and powerful.
Father Tolbert flailed about, kicking and writhing in pain. Samuel smiled. Felipe and Eduardo walked out of the water, and the three of them disappeared into the woods.
“What does it mean? Lord, what have I done?” asked Father Tolbert.
“Tell me what you saw,” a familiar voice asked from somewhere in the room.
“Who’s there?” Father Tolbert cried. “Who are you?”
“Tell me what you dreamed,” the voice asked again.
“Cardinal Polletto?” Father Tolbert’s body shook. “I won’t tell you! I won’t!”
“Your time is short,” said Cardinal Polletto.“Soon, I’ll give you what you’ve longed for, death. But first, tell me your dream.” Father Tolbert struggled to break free. “I won’t let you hurt him! I won’t let you hurt Samuel!”
“Samuel can’t be hurt, not by me, or anybody else.”
“Liar, you filthy liar! I won’t tell you anything!” Father Tolbert struggled to his feet. “I should have protected Samuel, but you made me hurt him.”
“Don’t fool yourself. You’ve always been weak for the taste of the young. I protected you, for this day, and allowed you to have what you loved.”
“I’m a monster! A monster you helped feed!”
“You’re not alone,” Cardinal Polletto told him. “Your depravity, like the others, has gone a long way to help us.”
“Help you?”
“Yes, help The Order get a step closer to destroying what should have been killed off centuries ago.”
“The Church? You’ve used me to destroy God’s kingdom?” Father Tolbert heard Cardinal Polletto stir and honed in on that direction.
“On the contrary,” said Cardinal Polletto. “The true kingdom is ours.
A kingdom you helped bring about with your seed. You gave us three, and will be remembered for all eternity.”
“Arrrrh!” Father Tolbert screamed, rushing toward Cardinal Polletto’s voice.
A granite-like blow smashed into the priest’s face. Father Tolbert fell backwards, his entire body floating through the air and crashing down to the floor.
“Thank you, Father Sin,” he heard Cardinal Polletto say.
Unable to move, Father Tolbert watched in his mind as more children, each face familiar, file into the black river of his mind. He wanted to tell them he was sorry, but knew it was useless. He heard Cardinal Polletto and Father Sin leave the room.
Father Tolbert lingered on the edge of consciousness, then cried into the night.
62
F orehead sweaty, shoulders tense, Cardinal Polletto paced the cold, candlelit bedroom, unable to control his breathing or the pounding in his chest. He had asked not to be disturbed for the next few hours, while he readied himself for the ritual. As he stumbled about the room, catching his balance several times by grabbing hold of one of the antique oak bedposts. For the last twenty-four hours, anxiety had tortured his being, kneading him unmercifully, castigating his spirit.
The cardinal slid down to the floor, leaned back against the bed and closed his eyes, as much from the sweat burning his pupils, as from the blanket of nervous uncertainty drowning him. Get up you fool! This is what you wanted, what you’ve been waiting for! Victory is at hand!
He pulled himself up on the side of the bed, stumbled over to the dresser, lowered his aged frame down to the cushioned chair, and stared at the man in the mirror. He barely recognized the feeble-faced, gray-headed imp leering back at him, eyes red and bleary, purple veins branching out of his hawk-like beak. Looks that belied the image of strength and grace he had carefully nurtured since stepping into the realm of Vatican politics. Others boasted elegant good looks, playing on their God given handsome exteriors, but none matched the cunning charm, charisma and hallmark ability to persuade and manipulate that Cardinal Polletto used to construct a reputation of excellence, and build an international network of loyal supporters, from the Kremlin to the White House.
The cardinal looked over at the antique grandfather clock to check the time. Less than four hours. I better get ready. He picked up a washcloth off the dresser, soaked it in a basin of warm water and covered his face, the strength in his legs slowly returning, the warmth therapeutic and welcome. Cardinal Polletto walked over to the bed, where his rich purple and red vestment and gold lion’s head scepter lay waiting to drape him in the power and glory he’d thirsted for most of his life. The sight of the vestment and glistening scepter conjured up the spirit inside him, reminding him of who he was, and who he would soon become.
He ran his bony fingers across the satin robe and thought of the majesty and influence he’d wield as Pope. Access to untold wealth and the power to use it would allow him to build alliances, wage war, or initiate peace as he saw fit. The cardinal straightened his back, raised his chin, and slipped the clothing over his head, playing the ritual over in his mind, as debilitating jitters turned into unwavering confidence. Near full strength, the cardinal went back to the dresser, and sat back down in front of the mirror. This time, the man staring back at him wore fierce fiery eyes, a strong, firm jaw line, and a countenance of royalty. It’s my time!
Cardinal Polletto’s thoughts turned to Samuel and his brothers. There was no doubt in his mind that Samuel was the one he and the others awaited. Their lord, the one who would lead them and rule the world, the first-born of the three.
He knelt down to pray to his god, Lucifer, sweat beading up on his brow. The face of the Black Pope pushed its way into his mind, sending a cold shiver down his spine. Don’t fail!
Fueled with the renewed vigor that only prayer can bring, the cardinal grabbed the scepter; it’s weight straining the muscles still active in his arms. Arrogance now his guide, Cardinal Polletto examined the flawless, hand-etched carvings on the three-foot alabaster shaft, images of their master’s conquests over the centuries, and a jewel encrusted circle beneath a sold gold lion’s head, which symbolized their master’s true nature.
Cardinal Polletto took a few deep breaths then headed for the door.
He stopped and took stock of himself one last time. When he returned, his life and the world would be very different. He opened the door, and Father Sin and Sister Bravo stood waiting.
“Get the others,” the cardinal said softly, “it’s almost time,” he said, heading down to the Hall of Caesars, where the procession would assemble, head held high, his spirit renewed.
63
S amuel, Felipe and Eduardo sat on the floor, staring down at a makeshift layout of the area around the castle. A small plate stood in for the castle, a candle symbolized the woods to the south, and Samuel’s shoe was the shore across the water to the north.
“Our best chance is to make it to the woods,” said Samuel, his voice low, pointing to the candle. “I’m sure they’ll have guards there, but the darkness will work to our advantage.”
He used hand gestures and spoke slowly so his brothers could keep up. They had established a routine that enabled them to communicate well with one another. Samuel would point, and Felipe and Eduardo would confirm with nods, answering in French or Italian. Samuel would repeat the word in English, then Felipe and Eduardo would repeat the word again, this time in English. Remembering his school lessons back in Chicago, Samuel had given them a quick phonics lesson, which both boys picked up quickly.
What Samuel couldn’t explain, not to his brothers or himself, was their ability to understand each other without speech, as though they could read each other’s minds. Sometimes when Samuel spoke, his brothers answered and nodded, as if they fully understood. Other times he would think of something, and Felipe and Eduardo would nod as if they heard him say it out loud. And when they spoke to him in French or Italian, Samuel somehow knew exactly what they meant.
