Rift Read online

  She staggered through the doorway at the top of the stairs. Warmth and light surrounded her, pressing back the nightmare of the cellar. She whirled, raising the dagger to strike, when she heard the door shut and lock.

  A figure in a cowled brown robe raised his hands. “Peace, Lady Morrow. You’re safe now.”

  Ember recognized the weathered-face priest from the ceremony.

  “God bless you, my child,” Father Michael said. He touched her forehead, making the shape of the cross. Water dripped down her brow. “You have completed your ordeal.”

  “Father.” Ember fell to her knees, her voice rasping. She finally unclenched her fingers from the dagger, which clattered onto the stone floor. “That thing . . . I don’t understand what happened.”

  Father Michael bent down, retrieving the weapon and depositing it beneath the folds of his robe. “We see but a poor reflection as in a mirror, but we shall see face-to-face. Where you have known in part, now you shall know fully.” The priest reached out, helping her to her feet. Ember recognized his words as scripture but could make no sense of their meaning.

  He took her arm, leading her away from the closed door and the horror it hid. As shock loosened its grip on her senses, Ember lifted her face to the light that streamed in through tall windows. The stained glass transformed sunbeams, washing the dark wood of the walls in gem-like tones. Father Michael guided her from the small antechamber into a long, narrow room filled with rows of wooden benches. At the far end of the room, an altar was stationed beneath another stained glass window, this one large and round. Suspended within the bright colors was an angel, his face proud and unyielding, his hands bearing fiery swords.

  “My namesake,” the priest said, looking up at the window with a brief smile. “The archangel Michael who cast Lucifer out of heaven.”

  Ember simply nodded as they passed from the chapel into another, smaller space that held a table and chairs and a simple wooden pallet.

  “My humble quarters.” Father Michael gestured for her to sit. A cup of steaming liquid sat on the table and the priest pushed it in front of Ember when she settled into her chair.

  “A simple herbal tonic,” he said. “It will calm your nerves and your spirit.”

  Ember took the cup in her hands, sniffing before she took a sip. She recognized chamomile, lavender, and mint. When she drank, the tonic chased lingering chills from her body.

  “Where are the other initiates?” she asked. “Didn’t they have trials?”

  He smiled kindly. “Yes. A trial awaited each of the pledges. But you alone chose the office of war, which requires a more dangerous and frightening ordeal than that of knowledge or craft. I’m here because I wanted to offer you assurance that such a trial was necessary and to be certain that, having faced the darkness, you are still fixed upon this path.”

  Ember didn’t know what to say, so she settled for drinking more of the tonic.

  “You have many more questions, I’m sure,” Father Michael said. “And I will now do my best to answer them.”

  He seemed prepared to speak to her fears, so Ember waited and listened.

  “What happened in the cellar was the means by which you will know the purpose of Conatus,” he said. “And the tasks of the Guard in particular.”

  He crossed the room, hands clasped at his back. “We seek to emulate Michael’s work. To drive evil from the earth.”

  Ember took another draught of the tonic. “That creature in the cellar. It was evil . . . unnatural.”

  He nodded.

  “What was it?” she asked.

  “A revenant,” the priest told her. “The foul pet of a necromancer.”

  “One who raises the dead?” Ember asked. “Can someone truly wield such power?”

  Father Michael sighed. “While it is often creatures of darkness you will face, in truth it is their masters we must thwart: those who draw evil into our world to feed their hunger for power.”

  “Who are they?” Ember’s mind reeled. She knew of witches’ curses and mischievous spirits but only in the way that children fear what hides in shadow.

  “They have many names, none of which I suspect are true: wizards, witches, sorcerers, magicians. There are few who find a way to draw the dark, but enough to manifest evils that harm many,” he said. “Our work here is to seek them out and quell their evildoing.”

  “How do you find them?” she asked.

  “Sadly, it is often following in the wake of violence left by their minions.” Father Michael bowed his head. “We are hunters chasing a trail of blood. By the grace of God, I would we had the means to set snares and stop them before they wreak havoc on innocents.”

  Ember sat quietly, letting his words sink in.

  Father Michael watched her. “Now a choice belongs to you, Lady Morrow.”

  “And what is my choice?” she asked.

  “We ask none to serve against his or her will,” the priest said. “Our work, continuing the war waged by Michael and God’s army against the rising darkness, is too dangerous and too vital to be done with doubt or hesitation. If you give your life to the Conatus Guard, you forsake all else. The comforts of family and the flesh will be denied you. Your body, your will, and your spirit shall belong to us and to this fight. But the war is not only waged by sword. You saw the other rooms, but chose war. I ask you now to affirm your choice, lest in doubt you balk in your service, putting our cause at risk.”

  Ember met the priest’s kind gaze, finding no judgment, hope, or expectation, only kindness and patience. She could walk away from the violence she’d chosen by walking through war’s doorway. The stink of death that pursued her in the cellar would be forgotten.

  It had been horrible, yes, but something else as well. Ember shivered with the thrill of it. She’d been pitched into darkness to face an unnameable terror. And she’d won. Her blood sang with that knowledge.

  “How did you come to fight these creatures?” she asked.

  Father Michael leaned back in his chair. “You know of the Templars. The knights of faith, born out of the Crusades and sanctioned by the pope himself.”

  Ember nodded though unease slithered over her limbs, muting some of her excitement. Talk of the Templars offered no comfort. It had been nearly one hundred years since those knights, however renowned, had met a terrible end. An end filled with betrayals. Sins punished by fire.

  “But they are no more,” Ember said quietly.

  The priest shook his head slowly. “When the servant grows too strong, too willful to offer his master obeisance, the master will sometimes destroy the servant to save himself.”

  Her eyes widened; it was more than a little startling to hear a priest suggest that the Templars had become more powerful than the pope.

  At the sight of her shocked face, Father Michael laughed. “You think I blaspheme, child?”

  She blushed, looking at her hands, which were folded yet trembling on the table’s surface.

  “Do not fear, Lady Morrow,” he said. “I do not speak ill of the Holy Father, only of the nature of power. A nature that does not lend itself to sharing.”

  When she didn’t reply, Father Michael said, “Conatus was born within the Templar order. Where the knights pursued the conquest of the Holy Land, our small contingent confronted the secrets of the arcane, the mysteries beyond the veil.”

  Ember swallowed the thickness in her throat. She had so many questions but no idea how to voice them. Their shapes remained unwieldy in her mind.

  The priest’s gaze was sympathetic. “The Church teaches of evil spirits, of darkness and the craft of witches and sorcerers.”

  Ember nodded, hardly able to draw a breath in her eagerness to hear the story.

  “The Crusades offered the means by which we might tap into the very font of that knowledge and harness it for good,” he said.

  “Why?” Ember frowned.

  “Conatus emerged when a few of the knights learned the secrets and wisdom of our Saracen counterparts,�
� he said.

  Ember jolted upright in her seat. “The heathens?”

  The priest held up his hand. “What makes our order unique is that we place the value of good over evil. The pope himself agreed.”

  “I don’t understand,” she said.

  “Encounters in the East did not always end in bloodshed,” Father Michael answered. “And we’ve learned a great deal from the holy texts of our adversaries. For example, did you know that King Solomon had the power to command devils?”

  Ember barely stopped herself from laughing. Only the calm, serious eyes of Father Michael choked off the mirth trying to rise in her throat.

  He held her gaze. “‘He subjected the wind to him, so that it blew softly at his bidding wherever he directed it, and the devils too, among whom were builders and diverse others and bound with chains.’”

  “What words do you speak?” She frowned.

  “Those of the holy text of our adversaries in the East,” he said. “One that contains many mysteries of which we must learn.”

  Ember’s frown deepened. “What mysteries?”

  “Perhaps you think of spirits, demons, and witches as frightening tales spun for children?” He stood up, clasping his hands behind his back. “I trust that your trial in the cellar made you see the truth.”

  Ember’s pulse began to thrum again. Father Michael was right. Hadn’t she just faced an unfathomable horror in the darkness below? The revenant had been a creature of nightmares, not anything she would have believed part of creation except for her life-and-death struggle with it. This was the war. And it was incredible.

  “King Solomon, in his wisdom, could harness dark forces without letting them corrupt him.” Father Michael paced beside her. “But his spirit was a rare thing. We know that from some other place, some dark place, monstrous beings thrive. Sometimes the beasts steal into our world, corrupting everything they touch. Some arrive of their own free will, hunting poor souls who stray across their path. But others are summoned at the will and power of the prideful wizard, witch, or sorcerer who believes himself able to command the dark.”

  The priest stopped in front of Ember, leaning down so his gaze pierced into her. “The wandering evil is the prey we hunt and slay. But the true mission of Conatus is to find those evildoers who willfully bring these monsters into our world.”

  “You hunt witches?” She watched Father Michael in amazement.

  He smiled. “Among other things.

  “The affairs of men are filled with blood, violence, and sin.” Father Michael straightened, turning partly away from her. “That cannot be helped, for we are a fallen people in need of redemption. But to invite more darkness, unnatural evil, into our midst—that is a sin greater than any other. It must be stopped. Conatus serves that purpose.”

  “And the Church?” Ember asked, remembering the fate of the Templars.

  Father Michael nodded. “When the Templars were disbanded, and many of their number executed for heresy, Conatus was unharmed, but hidden. The Church knows that our work in the mysteries of the spirit world remains essential. We deal not in the world of men, but the world of darkness and demons. Our war is endless, and our enemy cannot be allowed to go unchecked. And we do not sojourn alone. The evil we fight overspreads the world. Our allies do as well. Lukasz joined us as a token of goodwill from our brothers in the East. And we benefit from the continued studies of our counterparts in the Holy Land.”

  Ember was shaking her head. “Are you saying you still rely on the knowledge of the Saracens?”

  “Any wisdom that lights the darkness we face cannot be ignored, no matter the source,” he said. “The libraries of our sometime enemies boast stores of knowledge far older and broader than any found in Christendom. The roots of our order lie in the Holy Land. Did you recognize the tree in the great hall?”

  “No,” Ember said. “But it’s beautiful.”

  “An exceptional tree with an exceptional purpose,” Father Michael told her. “That tree was carried by Templars from the Holy Land and planted here over one hundred years ago. It is a cedar of Lebanon. Each year we renew our fealty to serving the earth and seeking knowledge of its mysteries and sharing that knowledge with our brothers and sisters of Conatus near and far. The tree is the symbol of that commitment.”

  Ember spoke carefully. “The pope knows of this?” She couldn’t believe the Church would condone friendship with enemies of their faith. Too many wars had been fought to separate Christendom from nonbelievers.

  “Whom of the three popes do you mean?” His blunt question made Ember gasp. He smiled wryly before continuing. “While in name we serve the Church, our work is not like that of any other order.”

  Father Michael’s gaze shifted away. “There are some elements of Conatus that remain hidden, even from its mightiest benefactors. Particularly when the Church is at war with itself.”

  Ember went very still.

  “I am a man of the cloth, Lady Morrow,” he said. “I can only offer you my assurance that my role here is to ensure that our order serves the greater work of God. Even if we may not be able to reveal the extent of that work to my superiors.”

  “Are you not afraid such secrets will be discovered?” she asked.

  He nodded. “It’s a constant danger. No matter how necessary our work, if the Church believes its authority here to be questioned or waning, our fate would be the same as that of the Templars. That is the reason we seclude ourselves in the wilds of Scotland, why we rarely engage in the affairs of kingdoms or of men in general. Our lives are apart. And we take the orders of holy men and women, forsaking the comforts of flesh and family in our service. By freely placing such restrictions on our actions and our lives, the Church is reassured that our strength is tempered, our pride kept in check. We must demonstrate submissiveness and humility so that our purpose may be fulfilled.”

  “I understand,” Ember said softly. What she understood even more was that the dangers of serving Conatus ranged far beyond the existence of monsters and the expectation that she would fight them. This place housed secrets and encouraged practices that could easily be deemed heretical.

  Father Michael watched emotions play across her face. “The risks are many.”

  Ember couldn’t pretend she wasn’t afraid. To flee would mean a safe and comfortable marriage that would please her father. She would provide grandchildren that would delight her mother. She would never fear death at the hands of a monster or the fires reserved for traitors of the faith.

  But something within Ember stirred, restless and yearning toward the unknown. She’d gone into the cellar armed with a dagger, not the sword familiar to her. She’d faced a creature beyond her imagining. And she had survived.

  To stay meant she would continue to battle with nightmares, but she would also be granted the ability and knowledge to defeat them. The secrets of Conatus would be her own. It was power she had never dreamed of, and its allure was intoxicating.

  Father Michael asked, “What say you, child?”

  “I have been called,” she said, if a bit unsteadily. She cleared her throat before she finished. “And I will serve.”

  “And so you shall.” He took her hands in his, helping her rise. “Come with me, Lady Morrow.”

  He led her from his simple quarters back into the chapel. Ember followed the priest dumbly, caught in a daze by her own words. She’d committed herself to Conatus, to the Guard, and some small part of her mind was screaming at her stupidity. How would she survive here? But another, deeper voice—one that she believed was her spirit—whispered that her choice was the right choice, the only choice. To know of the existence of evil, true evil that corrupted the world, had forever altered her heart and mind. If she had chosen a different path, she wouldn’t have slept another night. Her head would have been restless as she thought only of the horrors that might be creeping outside her door, waiting to rend her flesh. She would not live a life as the hunted; she would be the hunter.

  Father Mic
hael took her through a rear exit in the chapel and across the courtyard to the barracks. The structure resembled the manor but on a smaller scale.

  “This is your home now, Lady Morrow,” the priest told her. “Your new companions will be waiting for you in the hall.”

  Ember left Father Michael at the barracks’ entrance. As he’d told her, the Guard who had been lining the corridor that led to her trial were assembled, waiting for her.

  “Novice!” A booming voice demanded attention. Ember’s gaze fell on the speaker. He was an impossibly tall man, nearly seven feet in height, his hair and eyes dark as freshly turned earth. Though it was the first time she’d seen him, Ember had no doubt as to the man’s identity: Lukasz, commander of the Guard. Alistair spoke of him with near reverence. The knight’s sharp features, hooked nose, and bright eyes made it clear why Alistair called him “the Falcon.” He was distinct from the warriors in appearance and demeanor. Unlike most of those residing in the keep, Lukasz hailed from kingdoms in the eastern reaches of Christendom, bearing with him an air of experience and worldliness that both intimidated and fascinated Ember. Power rolled off his shoulders as he moved through the room, his piercing gaze at last falling on her.

  She shivered when he said, “Step forward.”

  Ember had never felt more alone as she stood, a solitary figure, while the twenty-some number that made up the full Guard formed a ring around her.

  Lukasz drew a claymore from its sheath, which was strapped across his back. The sword was taller than Ember, and she knew one sweep of the knight’s thick-muscled arm would easily cleave her in two, as it had undoubtedly already done to many of Lukasz’s foes.

  He pointed the blade at her. Ember clenched her fists, forcing her shrieking muscles to remain still. Every inch of her being was screaming to jump back from the sword, even to flee from the room.

  “Who has claimed this girl and will bear the burden of guiding her steps?” Lukasz asked.

  His words didn’t come as a surprise. Alistair had explained that Ember would have a mentor, a seasoned warrior to train her as she rose from novice to a full member of the Guard. Of course, that had all been speculation. Now that she stood with the knights of Conatus and had chosen to become one of them, the haze of astonishment that had surrounded her bled away. She wouldn’t be going back to her father’s manor. She would not marry Lord Mackenzie’s son.