CHAPTER ZERO
1244 AD
MONTSEGUR, FRANCE
Soon they would all be dead.
The Perfect watched as the pyre burst into flame at the base of the mountain. At the first break of dawn her fellow faithful would be thrown on the fire, and one by one they would exit this world and enter the glorious light of the next. She wished she could join them, but her task required her to stay alive, at least for a short time longer.
“I’m sorry to interrupt your prayers, master, but I’ve been told that the time has come for our escape.”
The Perfect turned to her apprentice, a young Believer with half her years and twice her enthusiasm. “Regrettably, you’re right. Are the others ready?”
“As ready as they could be for such a terrible journey.”
The Perfect placed a hand on the girl’s shoulder. She was closer to her than her own daughter, who had attempted to turn her in to the Holy Roman Empire. It wasn’t a surprise—the entire land had become traitorous since a bounty had been placed on her head. She was a Cathar, a dangerous title in France.
There was a day when the Cathars lived freely. They worshiped in secret, but not in fear. They were tolerated. Even revered. They were known as ‘the Good Christians’ for their virtue and benevolence. But times had changed. The Holy Roman Empire had become jealous of both their esteem, and more importantly, their money. People gave freely to the Cathars, knowing the dollars would be repaid tenfold in charity. The Holy Roman Empire, less so. So it was decided that the Cathars must be terminated, before their influence grew too wide to conquer.
They picked the right time. Bloodlust ran high on account of the many Crusades. But this was the first time the swords had pointed inward, at their own brothers, sisters, husbands, and wives.
Thousands had died already. Willingly. The Cathars were a peaceful people, their ethereal beliefs slacking the grip of the world on their hearts. They embraced death, recognized it as a porthole to a glorious future. But now they were slipping toward the edge of extinction—by morning the Cathars would be virtually eliminated from the earth.
The Holy Roman Empire had won.
Almost.
There was still one crucial detail that had managed to slip through their fingers. The one thing the Cathars held in their possession that the Holy Roman Empire desired most—
The Book of Love.
What the book contained was known only among the innermost core of the Cathar elect, the high priests, those known as ‘Perfects’. Legends had spread that the Book of Love caused even the most doubtful men to fall under the trance of Catharism when shown its pages. The Holy Roman Empire combated these tall tales with one of their own—
The book was a myth. Nothing more.
The Perfect looked down at the blessed Book of Love in her hands. It felt quite sturdy for a myth.
“Is that—?” The Believer stopped short of naming the fabled item aloud.
“It is,” the Perfect said, wondering if the girl would ever have a chance to marvel at the mystery locked inside, to be transformed by its power. She sensed the answer deep within her heart, but fought back the sorrow it provoked.
She put her arm around the Believer and led her toward the concealed rear exit of the mountaintop chateau. The people inside—numbering almost 400—sat in silent respect as they passed by. The Perfect reached out to them, but most could not hold their hands high enough to meet hers. Their bodies were withered and weak, a result of the endura, a ritual the Cathars reserved for the dying. The endura required the Cathar to be sustained only through small amounts of cool water, ensuring death with a week’s time.
The Perfect stopped before reaching the end of the line of people, kneeling to greet a particularly frail old woman. “I see that the endura has all but taken you,” she said softly.
The old woman slowly drew in a breath. “May it take me before they do.”
The Perfect placed her palm over her eyes. “Go,” she whispered in her ear. The old woman’s chest rose and fell a final time, and then she was gone.
The Believer leaned down and took the old woman’s hand. “Master, I don’t know if I have enough faith.”
The Perfect peered into the girl’s eyes, remembering that her mother and father were part of the company that would soon be burned alive. “You will when it’s required of you. Don’t worry, young one. God won’t place more on your shoulders than you can bear.”
As she spoke the encouragement, the Perfect felt the heaviness of her own burden—ensuring the preservation of the Book of Love. It was a task that required the strength of an army. She prayed that she might survive the test ahead.
Two men in brown cloaks approached. They were Listeners. Though they were both older than the Believer, they were less versed in the Cathar faith.
“Follow me,” the taller of the two said. “I’ve been told that the soldiers have retreated to the other side of the mountain. If we leave now we should have safe passage.”
The other scoffed. “The soldiers are the least of our worries. The slope is treacherous enough during the day. But we don’t even have the light of the moon to guide us tonight.”
“Our path is not one seen with human eyes,” the Perfect said. “If God desires it, He will lead us to safety.”
The Perfect led the way to the hidden door. She unlatched the locks and pushed it open. The night air was still. Not even the chirping of the crickets could be heard.
“Young one? Are you there?” whispered the Perfect.
“I’m here,” said the Believer.
“Do you remember me saying than when the time was right, you’d have the faith you need?”
“Yes.”
The Perfect took the girl’s hands, invisible in the darkness, and placed the Book of Love inside them. “Now is that time.”
“No—” the Believer said. “I can’t.”
“You must,” the Perfect said. “Once we reach the base of the mountain the soldiers will chase us. I’m no match for their speed. But you are.”
The Believer said nothing in response.
The Perfect’s confidence waned for a moment. Could this young one take on such an important task? Suddenly the Believer grasped the book. The Perfect smiled, wishing her young acolyte could see her warm approval. “May the spirit of Esclarmonde go with you,” she said. “Someday you will be rewarded for this act of bravery.”
But not tonight, the Perfect thought as they began their difficult journey down the mountain.
Tonight we will suffer.
—————————————————-
THE PRESENT
MONTSEGUR, FRANCE
Soon they would all be dead.
A cold wind rushed over the mountaintop. August Adams clutched his ex-wife April tightly to his chest and cried out for help.
No one responded to his call.
He pressed his fingers against her neck, desperate for a heartbeat, but there was no pulse.
He laid her on the ground, in the middle of the ruins where the Cathar castle once stood.
In the light of the full moon, he spied the outline of a killer, perched high on one of the four ancient walls, arms outstretched to the heavens.
August had risked everything to find the Book of Love.
How had everything gone so wrong?
