C ardinal Polletto gave the procession assembling inside the Hall of the Caesars last minute instructions, carefully looking them over forty-five minutes before the midnight hour. Outside, members of The Order of Asmodeus were gathering from all over the world, taking their seats in the makeshift stadium behind the castle, next to the stage and wooden deck they’d be standing on shortly, all watching history change before their eyes.
Sister Bravo and Father Sin were tending to Samuel, Felipe and Eduardo, gently securing their hands and taping their mouths. Samuel glared at the cardinal, a murderous scowl on his face that Cardinal Polletto brushed aside. Soon, you’ll thank me for making you ruler of the world. Each boy was lifted up and placed in a small, shiny black coffin, with three slits cut in the top for them to breath. To the cardinal’s surprise, none of the boys flinched or struggled. Maybe it’s sinking in.
Maybe now they’re starting to realize.
The coffins were closed tight, and two black-hooded priests were assigned to guard and carry each coffin. In front of the coffins, gagged, blindfolded and tied to a wide wooden board, lay Father Tolbert. The angry priest squirmed and fought, almost tearing free several times. Only after a generous dose of heroin filled his blood stream, administered by Father Ortega, did he settle down.
“You’ll burn. You’ll burn,” Father Tolbert mumbled, eyes rolling up in his head.
Cardinal Polletto had received word an hour earlier that the Pope had died a solemn death in his sleep earlier that night. After the ritual, Cardinal Polletto would rush to the Vatican with all of the other cardinals, where they’d plan and perform the Pope’s funeral, then be locked in conclave inside the Sistine Chapel, away from the public eye until they all agreed on the new Bishop of Rome, a position guaranteed to him by veiled forces more powerful than any known to the world. The Black Pope, old, frail, and a supremely powerful man, had also promised the cardinal certain death if he failed.
The extra security the cardinal set up in and around the castle, in light of the attack on Rinaldo and Dianora, gave him some comfort that the ritual wouldn’t be disturbed. But it bothered him that his people hadn’t been able to find any sign of Robert Veil, his partner, or The Hammer of God anywhere. He was certain they were responsible for Rinaldo’s death, and Dianora’s coma. Cardinal Polletto’s snitch, Bishop Ruini, had jumped to his death at the hospital, the villa where Il Martello di Dio had been hiding was now empty. To add insult to an already tenuous situation, Cardinal Maximilian was still alive.
Cardinal Polletto began to chant in Latin, a signal to everybody in the room that the procession was about to begin. All of The Order’s members, each draped in long black, hooded robes, took up their positions, bodies racked with nervous energy, eyes wide with anticipation. The cardinal nodded.
The three small caskets were lifted in the air, along with a near comatose Father Tolbert. Two hooded clerics stood in front of the cardinal, one holding a three prong, gold candelabra with the candles lit, and the other an upside down crucifix with their leader, Asmodeus, looking down on a suffering Jesus, and Lucifer looking down on them all.
The cardinal continued to chant, raising his voice an octave, to signal the men in front of him to begin the march downstairs. Along the way, members of The Order lined the route, faces hidden behind hoods, a single candle in their hands. The castle, pitch black except for the candlelight, took on an ominous, foreboding atmosphere, a dark calm before a new day.
Outside, the midnight sky draped the gathering with a clear, star-studded cloak of night. A windless, easy calm enveloped them, as if Lucifer himself held back any intrusion or interruption. The dead stillness caused Cardinal Polletto’s voice to boom through the night like thunder, and as they entered the stadium and slowly marched toward the stage, everyone sitting stood, holding a single lit candle in their hands.
Cardinal Polletto stopped in front of a long table, covered with a dark red tablecloth, as the others took their positions. Father Tolbert to his right, the coffins on the wooden deck directly behind him, where twenty-five children, bound and gagged, lay shivering and shaking on the deck, eyes filled with fear. Cardinal Polletto motioned for everybody to take their seats and finished the chant. Everything fell silent.
“Tonight is a night of triumph,” he told the crowd, loud and confident. “A night we will all bear witness to history, a night when the world will be born anew.”
In the front row of the stadium, Cardinal Polletto spotted the Black Pope, his pasty face and black smile camouflaged behind his black hood.
Sitting next to him, dressed as all the others, sat Alison Napier, nervous and fidgeting, unaware that tonight would be her last night on earth.
The rest of the followers in the stands were some of the most powerful men and women in the world. Cabinet members, generals, heads of state, the influential, rich and powerful from every walk of life, were all ready to bow down and dedicate their lives to the boy who would rule every inch of the earth.
“Tonight, the old will give way to something new. A new way the world will grasp as its lifeline, and we, the ones chosen to serve and lead, will tonight bear witness to this rebirth,” stated Cardinal Polletto.
He began to chant again, this time paying homage to Lucifer, hands held high in the air, eyes to the heavens. The members in the stands blew out their candles and launched into the same chant, hands high, heads to the sky, some smiling, others dead serious, their voices filling the night like a harmonious choir.
“Curse you! Curse every last one of you!” the cardinal heard Father Tolbert scream. He looked over and saw the priest, head up, spewing and spitting, cursing and crying. “Hell is waiting for all of you! I swear it!” Cardinal Polletto continued to chant. Father Ortega approached Father Tolbert, a long silver knife in his hand. Two priests hurried over and lifted Father Tolbert’s feet high in the air. Father Ortega braced to cut his throat and drain the blood into a silver trough on the deck, just below the struggling priest.
Father Tolbert caught a glimpse of the knife. “No, get away from me!” he screamed.
As Father Ortega moved closer, Father Tolbert screamed louder. The crowd raised their voices higher, drowning him out.
Cardinal Polletto looked behind him. Sister Bravo opened the three caskets. Hooded men lifted each boy out and gently stood them up on the deck. The cardinal locked his eyes on Samuel, who looked over at Eduardo and Felipe, their eyes wide, their bodies trembling. But one look from Samuel and the boys seemed to steady. Samuel scanned the area, detached, unmoved by the theatrics.
“No, Lord, help me!” Father Tolbert bellowed.
Father Ortega now stood directly over the priest, waiting for the final signal from Cardinal Polletto. The cardinal raised his hands. Everyone fell silent. On the table in front of him was a small silver plate filled with rich black dirt. He poured water over it and walked over to the writhing, spewing Father Tolbert. Cardinal Polletto mixed the mud with his fingers, and smeared it all over Father Tolbert’s face, whose smoldering anger was now replaced with uncontrollable crying.
“From the earth you came, the Father of our savior. To earth you shall return. Your name will forever be written in our hearts and minds.
Your blood, your seed, gave birth to the savior of this world, and in him you shall live forever.”
Cardinal Polletto stepped back and nodded to Father Ortega. The burly priest placed the knife to Father Tolbert’s neck.
“Urrrrh!” Father Tolbert struggled and writhed.
One of his hands pulled loose from the rope. He grabbed the hand in which Father Ortega held the knife and wrestled violently. Father Tolbert’s other hand tore free, his eyes on fire, his face a raging storm.
He grabbed Father Ortega by his bulky black robe and snatched him to the ground.
Two men rushed over to help a distressed Father Ortega, but before they could reach him, Father Tolbert had the knife in his hand, and Father Ortega lay prostrate on his back.
The men grabbed at Father Tolbert, but were met with hard kicks and stabs, sending both to the ground. Father Tolbert, his eyes fixed on Cardinal Polletto, reached down and stabbed Father Ortega in the chest several times, to the horror of the panic stricken crowd.
“Father Sin, get him!” cried Cardinal Polletto.
Father Sin, already headed in that direction, pulled his own knife from under his robe. Father Tolbert’s eyes never left the cardinal. He smiled, saliva foaming around his mouth, nose flaring.
“Stop him!” Cardinal Polletto screamed.
Father Tolbert rushed forward, knife above his head. Cardinal Polletto braced himself, forearms in front of his face. “Arrrrh!” he cried, as the blade found his flesh.