Oh, good God.Though Ansaldo isn’t looking at me, I keep my expression neutral. I have to imagine the order meant well at one time, and yet… not only is this a cult, but it’s a cult with a savior complex.
“What if someone doesn’t want to share their knowledge?” I wonder.
Ansaldo cocks his head as if he doesn’t understand the question. “They don’t have a choice: once the tattoo is complete, your mind becomes one with everyone else’s, melding together in a shared space. The information you provide is then archived.”
I swallow hard—that’s such a violation of privacy.This isnotthe sales pitch he thinks it is.
He moves on. “Each initiate could be chosen to become a Valtivar, facing evil head-on in its many forms on the battlefield of the world stage.”
I dig my nails into my thigh to stop myself from rolling my eyes.
“Or one of the Gæta, protecting this hidden stronghold of knowledge from our many enemies. Perhaps one of the Asklepios, healers of all wounds. Or an Episteme, gathering and safeguarding the great knowledge of the world.”
Finally, he looks over at me. “Or, what I am—a Themis, tasked to be the ears, eyes, and mouths of the gods, and counsel in all matters large and small.”
I blink at him.Valtivar, Gæta, Asklepios, Episteme, Themis.My mind struggles to keep up with all the information being thrown at me. So many potential vocations to be forced upon a person. Even if each member believes they’re choosing it, I doubt they understand the full implications of what they’re getting themselves into.
“What about Bes and Cec? What are they?”
Bes says, “Cec and I—”
“—are none of her concern,” Ansaldo finishes for him. “Not yet, anyway. The gods have not yet willed it so.”
I grit my teeth to stop from scoffing out loud. Remembering all the important educating Nonna has done over the years because of how passionate she is, I wonder what she would do if a cult leader claimed they received a sign from God, telling her to jointhe circus because God said it would fulfill her life’s purpose? Would she do it simply because God supposedly asked her to? Honestly, I’m not sure shewouldn’t. Even operating solely on faith, she could become a lion tamer if she put her mind to it.
This place feels like a similar manipulation.
Eyeing Ansaldo, I wonder how much power he holds and how long he’s held it. Though I’ve spent no more than a couple hours here, I’m coming around to the idea that this place is more of a religious conservatory than the spy organization I expected it to be.
My most burning question from all this, however, is: why would anyonewantto join the Order of Cavendi? Even if this isn’t a cult, it’s at least a traditional monarchy. And much of the modern world tires of centuries of divine right propaganda.
Though I suppose Germany has manufactured a new, different sort, disguised as freedom and justice.
“The Order truly found its footing during the Crusades,” Ansaldo explains, “with the Church recruiting members who couldn’t fight in battle.”
“Good lord,” I mutter. Worst fears confirmed.No wonder I’m uncomfortable here.I truly hope I’m wrong about Nonna being involved in all this.
“I’m sure it doesn’t surprise you that the order’s past is tainted,” Cec mutters close to my ear. “The killing of millions, the religious and economic devastation… it’s sickening.”
“Admittedly, it wasn’t our brightest hour,” Ansaldo concedes, having heard his son’s hushed words. “However, when the Christian Church split into the Roman Catholic Church and the Greek Orthodox Church almost a thousand years ago, the Order saw it as an opportunity to split as well, cutting all ties.”
“That’s something, at least,” I acknowledge.
“Yes, all it took was the murdering of innocents under the guise of halting the expansion of Muslim states to reclaim theChristian Holy Land in the Middle East,” Cec comments, irony dripping from his words.
Ansaldo goes on as if his son hadn’t spoken, the only sign of his anger in the tick of his jaw. “Eventually, the order opened its doors up to the world, metaphorically speaking, while maintaining the divine system with which it was founded upon.”
“Lady Macbeth would be ripe with jealousy,” I comment. “But then who are all of the people I saw earlier if not religious zealots with a lust for morality?”
Ansaldo huffs. “How dare you speak in such a way about the order?”
Bes cuts in. “Though I don’t doubt some here to be overtly religious, the members are mostly orphans, rebels, people with nowhere else to go. If they do something the order deems worthy, they’re offered a chance to give meaning to their lives by joining.”
Why is he defending them so staunchly?
“As if their lives had no meaning at all before the order took pity on them.”
Bes doesn’t reply. It sounds as if the order takes advantage of, as Robert Park would put it, marginalized people. I want to say it aloud but hold my tongue. Ansaldo’s face has turned the color of a bright tomato, and I don’t want him to burst.
