This short story is a side-story from the Red Cross of Gold series. Like a bonus feature.
Odin’s Gift by Brendan Carroll
The blinds opened without warning, admitting the beautiful Italian summer in all its glory.
The Knight of the Golden Eagle tried to open his eyelids by raising his dark brows higher, but failed on his first attempt. He yawned loudly, ran his fingers through his curly black hair, and collapsed back into the chair with his cheek resting in his palm.
“Golden Eagle!” the Grand Master’s gruff voice cut through his mind and brought him wide awake.
“Sir!” he said and snapped a salute before remembering he was sitting in an armchair in front of Master d’Brouchart’s highly polished cedar desk.
“I have something here that might serve you better if you would but attention,” d’Brouchart grumbled and slapped a dusty sheaf of yellowed papers on the desk near the Knight’s face sending up a musty odor and a cloud of tiny particulates in the silvery sunlight.
Lucio Dambretti coughed unnecessary and reached for the crumbling papers gingerly. More work, just what he needed to top off his hangover. Carefully lettered Latin covered the pages top to bottom and side to side. He stifled another yawn then perked up as his multi-lingual brain automatically translated the first few words. Ubi de Arbore Viatae: Of the Tree of Life and where it is.
“Where did…”
“Brother Ramsay dropped this off last week. I took the opportunity to read it prior to placing it in the archives. I thought it just another philosophical rambling, but bless my soul, if Ramsay wasn’t right this time.”
Dambretti frowned slightly. Brother Ramsay was always right and the Master knew it; he just didn’t want to admit it… ever.
“There seems to be some cross-correlation here between fact and legend though the author’s identity is moot. I want you to investigate whether your mysteries might allow you to...”
“Ahh, it would be my pleasure, Your Grace,” Lucio said solemnly, but rejoiced inwardly at the prospect of something more to do than wile away the years in an endless cycle, translating obscure manuscripts, researching obscure manuscripts, eschewing obscure manuscripts, drinking, sleeping, drinking, reporting, repeating. Rarely was he afforded the opportunity to actually use his divine mystery as Golden Eagle to produce tangible results.
The big man behind the desk looked skeptical.
“It is your duty, Sir,” he said. “See to it that you keep the Seneschal informed of your findings and activities.”
“Of course, Your Grace.”
Dambretti got up quickly and started for the door, eager to get to the meat of Ramsay’s latest mystery. Where the man managed to procure such rarities intrigued Lucio, but in all their years together, Brother Ramsay had never taken him on one of his scavenging missions. This was as good as a personal invitation. The Knight of Death needed him!
“Oh, and Golden Eagle,” d’Brouchart called to him before he closed the door.
“Sir?”
“Make sure you realize the import of your work.”
Dambretti’s legendary temper flared, but he simply bowed his head and smiled tightly causing the old scar on his left cheek to crinkle.
~
The ancient manuscript, now encased in plastic sheet protectors and sealing tape, lay scattered across the expensive rug in front of a gold and blue striped Egyptian style couch in Dambretti’s fourth floor apartment in the Rione Vomero. The Knight was face down on the couch, one arm hanging to the floor, still clutching an empty bottle of Mastroberardino red wine.
The phone chirped on table and the Knight rolled over causing him to crash onto the floor. Yelping in surprise and pain as the empty bottle jabbed him in the kidney, he scrambled about looking for the phone, cursing under his breath.
“Santa Maria,” he groaned before answering the phone. “Ciao?”
“Brother Lucio?” the Seneschal’s gravelly voice disappointed him. He had hoped to hear from Chita Perrigo, but… well, the company of women was, as they say, against the rules for sworn members of the Ordo Militi Templi. “We were wondering how your studies were coming.”
“Ahhhh, si, well,” Lucio stammered, trying to get his bearings. “I made great progress only last night.”
“Only last night?”
“Oh, not only last night, but the night before as well. I will be able to fulfill the request.”
“I see. Perhaps, you should make a personal report.”
“Yes, of course, I will be right over.”
“Good. Go with God, Brother.”
Lucio closed his eyes and let out a long sigh. The manuscript was not only mysterious in origin, it was mysterious in content. One tiny portion seemed to be key to the very thing most sought after in the entire world: Immortality. Well, not exactly immortal immortality, but close enough. The Grand Master had been running critically short of the ‘secret ingredient’ he used as the Prince of Life. If he no longer possessed the power to endow his Knights with long lives and supernatural healing powers, how then, could the Order expect to continue?
Lucio could only wonder if Ramsay had known where to find the material all these years and simply held back in order to make Master d’Brouchart suffer.
~
“Great Scot!” Sir Ramsay grumped and threw up one arm to shade his eyes from the bright glare of the Mercedes’ headlamps. He stepped down from the portico in front of the secluded chapel and walked out to meet Dambretti as he climbed out of the car.
“Brother!” Dambretti exclaimed and smiled at the Scot. “I can’t say it is good to see you. Won’t this wait til morning?” He had arrived in the midst of one of Scotland’s legendary storms.
“You read the manuscript,” Ramsay answered shortly, pausing only long enough to give the usual Templar kiss of greeting before turning toward the chapel.
“Surely much of it was meant to simply warn away the profane,” Lucio protested as he followed after the Knight. “I’m famished. Shouldn’t we have supper first?”
One raised eyebrow sufficed to answer the suggestion and the question. The Italian sighed and then looked up at the high arches in the miniature cathedral. Their boots echoed hollowly and he shuddered at the memories of other such places in other centuries and how suddenly the Roman Catholics had turned on them, ruining the once proud Order of Templar Knights, casting them adrift in the world. His own brush with the Inquisitors was still very fresh in his mind as they descended the dim, torch-lit stairs below the bell tower.
Ramsay’s dark hair hung in dripping strands against his back, wet from the storm. Dambretti wondered why the Knight had chosen to walk from his nearby home to the chapel in such weather, but there was really no fathoming that dark mind.
“Here!” Ramsay stopped suddenly and thrust an electric lamp at Dambretti. “Hold this.”
Before them, at the end of one of the dusty passages was an iron-barred door built of thick wooden slabs. A triangular padlock hung on a heavy bolt.
Ramsay pulled an ornate skeleton key encrusted with green patina from one of his numerous pockets and worked it in the mechanism until it grated open.
The Golden Eagle let out the breath he had been holding, hoping the lock would not open, fearing what might lay beyond. The Knight of Death pulled the door open causing the rusty hinges to let go tiny explosions of rusty dust. Surprisingly enough, the space beyond was not dark and cold, but infused with a warm, inviting glow, which made the Italian’s heart race even faster than before.
Ramsay entered the room without waiting.
Lucio hesitated and heard the Scot grump something at him about time and tide and angels of the hours or some such before he stepped inside.
What he had, at first, mistook as more torches was much more amazing. The ancient manuscript’s description failed in its feeble attempt at describing the magnificence of the Tree of Life. Here in the darkness of a damp underground chamber, in a secluded copse in the Scottish Lowlands was a miracle hidden from the world.
He glanced at his Brother, but the Knight was down on one knee frantically searching his pockets.
Dambretti walked around the spectacle muttering the words “Santa Maria” subconsciously crossing himself.
The tree, called Yggdrasil by the Norsemen, seemed to be made of amber-colored crystal, stood on spreading roots sunk deep in the rock. The trunk was at least eight feet in circumference under immense spreading limbs reaching into the darkness overhead. Light of purest gold struck through with deep red veins flowed from the heart of the tree, which seemed to pulsate. The light traveled through every branch and stem, finally shimmering into the delicately transparent leaflets. A cool breath of air passed through the chamber causing the leaves to tremble slightly giving off the sound of an enormous wind chime. The sound was indescribably beautiful and left the dumbstruck Knight almost breathless.
“Close your mouth, Brother,” Ramsay’s voice broke the spell “and show a bit of reverence. Time’s a’wasting.”
Lucio got on his knees and removed a folded piece of paper from his pocket and glanced at the translated lines meant to show gratitude to Yggdrasil for providing the Gift of Odin. For this and other ‘offenses’ his Brothers of old had suffered. The worship and honor for the gods of nature had given them over to the Inquisitor’s hands, but such deviations had also provided eternal life for some and he, as well as the Knight kneeling beside him, was the proof They had the scars from their service in the Crusades, but nothing had left a mark on them since even though were both survivors of Saladin’s sack of Jerusalem in 1187 CE and many wars since those fateful days.
Ramsay nudged him brutally in the ribs.
“In the eye of the Moon, I walk willingly into darkness. In the circle of Yggdrasil, the Great Tree, I find my place within eternity. In the eye of the Sun, I celebrate that which gives life. Amen.”
“Amen,” Ramsay repeated and the light from the tree winked out instantly, leaving them in pitch darkness.
The Italian watched in fascination as the Scot used a hammer made of purest gold to chip away a piece of the tree’s root in the feeble light of the electric torch. The sound of the hammer striking the wood was as melodic as the rustling leaves. Ramsay brushed the crumbled shards into a small pan also made of gold and then poured them into a glass vial.
“Let’s go,” he said and got up quickly. “Hurry!”
They stumbled through the open door as if they expected demons to rush out behind them. Ramsay replaced the lock and then stepped back, looking at his watch before turning on his heel.
“Wait!” Lucio said. “Let me see it.”
Ramsay did not stop, but thrust the vial in his hands. “Careful, lest you provoke a beating on your head.”
Lucio stopped and looked down at the small glass container. He shook the vial tentatively, but it seemed empty.
“Wait!” he called again.
When they emerged from the chapel into the rosy light of breaking day, Lucio caught Ramsay’s arm.
“I think we lost it,” he whispered.
Ramsay took the vial and held it up in one of the errant rays of sunlight peeking under the oaks. Inside the glass was a dull brown powder.
The Knight of Death smiled and then patted Dambretti on the back. “Don’t worry, Little Brother. It only glows in Midgard.”
“What?” Dambretti asked and turned to look back at the chapel. “Midgard?”
“Magic, Brother, magic. Where do you think the Tree of Life grows? The Garden of Eden?”
Lucio clamped his mouth shut and gritted his teeth as his enigmatic Brother of the Order walked away under the trees, laughing under his breath.
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Odin’s Gift by Brendan Carroll
