James Rollins - Blood Infernal

“This is Muninn.” Hugh glanced upward, searching the roof. “Huginn is up there, too. Or perhaps he’s off hunting.”

Erin must have recognized the names. “Odin’s ravens,” she said. “They were said to be able to fly around the world, bringing information to the Norse god, keeping him informed of everything. You’re not suggesting these are—”

“The same ones? No, my dear,” Hugh said with a smile. “It just amuses me to call them by those names. And the pair is but two of a great flock that haunts these forests, a mix of blasphemare and natural birds.”

“Amazing,” Erin said, her gaze searching the ceilings.

Rhun suspected she wasn’t looking for more birds, but her attention was captured by the decoration across the vaulted roof. The ceiling was white, but red stars and blue wheels had been painted across its surface, forming an elaborate, fanciful design.

“The frescoes above,” Erin muttered, confirming Rhun’s guess. “They’re extraordinary. They look Middle Eastern — with the wheels and stars — but not quite, somehow.”

She wandered off a few steps to better take them in.

Jordan kept to her side. Elizabeth trailed after them after Rhun quietly signaled her to do so.

Sophia waved to the beasts and strigoi . “How did they come to be here?”

Hugh looked lovingly upon his flock, as Muninn hopped to his shoulder. “It is my experience that creatures seek out their true masters. To reach my sanctuary, many blasphemare and strigoi traveled hundreds of miles. I did not call them. They are drawn to me, just as this sweet lion was drawn to Rhun.”

Rhun rubbed the cub’s head. “But how do you keep them from killing in these mountains?”

Hugh lifted his arms. “Because, like you, they have made peace with their nature. Instead of being ruled by their savage blood, they control it. They are no longer killers.”

Sophia looked little convinced by the man’s words.

Rhun could not blame her. “How does one find peace outside the bounds of the Church?”

“Acceptance and mindfulness,” Hugh answered. “I was taught certain techniques during my travels long ago, ways to open your mind and develop patience and love. I can teach them to you, if you like. All are welcome here.”

Hugh motioned gently behind him. “Francesca, would you join us? I’ve found truths are best heard from the lips of those who have experienced them firsthand.”

A slim woman parted from the shadows only yards away. Rhun had not even known she had been there. She was likely once beautiful, with long pale blond hair and supple limbs, but there was a gentle frailty about her thin frame. She smiled at Hugh, love shining from her eyes.

Rhun noted the hint of fangs, the lack of a heartbeat.

“Tell them,” Hugh said.

“We were first taught awareness ,” she whispered reverently. “Awareness of our nature, of who we are. To know we are one of God’s creatures.”

Sophia made a scoffing noise. “You are predators, preying upon the weak.”

Francesca smiled sadly at her. “No one judges a lion for bringing down a gazelle. It is the lion’s nature, and the lion need feel no guilt or shame.”

Hugh moved to a stool and sat down. A three-legged gray fox scurried over and jumped onto Hugh’s lap. A clean white bandage had been fastened around its stump, and Rhun felt a twinge of sympathy for it. When Hugh stroked its back, the fox leaned against him, showing no fear, not even of the lion, whose ears had perked up at the sight of the injured animal.

“But how do you sustain yourselves?” Rhun asked.

“Somewhat with wine,” Hugh answered. “Like you.”

“Monsieur de Payens, can you still consecrate wine, even after turning your back upon the Church?” Elizabeth asked.

“A priest bears an indelible mark upon his soul,” Rhun explained, “which means that one remains a priest and can consecrate wine even after one leaves the Church.”

Sophia picked out a guileful detail to the man’s explanation. “You said wine somewhat sustains you. What else does it take?”

“Blood, of course.” Hugh showed no sign of shame or guilt at this admission. “As Francesca has told you, we are all predators and must accept our natures.”

Rhun felt sickened, remembering how Rasputin’s followers mixed wine with human blood to survive. They remained killers. It seemed Hugh had fallen into the same sinful trap. He remembered too well the taste of Rasputin’s blood-damned wine.

Hugh held up a hand. “Understand, we take as little as we need to survive — but we also have a right to survive. As I mentioned awareness is but one half of a whole. Mindfulness is just as important.”

Francesca nodded in agreement, explaining, “While we accept and are aware of our nature, we must be mindful not to lose control. We meditate, learn to separate need from desire, taking only what is necessary and right.”

“How can any killing be right ?” Rhun asked.

Francesca folded her thin hands. “We only take the blood from those who are suffering or those who inflict suffering upon others.”

“Our purpose is to end suffering,” Hugh expounded. “We find those who are in terrible pain and wish to die. Those who are so wracked with disease and will never recover. We end their lives with mercy, grace, and joy.”

As a priest, Rhun had spent time with the dying. While he balked at such a concept as killing as an act of mercy, he knew how man had created technology to stave off death, but so often it seemed these methods were used to extend suffering, to prolong an inevitable end to an unnatural length.

Hugh sighed. “And when we can find no others, we sometimes take the lives of those who inflict suffering on the innocent. Rapists, murderers. But in truth, we rarely need to resort to such means. Like I said, we sustain ourselves on as little blood as possible.”

Jordan spoke up, reminding them that this was not why they had come. “All well and good, but what about those other two stones?”

“I am in possession of one of the stones,” Hugh admitted. “But it must be earned. To prove you are worthy to bear it from here.”

“Earned how?” Jordan asked.

“Your Woman of Learning must show her worth.” Hugh’s eyes settled on Erin. “She must prove her grasp of awareness to find where the stone has been hidden — and demonstrate her mindfulness to discover where it must be taken.”

Great , Erin thought sardonically. Should be a walk in the park .

On the helicopter flight, she had read up on Hugh de Payens and his history with the Knights Templars, but she likely hadn’t learned even a tenth of what she might need to know to face his challenge.

Hugh stood up from his stool, sending the injured fox back to his den in the shadows. “So, Woman of Learning, what can you tell me of this place?”

She glanced around the surrounding chapels, vaults, and walls, noting the crosslike shape typical of all great churches, but her gaze settled on the most unique detail: the roof.

“Medieval churches aren’t my specialty,” she admitted. “But some of these decorations are similar to those at St. Christophe’s Chapel in Montsaunes, France, a building built by the Templars, the order you founded.”

“I remember that chapel’s construction.”

She took this as a positive sign and studied the frescoes above more attentively. Was this the test of her awareness ? Was she supposed to decipher the riddle up there?

Tilting her head, she searched for clues. Amid the kaleidoscope of red stars and blue wheels overhead, other fanciful designs had been painted there: moons, suns, and a variety of geometric shapes. She saw influences from both Islamic and Egyptian culture. That multispoked wheel definitely looked Buddhist. Her eyes began to blur at the sheer volume, the disharmony of its design.