Chapter 3

Deland, Massachusetts

June 8-9, 2003

Ben

That, young man, is a very long story.

Ben’s mind reeled, bordering on full blown panic. He was asleep, but also awake, and there was someone in his mind speaking to him.

Was this demonic possession? Was this schizophrenia he was experiencing?

He thought the latter was more likely, never being able to rationalize the possibility of angels or demons in his engineers mind. Ben also remembered reading an article that said people of high intelligence were exponentially more likely to be diagnosed with schizophrenia or some other mental illness.

This only frightened him further.

Benjamin, please calm yourself. I assure you that there is nothing wrong with your mind. Even if there had been, the shard would have corrected the abnormality. The voice spoke calmly into his mind.

The shard. That struck a chord in Ben’s mind and gave him enough pause to reign in the wild tangents his minds had been running down.

Wha ... what are you talking about? What shard? he hesitantly asked the voice.

It is rather hard to explain. Even I do not know its true origins, though I have my suspicions. I only know how I came to possess it. I shall tell you the tale if you like?

Alright, Ben thought, I’ll humor you. How about you start with who exactly you are?

I went by several different names throughout my long life, but the name I was born with was Peter Bartholomew.

Several names? That’s not suspicious at all, Ben thought with exasperation, And Peter Bartholomew sounds like a made up name.

I assure you Benjamin, my name is quite real. My parents gave it to me on the day of my birth. It was a spring day in the year of our lord 1077.

1077? That is nearly a thousand years ago, how is that possible? Are you some kind of ghost?

I suppose, in the sense that I am a consciousness unmoored from the confines of my own body. It is possible because the shard you now bear makes it possible. It makes many things possible, as you will soon discover. Peter said with an amused lilt.

I’m glad you are enjoying yourself, Ben thought with increasing annoyance, how about you get to part where you explain what this shard thing actually is.

Very well, I shall begin with some of my own history. Before I was a bearer of the shard, I was a soldier and monk fighting to free the Holy Land from Muslim control. What would later be known as a Crusader.

Okay sure ... A Crusader ... Makes total sense ... Please continue.

I was young and quite pious, Peter continued ignoring Ben’s sarcasm, a true believer. I had taken a vow to be the earthly sword and shield of our Lord as well as a vow of celibacy which I believed to be quite reasonable at the time. He laughed jovially at this final statement.

Alright, where does the shard come in?

I was under the command of man named Raymond of Saint-Gilles, the Count of Toulouse. We were part of the first Crusade, ordered by Pope Urban II to recapture the Holy Land as I said before. My army had laid siege to the walled city of Antioch, which we were told by our commanders obstructed a key strategic route into the heart of the Holy Land. It was during this siege that I began to have mystical visions.

Starting to get sucked in to the tale, visions of what? Ben thought quietly.

Saint Andrew would appear before me and guide my spirit through the walls of Antioch to the Church of Saint Peter. One of the original places of Christian worship. There, beneath the floor of the old church, he showed me the hiding place of the Lance of Longinus, also known as the Spear of Destiny. Used to pierce the side of Christ on the cross and thus, by his blood, was imbued with the power of a living god.

Holy shit...

Yes, quite. Peter continued. These visions occurred repeatedly, each more insistent than the last, until I felt that I must bring them to the attention of my commanders. The siege was becoming tedious for our army, you see? We had been stretching rations for months while fighting off foreign defenders coming to the aid of their besieged brethren.

Did your commanders believe you were actually having visions?

With a weary sigh, They were devout men but also jaded by long years of war. Many did not believe it could be true, having seen other artifacts purported to be the true spear. The Count, Raymond of Saint-Gilles, did believe it to be true and so it spread as rumor amongst the soldiers that the Spear of Destiny was to be gained if only we could break the siege. After a fortnight of gossip, the entire encampment witnessed what appeared to be a star plummet from the sky, coming to earth in the vicinity of the Church of Saint Peter.

A meteorite? Ben asked, utterly mesmerized.

Er, that is perhaps the modern word for such an occurrence. However, in the years since, I have come to believe that it was something entirely different. Something beyond the understanding of man.

You mean like an act of God?

Ha! Peter scoffed. Not quite, my boy. That is exactly how the men interpreted it though, a sign from God. Their resolve bolstered by the holy encouragement, the army of Crusaders fought to break the siege and won. I was touted as a prophet by many, though some believed me to be a dangerous charlatan.

So you captured Antioch. Was the spear where you saw it in your visions?

We immediately began excavating the floor of the old church to find the spear of course. At first, it seemed as if the visions had led me astray as it was not found after several days of searching. One day, while the searchers were breaking for water, I felt compelled to enter the pit they had excavated beneath the floor. Drawn to a spot near the center of the wide shallow depression, I knelt and reached down into the loose sand. With my reputation as a prophet, the men had all stopped to watch me enter the pit and as such they were all witness when I pulled the head of a spear from the sand.

The Spear of Destiny, Ben thought with awe.

I truly believed it was at the time, however, over many years I began to think it might be something different. As you begin to experience the effects of the shard I will expound further on my theories. For now, I will continue the story.

After a short pause, Peter continued. As I held the spear in my hand I felt a power like liquid fire coursing up my arm, into my body, filling me entirely. It was utterly terrifying and exhilarating. Time slowed to a crawl and I felt the life forces of everyone surrounding me. I knew not just their thoughts but their dreams and memories. All of them, mind and body, were mine to examine, mold or simply erase with a casual thought.

Ben remained quiet as the silence between them lengthened.

It was a power not fit for man, Peter finally said. It was the power of God in its purest form and I knew from that brief touch that it could be the downfall of everything if it were to fall into the wrong hands.

Feeling a chill of fear run through his mind, Ben asked, What did you do with it? Although he was beginning to understand what must have happened.

I mustered every ounce of self-control I possessed and let the spear fall to the ground.

That isn’t the end, is it?

No Benjamin, it is not. I needed to shield the world from this power I thought, so I wrapped it in oil cloth and fled the church. That afternoon I gathered my 12 closest friends within the army, men who shared my moral sense. True believers. They had already heard the spear was found, so I explained what I had experienced when I had touched the unnatural object. They all agreed that it was a power meant for God alone and that we should destroy the object if we could.

After night had fallen we reconvened in the smith’s tent, the forge stoked to a white-hot glow in preparation. My brothers and I surrounded the forge to witness the objects destruction. Before anyone could have a change of heart, I tossed the wrapped spear onto the shimmering bed of coals.

Ben let out a mental groan and thought, something went wrong. It was not a question, he had connected the dots Peter had been laying out.

In the sense that we failed to accomplish our original goal of totally obliterating the spear? Yes something went wrong. Gloriously, wonderfully wrong. Peter said, his voice lifting almost triumphantly with his last proclamation.

Shit. Go on.

Well, the oil cloth I had wrapped it in had burned away instantly in a flash of greasy black smoke but the spear seemed to be unaffected by the heat of the forge. After several dozen seconds the edges began to glow a faint white which slowly worked its way to the center of the spear tip. As the glow became brighter a ringing could be heard growing ever louder from the forge. Eventually the brightness and sound became such that we tried to shield our eyes and ears, hands instinctively outstretched to protect our faces.