Crypt of Bone

Chapter 4

4

Sedlec Chapel, Kutna Hora, Czech Republic. 11.02pm

Franco Messina had been to Sedlec before, but never in the middle of the night when the bones of the crypt seemed to glow. What was sickly yellow in the day, resonant of pus and decay, was transformed into golden marvel in the candlelight. Incense hung in the air, delicate smoke blurring the edges of the scene.

The ossuary contained around fifty thousand skeletons arranged in bony sculptures and macabre shapes. Most of the bones came from the Black Death but there were rumors that other bodies had been hidden here. For who would notice fresh bones in the bell shaped mounds in the shadows of the chapel? Franco looked up at the great chandelier, which apparently contained bones from every part of the human body. It had eight candelabra, each made of a spinal column with vertebrae lining the arms. Femurs hung down, the balls of the knee joint rounded and smooth. Candles were cradled by plates of pelvis bone, each topped with a skull.

Everything was nailed into place and that made Franco shiver a little. Bones don’t bleed but the nails were an offense, forcing these dead to their display of ashen grace. Ropes of skulls with crossed bones were draped around the vault, empty eye sockets peering down at the gathering crowd below. We are all reduced to this, Franco thought, just another femur, just another skull. He shook his head to clear the depressing thoughts.

Franco stood in front of Ivan, who had brought him here tonight after long months of proving himself worthy of this final privilege. Tonight he would be part of the Thanatos ceremony, the culmination of his trials. Franco knew the rewards this would bring. He saw the riches that Ivan had been putting away and it was what he wanted too.

He had been recruited several months ago, when Ivan had seen him fighting in a bar brawl. Perhaps he had taken it a bit far that night, the man's face mashed to a pulp. But after that, Ivan had asked him to do some 'security' work and had encouraged him to invest in his fighting skills. After a few weeks Ivan had introduced him to other men who were part of the Thanatos network. Together they formed a vigilante group, taking out unwanted parts of the community based on directives from above.

Some people might call them surgical strikes, cutting out the bad parts of society so that the good could thrive. Franco was a believer in nationalism. He didn't want the gypsies or the rag-heads, the crazies, beggars or fags around. Who did? He didn't even draw the line at women, prostitutes who diluted the family values of the city, but he always had his fun first. It was easy work, paid well and the police seemed to look the other way.

Franco touched his arm where the tattoo would be added after tonight. Ivan had said that he would be eligible for full membership after the ceremony and the tattoo protected those who wore it. If you had the tattoo and were caught, there were always men around who would get you out of trouble.

It was currency, valuable all over the world.

The work was dangerous but the pale horse's head was protection, although Franco had wondered aloud one day what lay beneath the violence. Ivan had explained that Thanatos was the ancient Greek personification of Death and the pale horse tattoo represented the prophecy that Death would take a quarter of the world in the end times. Franco didn’t quite understand the details but it didn’t matter because the tattoo was a passport to the other side of the law and a whole new level of wealth and power.

That’s what I’ve been looking for, Franco thought. That’s why I’m here.

He looked around surreptitiously. There was an air of expectancy, a silence that seemed to echo around this chamber of bones. About thirty people were in the room, mostly men with a few women dotted around. He looked at one woman standing near him, her dusky features like a film star’s, expensive suit in midnight blue framing her slim figure. Her shining copper hair was pinned on top of her head and a tattoo of hieroglyphics wound down beneath her clothes from the base of her neck. Franco wondered why she was here, what deeds she had performed in the name of Thanatos. She wore a black mask, as all of them did, but when her gaze met his, her eyes were like a frozen river. He looked away quickly, understanding that some deeds were not as base as a fist to the head and evil could walk in stiletto heels. Franco's glance angled away as if he had never been looking at her.

Suddenly, the atmosphere in the room changed and the rustling of clothes indicated the movement of people parting.

A tall man climbed the raised dais to stand in front of the altar. He wore a long dark robe with a mask of black silk molded tightly to his face. Only the top echelons knew the true identity of the man who embodied Thanatos. Franco knew that this was the dark Master they all served, and tonight he would pledge his own allegiance.

Thanatos raised his hands.

“You are the chosen few and this is a landmark event. You are part of the turning of the hands of time, for tonight I will send you out to usher in the prophecy. It has taken years to build the network we have in place but now we are ready to release the pale horse of Death into this world. Soon the Devil’s Bible will be returned to this altar. That moment will mark the beginning of the end, for the words in that book will finally fulfill the Revelation and tonight you will witness the re-enactment of the birth of Thanatos.”

Franco listened intently. None of this had seemed important as money had grown fat in his bank account but it seemed that events might now be escalating.

“For those of you at the ceremony for the first time, I tell our story so that you may understand,” Thanatos continued. “For those who have stood faithful with me over time, I tell this story to renew your strength and purpose in the prophecy.”

He strode to one end of the dais and Franco saw the audience lean towards him, eager for his words.

“Abraham was beloved of God and was promised a son even though he and his wife were old. He was promised that endless generations would stem from his seed. He believed that God would keep this promise. Even as his bones grew weak and he stumbled to tend his sheep, he knew that God would be faithful. His God would not let him down.”

Thanatos now walked to the other side of the dais and looked further into the crowd. Franco felt his gaze like a jolt of electricity. He was energized by this man and moved closer to hear more clearly.

“God did bless Abraham with a son, Isaac, dearly beloved and precious to his father. Abraham prayed daily that he would grow to be a great man and fulfill the words of his God. But one day God told Abraham to take his son to the top of Mount Moriah and there to sacrifice him.”

There was a silence, a collective breath held in the crypt of bones.

“What kind of God is this, that demands the sacrifice of children?” Thanatos said, his voice soaring in the chamber.

“And what kind of father was Abraham to do his bidding? But a man of faith would not back down from that direct order from on high. Obedience to God was of the highest importance. So Abraham took his son Isaac to the mountain and tied him down, even as the boy shook with fear. Tears ran down his cheeks as he begged for his life. Abraham wept and pleaded with God, but no reply came. Abraham raised the knife.”

A pause.

Thanatos looked around at the crowd. They waited expectantly although Franco sensed they knew what was coming.

“God sent a ram into a nearby thicket and its cries stopped Abraham from the killing stroke. God had provided another sacrifice which Abraham slaughtered in his son’s place. Abraham raised his hands and cried out his thanks. He wept at God’s mercy. ”

Thanatos turned, beckoning into the darkness behind the altar.

A stocky man dressed in the same mask and black robes came forward carrying a child tied by hands and feet. Franco could see that it was a young boy, maybe five years old. Tears and snot had crusted on his tiny face, soaking a gag wrapped about his mouth and his eyes were vacant as if he had been drugged.

A gasp broke the silence. Franco realized it had come from his own throat.

“But this was in the past,” Thanatos continued. “Today we stand for another form of obedience. A generation ago, my father was the one called to sacrifice his son. He heard the voice of God and believed that it was as Abraham’s challenge. He worshipped here in this church. His faith was as Ezekiel’s. He saw the valley of dry bones come back to life. He saw the resurrection coming through the skeletal remains of this place.”

The stocky man came forward and laid the child on the altar, securing the bonds so he was tied there securely. The boy lay still, unresponsive.

“My father brought his son here, the child he loved above all else. He laid him on the altar just as this boy lies here now and he offered his child to God. He called out, pleading for God to provide another sacrifice, for a way out of the obedience that was required. Sometimes God sends another but sometimes He will ask of us that which we love the most. There must be sacrifice for then He will provide a greater blessing. So my father took up the blade.”

Thanatos drew a knife from the leather sheath at his waist. Its handle was polished bone made of metacarpals, finger bones curving down to a thin wicked blade. It glinted as he held it up.

“He called one last time for God to relieve him of his burden.”

Franco could hear the man’s voice breaking with emotion, for he was truly reliving the moment of agony.

“But God did not speak and my father was obedient to the end.”

Franco watched as the knife arced down.

Even as he thought that it would stop, that this was just a crazy re-enactment of some guy's nightmare, he saw real blood spurt as the knife slammed into the little boy. He was witnessing the murder of a child in a church, a holy place.

Franco started forward, as if to try and stop it. He felt Ivan's hands holding him back and then other vice-like grips as men around him realized he was trying to stop the kill. He watched in horror as blood ran from the child’s body and dripped from the altar to the floor. The woman near him licked her lips and he could see her breathing heavily with excitement.

Thanatos turned again to the audience, the bloody knife held out in front of him.

“My father sacrificed his beloved son and tonight, you are part of this call to obedience. You will join me in the renewal of life to these bones. You are the resurrection of my father's faith. For God was faithful and gave him another son and I was born to fulfill the prophecy of the end times. Tonight you will join me in obedience.”

Thanatos handed the knife to the man at the altar and without hesitation, the man plunged it into the tiny body. Franco could only hope the child was dead from the first deep thrust or the shock.

People moved towards the altar, crowding in their hurry to join the rite. No one spoke and Franco found himself pushed forward towards the child's body.

It was a conspiracy of silence, of capitulation and the masks they hid behind prevented the assumption of responsibility for their actions. They were one crowd, a mob united by this dark force. The words of Thanatos mesmerized them and the rewards that they received in the material world kept them obedient. He bound them to him with blood and money, the most ancient chains of all and the hardest to break.

Franco watched as one by one, the masked devotees stepped forward, took the knife and stabbed the child. Some thrust hard and others seemed reluctant but they all obeyed. He saw the slim woman take her turn. She took the knife from Thanatos, her fingers brushing his for just a fraction too long. She stepped into the pooling gore in front of the altar and thrust the knife in with no hesitation.

Ivan pushed Franco to the front until he stood, staring at the proffered knife.

“There is only obedience here,” Thanatos said. His eyes were of a man who saw the darkness in the soul of the world, and Franco realized that he was in too deep.

He couldn't go back.

This man knew what he had done, knew the depths to which he had sunk, and there was only one way towards a dark redemption.

Franco took the knife and stepped to the altar. Looking down, it was as if this was no longer a small person, just a skin bag of leaking blood, the face pale and the spirit gone. Franco lifted the knife a little way and asked forgiveness from the God he thought he had long forgotten.

Then the blade came down one more time.