black robe was shoved at him and he whipped that thing over his head so fast, he almost tore it. Putting the hood up, he found himself trembling. But not from fear.
No, it wasn’t fear.
“Lower thine eyes and keep them thus. Your hands shall be clasped at the small of your back. You are not to look up until told to do so. You are not to respond unless prompted to do so. Your bravery and the honor of the bloodline you and I share by virtue of adoption shall be measured in every action you take. Do you understand this?”
As John Matthew nodded, he did as instructed, and felt his arms get gripped on both sides. Tohr was on his left. Murhder was on his right.
The two males, one the only father he had ever known, and the other, a new acquaintance that he knew only too well, led him down the grand staircase.
Everything was dark, all the lights in the mansion seemingly extinguished.
And then he was outside, and being put into a van.
The next thing John knew, he was being drawn out of the back of the van, his bare feet hitting frozen ground that was covered in fallen pine needles. The air was bracingly cold, and full of the scents of the forest.
They had taken him somewhere on the mountain, but he would not look around. He would do nothing he was not told to do. His arms were gripped again by Tohr and Murhder and he was led forward, his footfalls mirroring theirs, his trust in them absolute, the frigid ground not even registering.
And then they were out of the gusts, in a space that smelled like damp earth. A cave. They were in a cave.
Pause. And then a procession along a gentle decline. Another pause.
He had the impression that a second gate was being opened. More forward going.
He could sense the other members of the Brotherhood behind him, the large bodies moving in succession, the power in the group magnifying by proximity.
Warmth came after further walking, and now underneath the hem of his robe … candlelight. And no longer a packed dirt floor or one of rough stone, but fine honed marble.
He was jerked to a halt.
All around him, there was a shifting of fabric. The Brothers were disrobing, he thought. And then a heavy hand clamped on the back of his neck and the deep growl of the King’s voice shot into his ear.
“You are unworthy to enter herein as you are the now. Nod your head.”
John nodded his head.
“Unclasp thine hands and say that you are unworthy.”
I am unworthy, John signed.
“He states that he is unworthy,” Tohr translated.
Immediately, there was a shout in the Old Language, a protest uttered by every one of the Brothers.
Wrath continued, “Though you are unworthy, you desire to become as such this night. Nod your head.”
John nodded.
“State that you wish to become worthy.”
I wish to become worthy, John signed.
“He has so declared that he wishes to become worthy,” Tohr said.
Another shout in the Old Language, this time a cheer of support.
Wrath went on to say, “There is only one way to become worthy and it is the right and proper way. Flesh of our flesh. Nod your head.”
John nodded.
“State that you wish to become flesh of our flesh.”
I wish to become flesh of your flesh, he signed.
After Tohr translated again, a low chanting started up, and John heard the Brothers shifting their positions, big feet whispering over the glossy marble, a line of bodies forming in front of, and behind him. And then they were swaying. Back and forth, back and forth, in rhythm with their deep bass voices.
John did not struggle to find his place, his movement, his echoing of the larger group.
Sure as if he had done this before, he fell immediately into the groove.
And then they were all going forward.
Together. As one body—
Without warning, there was a great change in acoustics, the booming voices blooming in a vast open space and echoing around, the chanting redoubling on itself, expanding … exploding. And just as abruptly, tears formed in John’s eyes and he blinked quickly but could not catch them. As he swayed along with the others, the tears landed on the tops of his bare feet.
But he was smiling.
In the strangest way, he felt like he’d come home.
He even somehow knew when he needed to stop even before someone’s hand on his shoulder halted him.
The chanting silenced, the tail ends of the voices trailing off.