Prologue

In Victorian London, famous author, Samuel Barnes has created a conspiracy that turns out to be all too real. In this story; history, religion, science and conspiracy all collide.

London, August 23, 1886.

Prologue

Steady your heart... For there is nothing to fear; you were chosen for this. To do God’s will.

 

In the darkened, candle lit room knelt an apprehensive man before a stone carved alter made from the finest Egyptian granite. He wore nothing but a simple white robe and a look of distressed ambition, as did all first initiates. He had a sturdy build, light olive colored skin, and heavy bags under his bright brown eyes; he hadn’t eaten or slept in days.

 

Seven men, wearing pure white tabards, stood around the kneeling man in silence. On their white garments bore the ancient sigil of their forefathers. All watching and waiting in silence for the last ritual of this ancient initiation to be performed, a ritual they all had to complete to get where they were today. An ancient ceremony that thousands before them have fulfilled, and thousands more have replicated in cheap attempts to achieve false honor and glory. This was no fictionalized ritual, nor false custom. This was the origin of traditional initiation, the first step to a lifetime of majesty. An ancient past brought to life by someone who has touched each and every person in this room individually. Showing them the path to enlightenment. Awakening old blood and forgotten lineage from the shadows of the Church.

The temple was exceedingly quiet, not even the breath of his brothers could be heard. The heart of the kneeling man was pacing loudly against his chest; he was worried the others might hear. He did not know why he felt so nervous.

All would be good in the hands of the Lord, he reminded himself.

On the alter lay a small box encrusted with the ancient gold and silver of his forgotten ancestors. The man on the ground knew all too well what lay inside.

As he steadied his breathing he closed his eyes and began to pray.

The stone ground was rough and cold beneath his knees. There were over 15,000 different locations in Europe that have housed the very same ritual he was about to perform, but the temple they congregated in tonight was chosen for reasons of spiritual convention. Deep beneath the Church lied the tombs of his ancient ancestors; proudly watching him become what they watched grow extinct. Built in 1185, the Temple Church of London was the genesis of ritual initiation. Just this morning, the initiate had to come into the temple from the west during the rising of the setting sun, as it was required by all new initiatives. The doors were sealed behind him and he has been kneeling before the alter ever since. Twelve hours had past, painfully awaiting for the Grand Knight to bestow upon him his forthcoming fate, waiting for the ritual to just be over so he can begin his mission.

In effort to distract himself from his aching knees, the kneeling recruit couldn’t help but notice the beautiful architecture within the walls of the church. The temple’s interior was decorated with a high Victorian Gothic style. Six free-standing purbeck marble pillars towered over the man, laid out in a perfect circle. The temple building was made into two sections. The original nave section, which the order were awaiting in now, was known as the Round Church; while the adjoining rectangular section that would normally consist of the clergy, was known as the Chancel.  Despite the Temple’s Gothic interior appearance, the exterior view was monolithic, exhibiting a massive dome just over the Round Church, which wasn't very common for Churches to have two different styles of architecture. The temple was built to replicate the Church of the Holy Sepulchrn in Jerusalem, which people to this day still believe is the actual site where Jesus Christ died, was buried, and rose from the dead.

He inhaled the stale air, filling his lungs with thoughts of ambition and purpose; exhaling the anxieties that filled his heart with doubt.

Then he heard a noise. It was the first noise he's heard since he began the ritual at dawn. He could feel the eyes of his brethren casting their gaze at the end of the temple. The initiate heard the clink of medal and the sound of tumblers falling into place. He felt a swift current of air hit his face as he heard the swing of a wooden door in the shadows, and the powerful thud of it closing once again. Hearing the familiar sound of key and lock once more, he felt his heart begin to race again.

I am ready for perdition, my Lord.

From behind the stone alter, he saw a man ascend from the shadows; dressed in the same white tabard bearing the same blood red cross like all his other surrounding brethren. His hands folded together as if in silent prayer, a long sterling sword made of the finest silver was latched to a woven belt on his hip. He halted in front of the alter, his dark eyes and gray hair were all too familiar to the kneeling man in the center.

The older man with the dark eyes held one hand on the hilt of his sword, not so much in caution but more so in convenience. He stared at his fellow brethren, paying no attention to the kneeling initiate, his eyes omitting a look undeniable power.

He raised his hand and pointed to the man on the stone floor, addressing the other men in white. “Do the knights of this order believe this man to be worthy enough for the ranks of God?”

His voice echoed against the stone pillars. The initiate knew what had to happen now. The Grand Knight needed to be aware of any doubts of his fellow brothers. This is how the society as a whole determined the likelihood of the initiate; and the objection of one man could alter the chance of the candidate’s future in the order. But he was relieved to hear the silent sound of approval by the order.

The Grand Knight placed his hands on the delicately crafted box that revealed the last step to the kneeling man's initiation. He released the latch on the corner and revealed the contents within. Inside was an authentic human skull with the top surgically removed to reveal an almost bowl like crevice.

The kneeling man stared in silence, his mouth turning dry. He watched as the Grand Knight grasped the skull and placed it on the alter facing the new recruit; its hollowed eyes piercing into his own.

Golgotha. He thought

The Grand Knight silently pulled out a glass bottle from beneath the ambo. The bottle was full of a red liquid; he began to pour it into the skull. Its hallow shell filling to the brim, staining the white bone with red.

The dark eyed man walked around the stone crafted alter and stood before the kneeling initiate, holding the cup of death.

The initiate could feel the eyes of the order watching him. But for some reason a sense of peace washed over him, a revelation of purpose, realizing how little it mattered in the grand scheme of what was planned.

As few as there are in here, we continue to grow out there. Forever we have waited in the shadows. Our time has come to begin a new; resurrected. Tonight I will be reborn.

The Grand Knight with the dark eyes took a long breath. "Brother Jameson, it is time for you to fulfill your oath, how do you wish to die?"

Jameson looked into the sunken eyes of the skull in the man's hands. "With the secrets of the Templar, Grand Master."

"Then you shall face eternity accompanied by the secrets you have learned."

The initiate shakily stood up, his knees screaming with relief. Jameson knew from recent initiations what had to be done next. As much as he undesired this crucial step, he did so full-heartedly and without question, repeating in his head:

God will forgive me. God will forgive me.

He then unbuttoned his white robe letting it fall to the ground, revealing his tone naked body before the order and the Master.

The Grand Knight, as was tradition,  leaned forward and pressed his lips near the bottom of his navel, the candidate feeling the aged lips of his Master on his firm olive skin made an awful chill go down his spine. The Master made his way up his stomach and continued to press his lips a second time against the center of his chest. And for the third and last time, the Grand Master leaned in and kissed his dry lips, in remembrance of the betrayal of Judas Iscariot to Jesus Christ; by betraying him with a single kiss.

The naked candidate knelt back down, feeling the eyes of the skull pouring into him.

The Grand Knight with the dark eyes stared somberly into Jameson's bright brown eyes.

"Now repeat the ancient and final vow of our forefathers."

Jameson steadied his heart. He had repeated the final vow in his head more times than he could count. He took a breath and with a pragmatic voice he spoke.

"If ever I willfully violate this my solemn compact, as a brother Knights Templar, may my skull be sawn asunder with a rough saw, my brains taken out and put in a charger to be consumed by the scorching sun, and my skull in another charger, in memory of St. John of Jerusalem, that faithful soldier of our Lord and Savior. If ever I willfully deviate from this my solemn obligation, may my light be put out from among men, as that of Judas Iscariot was for betraying his Lord and Master."

The Master then placed the human skull in the hands of the initiate. He could smell the scent of red wine ascending from the once human necessity.

Jameson continued his vow. "Furthermore, may the soul that once inhabited this skull, as the representative of St. John the Baptist, appear against me in the day of judgment: so help me God and keep me steadfast in this my solemn obligation of a Knights Templar."

"Now... drink." Said the Grand Knight.

He lifted the cup of death to his lips and swung his head back, finishing the drink in as few gulps as possible. He looked down into the blood stained basin feeling the blood of his ancestors running through his veins. The Grand Knight took the skull and placed it back in the box. He turned round and held out an aged hand toward Jameson; his dark eyes reflecting a hint of pride.

"Welcome to the knight hood, Sir Jameson."

The surrounding men in white began chanting hymns and swaying back and forth in celebration of their new brother. The once candidate stood proud and stoic in the center of the temple. His heart pounded, drinking in the momentary worship of his fellow brethren.

The Grand Knight leaned in and spoke in just barely a whisper.

"You know what has to be done now. The Inquisitor will require results within the next few hours. I shall do my part soon. Go forth and earn your knighthood, brother."

Jameson slowly nodded, he watched as the Grand Knight extinguished two of the candles beside the alter leaving just the one near the skull in the box. Walking back into the shadows from where he came, Jameson heard the familiar sound of medal and wood, and the door slamming shut behind him in an echo of finality.

Jameson knelt down and retrieved his robe, his head swimming. He turned to back to the alter to genuflect but was startled when he saw the skull’s hallowed eyes staring back at him. Its eyes looked hellish from the flicker of the lone candle; staring into the depths of Jameson's heart, unraveling all his secrets. From the trick of the light, he thought for a brief moment that the skull was smiling at him, grimacing at the new brother of the order. The hymns of his brethren still echoing off the stone walls.

Jameson took for granted how how intricate this all was. He looked at all the men in white signing the hymns of their father’s fathers. It seemed so surreal to him. Only a week ago he was an ordinary man, he would have never guessed that he would ever be apart of... this.

But reality came crushing down. He looked into the faces of all his brothers. He knew all of these men way before the brotherhood. Not personally but prominently. Even though all of the men within these walls have always been unknowingly and enigmatically linked by the same destinies as their ancestors, they all knew who they were in the real world. In the outside world, these men were the most powerful and wealthiest men in London; some business men, some members of parliament, some of royalty, some even members of the Church. But before the Templar, none of them knew of the spiritual connection that bonded them all together. But now the ninth member of their unique order has been inducted, and they can begin what they have brought back to do. What they were born to do.

He stepped forward to examine the cup. Looking into the eyes of his last vow, he realized that there was much more to fear in this world then just an ancient relic. He remembered why he was there, what his purpose was.

The night has only just begun. I must not disappoint the Inquisitor.

He stared back in the face of death.

I must not disappoint God.

He slammed the lid and walked with furious conviction down the Chancel of the Gothic church, listening to the echoes of ancient songs resonating inside him. He could feel old blood beginning to awaken inside him as he stormed off into the cold London night.

 

Author's Note

Fact: All secret societies in this book were actual organizations. The rituals, customs, and traditions performed in these societies are entirely accurate.

All history, architecture, science, and literature are also true.