For all of that, she was the first to speak, in quick, nervous French like a stream in flood: “In Christ’s name, whoever you are, we have no quarrel with you. Leave us in peace, and we’ll do likewise.”
“Ahh,” came a man’s voice. It was impossible: a man without lungs—and likely without a tongue, though Erik had no desire to lift the helmet and check—could never speak, and yet he did, if only in a sad whisper. “I’ll not fight you, child, but there’s only one way to find peace in this fell place.” Rusty metal squealed and dead sinews creaked as the helmet turned toward the graves.
“Is that how they died?” Erik asked, through a throat so dry and closed he almost sounded like the revenant.
“Oui. I was theturcopolier, the commander of those who were left, and so, in the end—” The apparition shrugged. “The duty was mine. When the corruption became apparent, we talked it over. They knelt, and I gave them mercy, and then myself, as best I could, and we hoped that would make an end. We knew not that Its power would grow, nor that It would reach out for new prey. Would that any of the chaplains had escaped with us. Would that much had been different.”
“It?” Erik asked, noticing the weight of the word.
“Our ‘treasure.’” A chuckle emerged from the helmet, likely hollow for reasons beyond the obvious physical limitations. “Whether Philip knew or… But here, I am getting ahead of myself. Sit. Take refreshment as I talk. At the end I’ll make you an offer, but I doubt you’ll take it without hearing the story in full. I wouldn’t have done so, in life.”
“Ah,” Toinette eyed the skeleton warily.
“I swear by Christ and all the saints,” said the dead man, “I’ll not raise a hand unless you ask it of me.”
* * *
And so Toinette sat on the floor, ate dried meat and boiled nettles, and listened to the tale of a dead Templar. She’d never made many plans for her life—a future that might stretch several hundred years was hard to arrange in advance—but what ideas she’d come up with had all been very far from where she found herself.
She took comfort in the minor things: the taste of bread, Erik’s fingers brushing against hers as he passed the wine, the green-blue shine of his eyes even in the darkness. Many such bits of reassurance involved Erik. Toinette couldn’tnotnotice. It was far from the time and place to think about what her reaction might mean, and she wasn’t sure whether or not she regretted that.
“To begin,” said the ghost, “you must understand that I don’t know all, or even most. The first part of my story takes place a hundred years before I was born, and I know what the chaplains told me, but they did not have the time or I the rank for them to explain everything. Had they… But there I wish again to change the past, and it cannot be.”
Toinette knew the sadness in the phantom voice, even if it was for greater cause than hers had ever been. Had he been living, she would have offered wine. “What was your name?” she asked.
“Adnet, in life,” he replied, after a moment’s startled pause. “My titles mean nothing here, and I’d as soon not speak my family name in my state. Why?”
“I like to know who I’m talking to.” She caught a glance from Erik, and a quick smile, and cleared her throat. “Pray continue.”
“The simple fact is this: when my order was but nine men in Jerusalem, a man came to them bearing a great burden. A fisherman had pulled It up in his net, or so the story went, and the history thankfully makes no mention of his fate, nor of those who handled It before It reached us. Perhaps, if they realized the danger and passed It on quickly, they escaped harm—but I fear most men are neither so learned nor so fortunate.”
“No,” said Toinette.
“What was It?” Erik asked.
“In outward appearance, a wooden chest, with black iron fastenings and many odd symbols. We recognized a few. Over time, scholars told us the meaning of more. None were wholesome. You yet remember the Scriptures, I hope, and the story of the Ark of the Covenant.”
“Aye,” Erik said slowly, frowning already. It took Toinette longer to call the reference to mind, and Adnet was already speaking by the time she caught her breath.
“This is similar, yet not so. Men built a chest, with much effort and many symbols, and a presence did dwell within it, but the two are as night and day. If the Lord has any kinship to the spirit within that box, all we’ve heard of Him is a lie. And I do not believe that it is.”
Toinette remembered the voice in her dreams, mocking and hateful, and the images of the dead. “What does It want?”
“Want,” said Adnet, “is a troublesome word. In all our time with the thing, we have never yet known if It has enough mind to want, or in any way greater than a fish wants a worm. It twists, should It get close enough, and devours. It seeks to feed, but so does any squirming maggot on a corpse.”
“But It speaks,” Erik objected, “and It shows images.”
“It spits out what you give it, reflected darkly. Whether that’s will or reflex or simply force, I couldn’t say.” Adnet sighed. “And we truly only realized as much of Its power as we did once we’d had to bring It here. In the Temple, we had spells, material, a hundred years of scholarship containing It, and enough men of God trained to pit their will against It and succeed.”
“And how many of you came here?” Toinette asked.
“A dozen. Four had died on the voyage over—we fled with no time to prepare, and no knowledge of where we went, only that we must not let the un-ark fall into the hands of a mortal king.”
Erik swallowed his dried meat and asked, “Was he trying for It? Would It be of any use to a king?”
“If one lived who could master It, likely he could turn Its power against his enemies. It would be a terrible thing to face.”
To that, Erik said nothing. Toinette studied his face, but found nothing save long thoughts, and couldn’t think of the words she wanted herself.
