The Heretic: Templar Chronicles Book 1 (9 page)

And yet you hope it was her, don’t you? You hope it was because you miss her and because every single day living without her seems to be a waste. No matter what it would mean to her, to be trapped in that half state of existence like the phantoms you encounter in the Beyond, you still want to believe, don’t you?

Grudgingly, Cade had to admit to himself that it was true. Every morning when he awoke to find himself without her was another day in which his heart broke anew.

Cade’s own views of heaven and hell had been drastically altered when he first looked into the Beyond. It would have been impossible for them not to have changed. Raised as a Catholic, he’d believed in an afterlife based on one’s faith in the Savior and had scoffed at notions of ghosts and goblins as far back as he could remember.

His encounter with the Adversary had changed all that.

If he had not discovered the Order when he had, he probably wouldn’t have survived. His pain, confusion, and fear would have driven him over the edge. The Templars had helped him resurrect a framework around his beliefs; allowed him to hang on to the cherished notion that his wife’s soul had moved on to a better place. Those aware of the existence of the Beyond suggested it served as a sort of Purgatory, pointed out that a woman as faithful and true as his wife would never choose to stay in such a place. Gradually, they taught him that Man was not alone in the world, that there were beings of darkness and destruction that walked among Man every day. At least in part, the Order had convinced him that some of his older notions of faith and justice still held sway, that the Templars were the earthly equivalent of a group of guardian angels, appointed by the Church to protect Man from creatures such as the Adversary.

And so he had joined them.

But what if it was Gabbi?
Cade asked himself.
What then? What did that mean for your cherished beliefs? What if she really was out there? What if she had been there all this time and you hadn’t noticed, wrapped up as you are in your hunger for vengeance?

Cade couldn’t allow himself to contemplate an answer. If it weren’t for his desire for revenge, he probably would have followed Gabbi and ended his life long before this. It would have been simpler that way.

But a vow is a vow and you’ve still got to fulfill yours. While the Adversary lives, the hunt is still on,
the voice in the back of his head whispered.

The hunt is still on.

Putting the question of Gabbi’s appearance on the back burner for the time being, Cade turned his attention back to the issue at hand.

“All right, Olsen. Take us through it.”

As Nick pulled out his PDA and called up the information, Cade noted approvingly that Duncan gave his teammate his undivided attention. Cade knew without a doubt that Riley was listening as well, despite the fact that the big man didn’t take his attention off the road.

“Okay. Initial reports show we’ve got a similar situation to the one we just left in Connecticut — an attack late at night, signs of a heavy firefight, no survivors.” Nick began. “Two major differences from Ravensgate. This time, the small cemetery on the grounds was disturbed. Most of the graves were torn up and the contents strewn about. Whatever they were looking for, they were certainly thorough”

“Witnesses?”

Olsen shook his head. “No. And that brings us to the other issue. When the general alert went out last night, each of the commanderies was required to report back to the Preceptor. Templeton did not respond, and so a team was sent out to investigate. They found the place abandoned.”

“What do you mean, abandoned?” asked Duncan.

Olsen turned to face him. ”While we’re assuming the commandery staff are dead, we’re not entirely positive. Despite the signs of a major confrontation, there wasn’t a single body left at the scene.”

Riley spoke up from the front seat. “There were eighty-eight men stationed at Templeton.”

Olsen caught his eye in the rearview mirror.

“Yes. There were,” he replied, with the emphasis on
were.

*** ***

They were met at the gate by several soldiers from the commandery in Folkenberg, some seventy-five miles to the north. It was the same unit that had been sent to investigate after Templeton’s personnel failed to report in following the alert the night before.

Cade interviewed them at some length, but they didn’t know anything more than they’d already reported; when they arrived, they’d discovered evidence of a firefight but found the commandery empty, abandoned.

Leaving the Folkenberg troops stationed at the gates, Echo Team made its own swift search of the manor house, confirming what they had been told. The evening meal lay cold in the communal dining hall, half-eaten. The armory had been opened, its weapons distributed. Bullet casings and bloodstains littered the floor behind makeshift barricades.

But there were no bodies.

No survivors.

They spent two hours in the house, then turned their attention to the cemetery.

It had been ransacked.

Desecrated.

Graves had been dug open, the dirt stark against the lush green grass. The unearthed coffins had been ripped apart, their contents spilled across the lawn. A rib cage was jammed between the branches of a newly planted rosebush. An age-yellowed skull with its lower jaw missing and one eye socket stuffed with mud lay in the middle of a pedestrian walkway.

This was the intentional destruction of hallowed ground, a vile disturbance of sanctified remains that appeared to have no legitimate purpose behind it. Anger stirred in Cade’s gut at the sight.

A quick examination showed that while most of the graves had been torn up haphazardly, one of them had been carefully excavated. He decided to start there.

Duncan stood next to that open grave, ready to assist him if he needed it. Riley and Olsen were several yards away, but facing in the other direction, guarding the approaches in anticipation of trouble. Things weren’t right there, and Cade had no intention of being caught unawares.

He removed his gloves and placed them in his pocket before kneeling in the earth next to the open grave. The smell of freshly turned earth, moldering death, and stale air met his nostrils; but he barely noticed the stench as he mentally prepared himself to do what must be done.

The parapsychologists and those who studied psychic phenomena had a formal name for what he did. Psychometry, they called it, the ability to divine facts about an object or its owner through physical contact.

Cade had an easier name for it.

He simply called it his Gift.

It had been seven years since the Gift was thrust upon him, but in that time he still had not grown comfortable using it. He wondered if he ever would.

It wasn’t the loss of tactile sensation that bothered him so much. He’d become accustomed to how things felt through the thin material of his gloves. And it wasn’t as if he was unable to touch things at all. When he was at home safely surrounded by his own possessions, he would often move about the house without his gloves on, doing just that for hours at a time. Remembering what it felt like to run his fingers over cut stone. Feeling the velvety touch of flour as it sifted between his fingers. Holding a book in his hands and testing the quality of the paper between his thumb and forefinger. His home was his sanctuary; no one else was allowed inside, in order to limit the psychic latencies that might be left behind.

Only the intimate touch of another human being was unavailable; that level of sustained contact would bring with it such an overwhelming rush of emotional residue that he would be hard-pressed to understand where he ended and his partner began. Had Gabbi lived, things might have been different, but, in the aftermath of her death, Cade had ceased to care about human contact, at least in that fashion, and so this troubled him far less than others might expect.

It was possible that his discomfort with his Gift grew from the fact that using it brought a degree of physical danger, though he was never one to shy away from the possibility of physical injury. On past occasions he had emerged from a session confused, disoriented, at times even uncertain of his own identity. Once, during a particularly violent viewing, he regained consciousness with knife slashes across his chest.

He suspected the true reason for his discomfort lay in the way the Gift had come to him. There was little doubt that the Adversary meant to kill him on that summer night and had only failed by the smallest of margins. But something had been left behind, some kind of residue or catalyst that resulted in his Gift, his Sight.

He glanced around, making certain his men were in their proper places. Riley, standing off to his right, returned his look with a somber nod. Olsen, stationed behind him, smiled ruefully, as if to say, “Don’t worry, boss, I’ve got your back.” Cade had no doubt that he did. It was the newcomer he questioned; how he reacted about what Cade was going to do would say a lot about his future with the unit. He checked to be certain that Duncan was where he should be, on the opposite side of the grave, out of immediate reach if he objected to what Cade was doing but close enough to help if things got hairy.

The top had been split into several sections though the bottom remained intact. A large section of the lid rested in front of Cade, its silk lining torn and stained from contact with the mud and debris around it.

Reaching out, Cade placed his right hand palm down against the outer surface of a torn and discarded portion of the coffin lid.

Darkness.

A light breeze rustling the edges of his cowl.

The steady motion of the shovel as it went up and down.

He was falling behind, and that would never do. He could be punished for that. He needed to hurry up!

Anticipation.

Excitement.

A glimpse of several robed and hooded men, staring down into the hole as he worked to complete his task.

Would the Council get its answer tonight or would it need to raise another one?

He hoped it was the latter; he liked playing God.

The images and rush of the other’s feelings came and went, there and gone again before Cade could focus on them. In mere seconds they had faded from view.

Cade removed his hand and shook his head to clear it.

“You all right, boss?” Riley asked, his deep voice breaking the silence that had settled over the group.

“Fine,” Cade replied, without looking up. He tested several other places near where he had touched the lid the first time, but any remaining impressions proved elusive.

With Duncan looking on curiously, Cade pushed aside the remains of the lid and turned his attention to the casket. The interior lining was stained with mold and other substances that Cade was in no real hurry to identify. The silk itself was faded and dull, evidence that the interment was not a recent one. He found a clear spot large enough to accommodate his hand and reached out to touch the lining.

Darkness.

Peace.

Serenity.

Pain.

A harsh, savage pain that ripped through his body with all the grace of a hot spear.

A voice was calling him, demanding his return, and he was too weak to stop himself from obeying.

The pain increased, the voice grew louder, until he could barely hear his own screams…

Cade yanked his hand away, ending the sensation, and looked up into the face of his new recruit, now kneeling close by, a concerned look on his face.

“Are you okay?” Duncan asked, though he made no move to touch the Echo Team leader.

Cade nodded.

“Just what, exactly, are you doing?” Duncan asked.

“He’s looking into the past,” Riley replied for him, as he watched his commander closely to be certain he wasn’t needed.

Duncan looked over at the other man. “The past?”

Riley nodded, turning his attention back to their surroundings now that he was satisfied that Cade was all right. “It’s one of the reasons those idiots call him the Heretic. He receives visions through his touch.”

“Is that true?” Duncan asked Cade.

In control once more, Cade replied, “It’s a simplification of what really happens, but, yes, it’s true. A more accurate description might be that I experience the final thoughts and emotions of the last person to come in contact with the object I’m handling, but Riley’s explanation works just as well. Except that he forgot to tell you I have no control over it, that it happens whenever I touch anything, whether I want it to or not.

“I’m going to try again, try to get a clearer picture of what I’m seeing. Something’s not right. If you see something unusual, if I start to shake, bleed, or otherwise look like I’m in danger, I want you to grab me by my shirt and pull me away from the casket. Understand?”

“Yes,” Duncan replied, even though it was obvious to Cade that he really didn’t.

Welcome to the big leagues, kid.

Taking a deep breath, Cade placed his hand on the remains of the coffin for a third time.

A searing hunger coursed through him as he climbed to his feet, a hunger so strong it felt like pain.

Ahead of him, he could see the dark-cloaked forms of several people gathered in a circle around another, taller figure. The one in the center was calling his name, demanding he come forth, demanding he respond to the summons.

He was filled with a strong compulsion to obey, but he did his best to ignore the voice. The smell of human flesh so close it made him dizzy with hunger, and all he wanted to do was feed. When he tried to move forward, however, he tripped over something in his path and fell heavily to the ground. Pulling himself back up, his gaze fell to the object on the ground.

It was a young woman, bound and gagged, left lying in the dirt at his feet. Her eyes gaped wide, and she was trying to scream, but the gag muffled the sound and caused her to choke on her own fear.

The scent of her sweet skin was strong and filled his nostrils, the fear rich and ripe.

He pounced, all other thoughts forgotten.