The Lost Symbol

«Do you know why I have a deprivation tank in my home?» Mal’akh placed his hands on his hips and flexed his elaborately decorated body, which was still covered only by a loincloth. «I have been practicing. . preparing. . anticipating the moment when I am only mind. . when I am released from this mortal shell. . when I have offered up this beautiful body to the gods in sacrifice. I am the precious one! I am the pure white lamb!»

Peter’s mouth fell open but no words came out.

«Yes, Peter, a man must offer to the gods that which he holds most dear. His purest white dove. . his most precious and worthy offering. You are not precious to me. You are not a worthy offering.» Mal’akh glared at him. «Don’t you see? You are not the sacrifice, Peter. . I am. Mine is the flesh that is the offering. I am the gift. Look at me. I have prepared, made myself worthy for my final journey. I am the gift! »

Peter remained speechless.

«The secret is how to die,» Mal’akh now said. «Masons understand that.» He pointed to the altar. «You revere the ancient truths, and yet you are cowards. You understand the power of sacrifice and yet you keep a safe distance from death, performing your mock murders and bloodless death rituals. Tonight, your symbolic altar will bear witness to its true power. . and its actual purpose.»

Mal’akh reached down and grasped Peter Solomon’s left hand, pressing the handle of the Akedah knife into his palm. The left hand serves the darkness. This, too, had been planned. Peter would have no choice in the matter. mal’akh could fathom no sacrifice more potent and symbolic than one performed on this altar, by this man, with this knife, plunged into the heart of an offering whose mortal flesh was wrapped like a gift in a shroud of mystical symbols.

With this offering of self, Mal’akh would establish his rank in the hierarchy of demons. Darkness and blood were where the true power lay. The ancients knew this, the Adepts choosing sides consistent with their individual natures. Mal’akh had chosen sides wisely. Chaos was the natural law of the universe. Indifference was the engine of entropy. Man’s apathy was the fertile ground in which the dark spirits tended their seeds.

I have served them, and they will receive me as a god.

Peter did not move. He simply stared down at the ancient knife gripped in his hand.

«I will you,» Mal’akh taunted. «I am a willing sacrifice. Your final role has been written. You will transform me. You will liberate me from my body. You will do this, or you will lose your sister and your brotherhood. You will truly be all alone.» He paused, smiling down at his captive. «Consider this your final punishment.»

Peter’s eyes rose slowly to meet Mal’akh’s. «Killing you? A punishment? Do you think I will hesitate? You murdered my son. My mother. My entire family.»

«No!» Mal’akh exploded with a force that startled even himself. «You are wrong! I did not murder your family! You did! It was you who made the choice to leave Zachary in prison! And from there, the wheels were in motion! You killed your family, Peter, not me!»

Peter’s knuckles turned white, his fingers clenching the knife in rage. «You know nothing of why I left Zachary in prison.»

«I know everything!» Mal’akh fired back. «I was there. You claimed you were trying to help him. Were you trying to help him when you offered him the choice between wealth or wisdom? Were you trying to help him when you gave him the ultimatum to join the Masons? What kind of father gives a child the choice between ‘wealth or wisdom’ and expects him to know how to handle it! What kind of father leaves his own son in a prison instead of flying him home to safety!» Mal’akh now moved in front of Peter and crouched down, placing his tattooed face only inches from his face. «But most important. . what kind of father can look his own son in the eyes. . even after all these years. . and not even recognize him!»

Mal’akh’s words echoed for several seconds in the stone chamber.

then silence.

In the abrupt stillness, Peter Solomon seemed to have been jolted from his trance. His face clouded now with a visage of total incredulity.

Yes, Father. It’s me. Mal’akh had waited years for this moment. . to take revenge on the man who had abandoned him. . to stare into those gray eyes and speak the truth that had been buried all these years. Now the moment was here, and he spoke slowly, longing to watch the full weight of his words gradually crush Peter Solomon’s soul. «You should be happy, Father. Your prodigal son has returned.»

Peter’s face was now as pale as death.

Mal’akh savored every moment. «My own father made the decision to leave me in prison. . and in that instant, I vowed that he had rejected me for the last time. I was no longer his son. Zachary Solomon ceased to exist.»