Journey Into the Flame Read Online Free Page B
Author: T. R. Williams
table.
“I was sorry to hear about your husband, Andrea,” a bald man with a Japanese accent said. “I was told that Lord Benson’s death was sudden and most unexpected.”
“Thank you, Yinsir,” Andrea said. “The black rose on the table honors him. He died in support of our efforts. He is terribly missed.”
The German man cleared his throat and shifted in his chair impatiently. “Simon, if this plan of yours is some kind of population control, it has been tried before, and it didn’t work. Why should we think it will work now?”
“No, this is not population control, Klaus,” Simon retorted. “That has never worked. My great-grandfather learned long ago that humans have an unquenchable desire to live. Kill several million of them, andothers will just propagate more rapidly. We are taking an alternative approach—let us call it population grooming.”
“I prefer to refer to our plan as the Purging,” Andrea added with a smile. “Simon, I think it is time for you to provide a few specifics.”
Simon once again activated his holographic projector and set about presenting the details of his vision.
He spoke for a long while, and afterward there was silence in the hall. But the people seated at the table were not startled by the ruthlessness of his proposed solution. For centuries, their families had secretly manipulated world affairs in ways that would have appalled humanity.
“Brilliant,” said a classically handsome middle-aged man with dark hair who was seated to Andrea’s right. He clapped his hands together three times, the large black diamond of his gold ring catching the light of the torches behind him. “Absolutely brilliant! The two of you have been busy, indeed . . .”
“Thank you, Victor,” Andrea said, acknowledging the praise. “Your family always did appreciate innovative solutions to problems . . .”
“In order to enact this vision, we will need to rely on the expertise several of you possess,” Simon said. “Do I have your support?”
Dario pounded his cane on the floor three times. “Young Hitchlords, you have my support. I long for the day when we might rule again. It has been a long time since I have tasted that wine. Come now, and graciously tell us what name you have chosen for us.”
Simon paused a moment. One by one, the eleven people in the hall tapped the table three times with their hands, an ancient code symbolizing their support. According to tradition, once named, the group would be forever bound to secrecy. “Era,” Simon announced with great pleasure. “We shall be called Era.” He picked up a golden incense burner resting on the floor next to his chair. “Let the lighting of this urn bind us,” he said, as he struck a piece of flint to ignite the contents. “Let its smoke be the cloud that blinds our enemies and cloaks our passions. Inhale, my friends. We are now one.” Simon took a great whiff of the smoke and passed the urn to Andrea, who inhaled deeply before passingit to the man seated to her right. One by one, each of the other nine people did the same. A slight smile came to Simon’s face as the urn was passed back to him.
“In front of each of you,” Simon said, “you will find a small tin container. Heed well the instructions you find inside.”
The great bell sounded again. The eleven people grabbed the small wooden mallets resting on the table in front of them and with a single stroke smashed their golden masks. The shards slid across the polished tabletop, some falling to the stone floor. Their masks were no longer needed. As Era, they would act as one. “It is done,” Simon announced. “We are united! Long live Reges Hominum, the Kings of Men!”
“Long live the kings of men!” the others repeated in unison.
2
Everything that we are looking for is right in front of us.
The sages of old put their messages in plain sight. Just stop and look; life will have no choice but to reveal itself to you.
—THE CHRONICLES OF
“I was sorry to hear about your husband, Andrea,” a bald man with a Japanese accent said. “I was told that Lord Benson’s death was sudden and most unexpected.”
“Thank you, Yinsir,” Andrea said. “The black rose on the table honors him. He died in support of our efforts. He is terribly missed.”
The German man cleared his throat and shifted in his chair impatiently. “Simon, if this plan of yours is some kind of population control, it has been tried before, and it didn’t work. Why should we think it will work now?”
“No, this is not population control, Klaus,” Simon retorted. “That has never worked. My great-grandfather learned long ago that humans have an unquenchable desire to live. Kill several million of them, andothers will just propagate more rapidly. We are taking an alternative approach—let us call it population grooming.”
“I prefer to refer to our plan as the Purging,” Andrea added with a smile. “Simon, I think it is time for you to provide a few specifics.”
Simon once again activated his holographic projector and set about presenting the details of his vision.
He spoke for a long while, and afterward there was silence in the hall. But the people seated at the table were not startled by the ruthlessness of his proposed solution. For centuries, their families had secretly manipulated world affairs in ways that would have appalled humanity.
“Brilliant,” said a classically handsome middle-aged man with dark hair who was seated to Andrea’s right. He clapped his hands together three times, the large black diamond of his gold ring catching the light of the torches behind him. “Absolutely brilliant! The two of you have been busy, indeed . . .”
“Thank you, Victor,” Andrea said, acknowledging the praise. “Your family always did appreciate innovative solutions to problems . . .”
“In order to enact this vision, we will need to rely on the expertise several of you possess,” Simon said. “Do I have your support?”
Dario pounded his cane on the floor three times. “Young Hitchlords, you have my support. I long for the day when we might rule again. It has been a long time since I have tasted that wine. Come now, and graciously tell us what name you have chosen for us.”
Simon paused a moment. One by one, the eleven people in the hall tapped the table three times with their hands, an ancient code symbolizing their support. According to tradition, once named, the group would be forever bound to secrecy. “Era,” Simon announced with great pleasure. “We shall be called Era.” He picked up a golden incense burner resting on the floor next to his chair. “Let the lighting of this urn bind us,” he said, as he struck a piece of flint to ignite the contents. “Let its smoke be the cloud that blinds our enemies and cloaks our passions. Inhale, my friends. We are now one.” Simon took a great whiff of the smoke and passed the urn to Andrea, who inhaled deeply before passingit to the man seated to her right. One by one, each of the other nine people did the same. A slight smile came to Simon’s face as the urn was passed back to him.
“In front of each of you,” Simon said, “you will find a small tin container. Heed well the instructions you find inside.”
The great bell sounded again. The eleven people grabbed the small wooden mallets resting on the table in front of them and with a single stroke smashed their golden masks. The shards slid across the polished tabletop, some falling to the stone floor. Their masks were no longer needed. As Era, they would act as one. “It is done,” Simon announced. “We are united! Long live Reges Hominum, the Kings of Men!”
“Long live the kings of men!” the others repeated in unison.
2
Everything that we are looking for is right in front of us.
The sages of old put their messages in plain sight. Just stop and look; life will have no choice but to reveal itself to you.
—THE CHRONICLES OF
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