Sorry for the long delay.
---------------------------------
Chapter 20
Jerusalem 1127
The corridor continued into the darkness, with a slight downward slope that seemed to compel the three armored knights forward. The only light in this subterranean catacomb came from the oil lamps the three men carried over their heads. They had never been this deep under the temple before, and only chance, or perhaps the will of God, had led them here.
Three days prior, while exploring an abandoned ancient mine, the knights had discovered an ornately carved doorway, sealed with large, cut stones. The frame of the doorway was made from smooth granite, etched with strange symbols. One of the knights, named Sir William de Ferrieres, stood transfixed, staring at the writing.
"It's a form of an ancient Semitic tongue," he declared as he gently brushed away ages of dust, tracing the letters with his fingers. "Canaanite, I believe. See here! This is the word for death!"
"Death?" Is it some sort of curse or warning?" asked Sir Etienne of Navarre, as he made the sign of the cross.
"And here! This is the word for life!" Sir William announced excitedly. "Wait, I am reading it in reverse. I must go the other way." He moved to the right side of the frame and wiped the accumulated patina off the markings to make the engraved letters more legible.
"Begone!" he stated.
"Someone went to a lot of trouble to keep this hidden and to keep people out," said Brother Reynard, a Cistercian monk who accompanied the knights.
"That means treasure!" growled the elderly Sir Roger de Livegny.
"Not always, my greedy friend," replied the monk.
"For I safeguard the secrets," translated Sir William.
"See!" snapped Sir Roger. "Treasure!"
"Of life and death," Sir William said as he finished reading the inscription.
"Well, that's a bit ominous," said Sir Etienne. "Why would someone have gone to all the trouble to build such a fancy doorway in the middle of a mine, this far under Solomon's Temple, only to seal it up with granite?"
"To hide a treasure!" declared Sir Roger.
"Or to keep something dangerous inside," replied Brother Reynard, who then crossed himself. The other knights all made the sign of their savior.
"We must inform the Grand Master," replied Sir William. "This could be of interest."
It turned out to be of great interest. It took them a day to breach the doorway and two more to remove the stones that had sealed it. Beyond was a small square room. Inside they found the skeletal remains of a man, seated at a small wooden desk. When they touched the body, it fell apart, collapsing to the floor in a pile of dust and bone fragments. As it did, a bronze dagger clattered to the floor, as if it had been stuck in the man's heart for eons.
Upon the table were the remains of a candle and a papyrus scroll. Carefully, Sir William uncoiled the dry, brittle papyrus. The writing was in Hebrew.
"She comes in my dreams," Sir William read. "She does unspeakable things to me. Things I crave. She steals my soul, bit by bit. I am nearly under her control. She speaks to me, pleading, commanding for release, but I cannot. I must not. Better to die by my own hand than become thrall to the Queen of Demons and unleash her upon the world of men."
"Poor bastard must've killed himself," said Sir Roger as he picked up the bronze dagger and tucked it into his belt.
"Someone sealed him in here!" declared Sir Etienne. "They put him in here and sealed the doorway forever. He was doomed. God rest his soul."
"Why would someone wall him up inside this chamber?" Asked Brother Reynard. "Suppose he was some sort of criminal?"
"I don't know," said Sir William, "but it looks as if he had food and water to last a few days at least. I'll take these scrolls back. They may explain what happened." He tucked a handful of scrolls into his pouch and raised his lantern. "Let's keep going."
He walked to the far side of the small room and through an arched opening into a long hallway made of carefully cut stones, with a smooth floor and ceiling.
"Is it just me, or is this awfully fancy for a tunnel this far underground?" asked Sir Roger.
"A remarkable feat of engineering," confirmed Brother Reynard. He was in the lead of the small group. He stepped forward, and the floor under his feet shifted. He lurched to keep his footing and froze in place.
"Careful," he called back to the others. "The floor stones are loose here." He took another step, and there was a loud metallic click. A long spear shot out of the wall to the right, struck the old monk in the belly, and carried him to the far wall. The head of the spear had passed through Brother Reynard's body and stuck deep into a recess in the wall, impaling the monk to the wall.
He was alive, screaming in pain and agony as Sir Roger pulled the bronze dagger and cut the monk's throat. "Sorry, Brother," he said as he ended the monk's torment.
"Why did you do that?" asked Sir Etienne. "We could have helped him."
"I did help him," countered Sir Roger. "He couldn't have survived that wound, and by God, I wasn't going to let him suffer.
"We should go back," Sir Etienne declared.
"We keep going," ordered Sir William. "Just go slowly and be careful. There are likely to be many more traps."
The corridor seemed to slope downward. After several more minutes, the hallway terminated at a large iron door. Two massive wooden beams barred the door.
Sir William took one end of one of the beams, "Grab the other end," he ordered Sir Roger, who moved to comply.
"Wait!" Sir Etienne shouted.
"What?" asked Sir William.
"Why are the bars on this side of the door?"
The knights stepped back from the door and stared. "Yeah, if they wanted to keep us out, there wouldn't be beams on this side. This is as if this door is to..."
"keep something inside!" finished Sir Etienne.
Nobody moved for several minutes. Finally, Sir William broke the silence. "We have a job to do, now grab the other end of this," he ordered.
They removed each of the beams and laid them to the side. Sir William gripped a large iron ring on one of the doors while Sir Roger grabbed the other. The two men pulled hard, straining with all their strength. Nothing happened. The doors didn't budge.
All three knights then gripped one of the large rings and combined their strength to pull. Finally, the door opened with a loud, metallic whine, which echoed through the hall. Once it was wide enough, they stopped and stepped through the opening.
Inside they could not believe their eyes.
Chapter 21
I stared at the grizzled, old knight, with recognition.
"I remember things that I shouldn't know," I said. "How is this possible? What is happening to me? I must be going crazy."
"Life would be wonderful, wouldn't it?" Krieg replied, "If whenever something horrible happens, we could just go insane and ignore it. Unfortunately, it doesn't work that way. And, contrary to what you are experiencing right now, you don't really remember everything. You only have recall of specific things that you have experienced."
"I've not experienced any of these memories!" I shouted. "I remember fighting in battles. I remember killing so many people! I remember... I remember dying! More than once!"
Krieg put a hand on my forehead. It felt hot. My mind filled with the image of flames, flames that surrounded me and threatened me. I was bound to a stake, with bundles of kindling piled up around me. It was me, but it wasn't me. The remembered me had long hair and a beard. He wore a long white robe with a red cross over the front. The fire engulfed him, or rather me, and I opened my mouth to scream in agony.
Krieg removed his hand, and I collapsed to the floor, gasping and panting. "What in God's name was that?" I asked.
"That was the 18th of March, 1314. The day you and I and several of our brethren were burned alive as recanted heretics," Krieg explained.
"That's insane! It makes no sense! How could that be me when I am here, now?"
"We are gifted, or some might say cursed, with the ability to restore memories from our past lives. Most people couldn't handle it. The knowledge of past lives and deaths would drive weaker men insane."
"Then, that is the answer!" I snapped. "I have lost my mind."
"No," Krieg said with a warm smile, "you have found it. Memories are like water. They flow and ebb. In time, you will remember more and more from your pasts. When you complete your training, you will remember most things. Until then, I'm afraid your memories may come at inopportune times, and desired memories may flee and fail to come when most needed."
"That's rather inconvenient," I chided him.
"Well, our order has existed since ancient times," he replied. "That's a lot of lifetimes of memories to download. It's an imperfect system."
Jenny groaned in her sleep. "Is she going to be alright?" I asked the veteran demon hunter.
"It's too soon to tell," he replied. "Demonic oppression is akin to drug addiction. Jenny may suffer a form of withdrawals now that we have separated her from Lazarus. She will be moody, sinking into depression one moment, and lashing out violently the next."
"What are we going to do about Desdemona and Lazarus?" I asked. "They will know you are here. You killed one of their hounds."