the edge, Amélien climbed over the low fence and looked out on to the grassy field beyond. A lone olive tree stood in the middle of the field, unpruned and left to run wild, it had grown twisted and massive, its gnarled trunk over a metre wide and its loftiest branches easily twelve metres from the ground. High up within the branches, a figure could be seen balancing, his body poised yet relaxed, his limbs moving in harmony with that of the tree as the breeze carried it back and forth.

Making his way through the waist high grasses, Amélien paused at the base of the tree to look through the boughs before climbing lightly upwards and perching on a limb across from the other man. Roughly the same height and build as Amélien, he was of similar age and looks; dark skin, though slightly less so than Amélien’s, with Caucasian features and thick, dark hair. He too wore simple, loose cotton garments drawn in with bindings at the shoulders, waist and knees and he carried a sheathed sword across his back.

Both men looked out to the lush green hills in the north, admiring the beauty of the landscape, enjoying the cool breeze and the gentle motion of the tree beneath them. Suddenly, maybe a mile to the north, a brief flash caught their eyes; sunlight momentarily glinting off metal. Neither man moved. They strained forward, their eyes searching. Another flash and, a moment later, a distant, muffled cry.

As one they dropped from the tree, deftly catching lower branches to break their fall, and hit the ground running. Nearing the top of the hill they fell to the ground and crawled to the brow for a better view. Down in the small valley beyond, a dozen scruffy looking, lightly armed men could be seen grouped together in the long grass, apparently inspecting something on the ground. Rough voices raised in argument and foul Italian language came to the ears of the men lying in the grass. Clearly they were bandits who, having stumbled upon one of the Templar guards, had killed him without realising what he was. Now they stood and bickered as to why an armed man was out here alone and whether or not they should explore further.

With only a brief glance between them, Amélien and his companion began to move down the hill, their heads crouched low beneath the grasses, their paths separating slowly out until they were ten metres apart. Nearer they crept, using the sound of the bandits’ voices as their guide. Just three metres away they stopped and listened, assessing the situation.

I don’t know. This is an expensive sword. Whatever it is guarding has to be valuable.

"Yes it is and that’s the problem! There will be a lot of guards. It’s not worth it."

Bah, you are a coward. We must take risks!

A weak groan of pain emerged from the middle of the group.

Shit. He’s not dead.

Not yet anyway. All the men laughed.

Well let’s ask him what he’s guarding. Come on; get him up.

Christ, he’s bleeding everywhere!

Put him down, Amélien said in perfect Italian, walking calmly towards the men.

Oh! Another one, the man issuing the orders said, grinning Maybe this one will be easier to question.

The other bandits, grinning and laughing, began drawing knives and swords and advancing on Amélien.

I’m giving you one chance. Put away your swords and leave this land, said Amélien calmly, his sword still sheathed.

And what if we don’t just curl up and run in fear? Then what do you do? the leader sneered.

I imagine he does the same as I would, the second Templar said appearing behind them He sends you home with a few broken bones for your troubles.

Twelve against two? This is too easy: take them!

The pack split in half, six thugs heading for each knight, but both men stood their ground, their hands empty. The first bandit took an untrained and clumsy swipe at Amélien with his knife.