Twisted Circles (Secret Society 2)

“The Swords, has, from the beginning of time, been the most prestigious secret society. Forget the Skulls, forget The Family, forget the Masons. No secret society has been able to wield power in both the church and the state. Together, we are powerful. Together, we are worthy. Together, we have the power to change the world. These were the words spoken by our founder. They are words I say to you today. They are words your presidents and chancellors and leaders will recite for years to come.”

“What makes us different? What makes The Swords important? Worthy?” He walked forward and stood right at the edge of the altar. “We combine science and religion. We delve into the psyche, explore the mind, and go past barriers that were put there. Sometimes these barriers are put there by others, and sometimes we put them there ourselves. Barriers are a form of protection. They’re important. But you’re a Sword now and barriers are meant to be broken. So, let’s begin, shall we?”

Two young monks dressed in brown cloaks brought out a bench and set it at the center of the altar, behind the priest. The priest raised his hands in the air and everyone in the room stood, including me.

“If the ladies of The Swords would please step forward and circle around the altar,” he instructed, then looked at me. “Not you. Not yet.”

The women on either side of me stepped forward and stood facing the altar. I hadn’t taken a good look at their faces, but I knew some of them were much older than others by the way their shoulders slumped a bit, as if they’d been carrying the weight of the world on them far too long. The priest walked up to the first one to his left and did the sign of the cross over her head as she bowed her head. He continued on, going down the row of women as we all stood and watched. When he reached the last one, he glanced over at me and signaled me to walk over. I fought the urge to look at Adam behind me, to seek his counsel.

When I made it to the front, two of the women parted without even looking at me, and I took a step up to where the priest stood. He did the sign of the cross in front of me and I bowed my head slightly. When I looked up again, he put his palm over my forehead and left it there as he spoke.

“Can you see?”

“No,” I whispered, not with his hand on my forehead and the sleeve of his robe blocking the view.

“Yet we see for you.”

“You have allowed yourself to become trapped by the outside world, your family, your past, your origin, and have blinded yourself to what is real, what is important. Tonight, this changes. Tonight, we will reach the root of your anger, your pain, and we will set you free.” He pressed his hand a little harder. “Leave us, Swords.”

I couldn’t see, but I heard the whoosh of robes moving, the patter of footsteps as they departed, the door as it closed, and the sound of silence as they followed his directions. Only then, did the priest take his hand off my forehead and let me see for myself. The women were there, their heads bowed to us. I looked at the priest, who was watching me closely.

“You’re a child of God.”

I swallowed, nodding.

“Do you attend Mass on Sundays?”

“I try.”

“Your parents are Catholic?”

“Yes.” The word came out a whisper.

“Are they alive?”

“My mother.”

“You were adopted.” He glanced at the women beside me. I nodded. Instinctively, my gaze followed his and I saw a few of their heads raise before quickly lowering into a bow. “How old were you when you were adopted?”

“Months old.”

“Too young to have any memory of your birth mother.”

I nodded again.

“Would you like to remember?”

“I . . . how?”

“Don’t question me. Answer the question. Would you like to remember?”

“Yes.”

“Lie down.”

I did as I was told, lying down on the bench that felt like it was made of rock, my back already complaining with discomfort. I turned my head to look at the women, who were still standing, heads still bowed even as the priest busied himself at the altar. I grabbed the fabric of my robe to keep the dress I wore underneath covered.

“Many think that because The Swords haven’t allowed women to stay in recent years it must mean we’re becoming an all-male society,” he said as his hands moved the chalice on the table he stood in front of. “But The Swords would be nothing without women. After all, there would be no men without women. There would be no Christ without Mary.”

“Without women, we would cease to exist and that is true for the entire world, not just The Swords.” He walked back over to me holding a gold chalice between two fingers. “Because we are cognizant of that, we handpick the women we invite to join. Every thirty years, one of those women must make a choice, a sacrifice, for the greater good of the society. For us to grow, flourish.”