The Blood of the Gods

The winds of change know no respite and a bitter fall cold makes them blow harder. Lieutenant Renault Lefevre was patrolling by the Notre Dame in late November, a tumultuous time in France. The former King sat in shackles, France was in shambles. The revolution had taken a turn that summer when the soldiers and police executed over 1,000 prisoners in the streets of Paris. Renault had refused to take part in that, for which he was judged by his peers, but not reprimanded for, but it set off a powder keg in the middle of the City of Light. Now the King, or former King, was about to stand trial for crimes against France. It irked Renault, he supported the revolution, bringing the power of governance to the people, but regicide is where he drew the line. He knew others disagreed. While he stood with the revolutionaries on many issues, the taking up of arms against his fellow countrymen, regardless of where they stood on the issue of the rule of the King, was not something Renault could stomach. But he was a lowly lieutenant in the Gendarmerie, whose job was to march around the ancient cathedral and protect it from those that would loot it’s hallowed halls. Day in, day out, walking the same path, passing other guards on the same duty as him, but not allowed to associate with them. It was monotonous, but it was his duty. For the most part it was uneventful. Once in a while he’d have to scare off a few looters with his musketoon. It wasn’t a great time for the church to put it modestly. The revolutionaries were executing and imprisoning the clergy. Despite his misgivings on the matter, Renault stood by and watched. He was a christian, which was allowed, but the church was corrupt and stood against the people so he understood the sentiment some held towards the clergy. Walking his normal path Renault noticed a man walk into the church 100 yards away. Too far for him to shout stop so he made his way to the location, unslinging his weapon from its position on his shoulder just in case he might need to use it. The musketoon was much shorter than the long muskets that were standard issue in the army. They were meant for calvary, shorter barrel, made it easier to fire from horseback. It was that shorter barrel that also made it easier to use in the crowded streets of the Capital. Renault had to purchase it on his own though, the Gendarmerie wouldn’t issue him anything but the standard musket. He made it to the spot where the man entered the cathedral just as the wind began picking up. It was his duty to protect the old stone building, it just so happened that protecting it meant he would have to go in out of the cold. This slightly delighted the young man. Renault tried to open the door, but it was locked. Something he found quite strange as the man had just entered it. He must have locked it behind him. Shrugging, Renault raised the brass buttstock of his weapon up and smashed down hard on the knob breaking it off. The door opened slightly and Renault kicked it the rest of the way open. “In the name of the People of France I ask you to make yourself known!” Renault shouted into the dark. No answer came from the dark halls. It was difficult to see, but not impossible so he raised his firearm in preparation for a fight and continued into the bowels of the church looking for the intruder. “I say again,” he shouted once more. “In the name of the People of France I ask you to show yourself or face the consequences.” Up ahead Renault heard the creak of an unoiled hinge on a door. It was faint, but still audible. He couldn’t make out if there was anyone there, but he trained his firearm in the direction of the sound. When he arrived at the door it was ajar. Renault had never actually been inside the cathedral, he had no reference to where he was or in which direction he was heading, but he decided still to follow the signs of the intruder as the ever vigilant guard would. Some of his more apathetic colleagues would likely just turn tail and head back out to the street, maybe report it to the watch commander at the end of their shift, but not Renault. The door opened to a staircase that plunged down deeply into the black abyss. “Merde,” Renault said aloud to himself before beginning his descent down the pitch black cavern. Every step was difficult, he couldn’t see, but that didn’t mean he was going to stop. Renault was nothing if not persistent. When he got to the first landing he noticed the way down became a bit more illuminated, the man must have had a torch with him to provide himself some light in the dark belly of the church. “You ahead,” Renault shouted. “Stop.” He knew it would be in vain as the man had previously refused to heed his commands, but it was worth a shot. So he continued on, following the light down the stairs. Everything got brighter and brighter as he progressed until he arrived at another door again, this one was ajar as if the man had hastily opened it and continued on his path. He passed through the door into a well lit hall, this one had torches in sconces illuminating a path through. This hallway was different though, unlike anything he had seen in Paris before. The columns were a polished white marble, the floor covered in a purple carpet from end to end. At each column a bust of a man sat, but Renault didn’t have time to read their names as he made his way to the end of the hallway. Even the door at the end was different. Gone were the thick oak boards strapped with wrought iron, this door looked as if it were solid bronze. Carved into the metal were scenes of battle and war. If it were any other day Renault would be very intrigued by everything in this room, but he had a job to do. At the top of the door was a Latin inscription, Si vis pacem, para bellum, if you want peace, prepare for war. An odd inscription to be found in a church Renault thought to himself while trying to work the door knob. After a moment of trying to fiddle with it with his left hand while attempting to keep one hand on his gun he gave up and slung the weapon back on his shoulder to get a better grip on the handle. Renault pushed with all his might and the heavy bronze door slowly began to move making him think it must be solid bronze, how it got so far down underground was a huge question in his mind as he forced the door open. He was about to finally give up when the door started to move on it’s own opening up to a massive room. It was the most extravagant thing Renault had ever seen. Chests of gold, silver and precious jewels scattered everywhere. Racks of muskets and other weapons arranged neatly off to the far side of the room. Shelves upon shelves of books, parchments, scrolls, even what looked like ancient clay tablets headed off in every direction. All lit from above by at least 10 chandeliers with hundreds of candles on them with light being reflected around the room by numerous highly polished silver mirrors. Before Renault could take a step into the room he felt a searing pain in the back of his skull. Someone had struck him with something hard. Before his world went black he saw people in purple robes converging on him. When Renault woke up he was disoriented. His head thumped still from whatever they had struck him with, his vision a blur. He could however make out the shapes of several people all gathered around him. “He’s just a lieutenant, let him go,” a disembodied voice said. “We can’t he’d seen too much,” another voice replied. “We don’t know what he’s seen,” a third voice chimed in. “He needs to be eliminated.” “I agree.” “I don’t, why don’t we ask him, he seems to be awake,” the shorter of the men said. “Who are you?” One of them demanded upon noticing Renault’s consciousness. “Lieutenant Renault Lefevre,” Renault stammered. “Gendemarie.” There were hushed mumbles from the group of men in front of him. “What are you doing here Lieutenant?” The short man asked. “I was assigned to patrol the cathedral,” Renault said. “I saw a man enter and I followed.” “You were seen, Bonaparte,” one man said to the short one. The man that was called Bonaparte waved the other one off. “What have you seen here Lieutenant?” “N-n-nothing,” Renault managed to get out. “See,” Bonaparte said. “No need to be rash, we will just give him another wack and toss him out on the street.” “This isn’t the battlefield Napoleon, you don’t make the decisions in these chambers,” the one man said in response. “Easy Maximilien,” Bonaparte said. “The killing of a patrolman will bring undue investigation into this building and we no longer have Tallyrand to protect us thanks to your friend Danton.” “A vote then?” Maximilien requested. “Fine,” Bonaparte relented. “A vote.” Of the 13 men there only 4 raised their hand to spare Renault’s life, the rest voted to kill him. “It’s settled then,” Maximilien smirked. Bonaparte shook his head and walked off into the background. The man who had just sentenced him to death stood in front of Renault and nodded to two of the other men to untie his restraints and pick him up. Renault was dragged to the area with the racks of weapons. Some of them modern like the musketoon he carried, others were older, much older. He saw crossguard swords, lances, curved red shields as tall as a man. In the centre of the display, on a wall, was a golden spear, even the dimness of the light couldn’t diminish it’s lustre. “Lieutenant Renault Lefevre,” Maximilien began. “Unfortunately you have stumbled upon something for which you are not allowed to know. The Brotherhood of the Elders condemns you to die for this. Please know we don’t carry out this sentence lightly, all life is sacred, but we cannot allow you to leave here with the knowledge of this place.” Maximilien took a pistol off the rack and checked to see if there was any powder in the pan. After he was satisfied there was some there he c****d the hammer back. “Do you have any last words Lieutenant?” This was it Renault thought, he could just resolve to die or he could try and fight. It was a split second decision, but one that would change his life forever. He kicked a chair at Maximilien causing the man to stumble and discharge the pistol in the air. The gunshot disoriented everyone in the surrounding area and allowed for the distraction Renault needed to get himself a weapon. Without too many options in the immediate area he grabbed the spear on the wall behind him. The second his hand touched the weapon it began to glow and hum. The adrenaline in his system barely registered this peculiarity as he was in the middle of a fight for his life. Maximilien and some of the other men had grabbed new guns, muskets this time, with the sharp tri-point bayonets at their tips, all trained and focused on Renault. He leveled the spear at Maximilien and prepared to charge, come what may. “Stop,” the small Bonaparte shouted over the cacophony of the small battle. “Maximilien, Gungnir!” It took a second for Maximilien to register what Napoleon was saying, but when he saw the spear glowing a reddish orange in Renault’s hand he motioned for the rest of the men to lower their weapons. Renault was taken off guard by their sudden surrender, but he refused to let go of the spear. He did, however, begin to notice that there was a light vibration running through the weapon and the glow was intensifying and beginning to creep onto his hands. “What is this?” he demanded while shaking the weapon in the direction of Bonaparte and Maximilien showing he still intended to use the odd polearm. “Relax Lieutenant,” Napoleon said as he slowly approached the disgruntled young man. He put his hand on the head of the spear just below the foot long double edged blade with it’s twisted patterned metal, not quite the silver of steel nor the hue of bronze, but somewhere in between the two. “I’ve never seen Gungnir like this before,” Napoleon said to Maximilien. “What is this?” Renault anxiously said again. Napoleon smiled at the young man. “It’s your saving grace Lieutenant.”