The Templars’ Quest

By: Kieran Wamba

View all Kieran Wamba's works

Chapter One: The Eye of the Storm


This was a storm like no one had seen before. The rain was heavy, it felt like tiny pebble were hitting from all sides. It was most difficult to see. The ship was in a poor state. Waves kept smashing into its side, sending crew overboard. Waterspouts were spinning out of control. The crews was doing it best to keep the ship from colliding with a rock, or sinking from a hole in its side.

Captain Victor La Cruz stood by the helms man. He squinted against the rainfall, shouting out instructions to the remaining crewmembers. “We need more speed!” he yelled. “Juan, take the for mains, Alex, you take the left.”

They were all drenched in water. Everyone kept running back and forth, trying not to faint from exhaustion. The ship was falling apart. All that was holding it as a whole, were the ropes they had tied to the large beams in the cargo hold.

The Captain came down the stairs and approached another crewmember, by the name of Pedro.

“Pedro!” he shouted. “I need you to climb into the crows nest, and set this firework off. The map indicates that we may be close to a small-colonized Spanish island. Light up the sky with this.”

The Captain held the firework to Pedro, but he hesitated.

“Sir, not even a person a ship length away could see that,” Pedro exclaimed. The Captain’s face turned red. “Do you want us to die out her? Do you want to see your family again?”

For a moment, anyone who heard those words must have thought the Captain was louder than the storm itself. Pedro looked terrified. Instead of giving a response, he grabbed the firecracker, and began to climb the mast.

He had just reached the top, when Boom! A bolt of lighting struck the bottom of the main sail and set it on fire. Shortly after, it fell into the sea, taking Pedro and a few others along with it.

Now they were down to about eight crewmembers, minus the Captain. All of a sudden, someone shouted, “Killer whale to Starboard!” They looked in front of us, their eyes stretched wide at the sight of a giant killer whale heading straight for the ship.

They all knew that the collision with a whale would be powerful enough to sink the ship. The Captain called for a hard right turn, but soon realized that the helmsman was missing. Panicked, he took hold of the wheel and began to spin it to the right as fast as he could. But with no main sail, and our rear sail badly damaged, it was hopeless.

Less than nine seconds after the Captain had taken hold of the wheel, the whale crashed into the ship, creating a big hole. The front cargo hold was flooded with water and the ship began to sink headfirst.

The last person to go down with the ship was Jose, who climbed to the far end of the rear mast, only for a shark to jump out of the water. He screeched. “Oh Shi—”

Before he could finish, the sharks grabbed him and pulled him into the sea, a trail of blood flying behind him.


Chapter Two: The Templar Order 


It was a very hot day in Havana, Cuba. The temperature had to be in the 90s. That didn’t matter to the Cuban residents. It was a wonderful sight. The smell of fresh baking bread and ripe fruit flooded the market air. There were fishermen showing off their catch for the day. There was the occasional picky wife and her husband, trying to find only the best produce.

Captain Marques, a French arms dealer and associate of the Templars, walked alongside Governor Rogers. Both were headed to a meeting with the leader of their group, Grandmaster Torres. They were not told what was to be discussed at the meeting itself. Captain Marques was clearing his forehead of sweat when he turned to governor Rogers.

“I do not wish to question the Grandmaster,” Marques said. “But what is so important that we had to be pulled away from our own duties. You both know I don’t like leaving jobs half finished.” When the Governor didn’t respond, he continued. “I lost seven contracts. Seven! And for what? A surprise that’s not even worth it?” Marques looked at Rogers. “You can’t possibly be happy about this, can you? You have your own responsibilities. You’re a Governor!”

Rogers finally turned his head to the Captain. “I am not pleased that Torres has called us last minute,” he said. “However, if he was so keen to take me away from my duties in London and your in France, then it must be worthy it.”

Marques raised an eyebrow. “You don’t sound so sure of yourself Governor,” he said. Rogers didn’t say anything. The two men kept walking throw the crowded streets. They went through the market and passed by the old church.

After about ten minutes of walking, they came to a seven-foot high wall made of stone with an black iron gate. Two guards stood outside. They had orange-yellowish uniforms, with black boots and white gloves. They each had a white wig and black leather hat on top. Each of them had a cutlass and flintlock pistol. Both men stood with their arms crossed and had a very serious look on their faces.

As the captain and the governor approached, one of the guards banged on the gate and muttered a few words in Spanish. Two more guards appeared from inside the wall and opened the gate. The saluted the Captain and Governor as the walked by.

Inside, there was a magnificent palace. There were gardens filled with green grass and such beautiful flowers. The smells of cooked meat came streaming through the windows. The view of the sea was spectacular. The walls of the mansion were a pale brick and the roof was made of crimson clay. The windows were made of the clearest glass, and the paths were designed with cobblestone and cement. It was quite a sight. However, the place was crawling with soldiers.

In the recent years, the Assassins had been more aggressive with the Templars. They even tried to assassinate the Grandmaster four times in the span of five days.

Marques and Rogers went to a large stone patio that had a small square wooden table. On the table, there were four small cups, a bottle of wine, and a map of the West Indies. Surrounding the table, were three chairs. One of them was occupied. A servant standing next to the chair turned his toward the two then said, “Grandmaster Torres, your guest have arrived.” The Grandmaster looked up from his book, and then stood.  He was around 78 years old. He wore a blue coat, and black shoes with gold buckles. He had short white hair and beard.

“Leave us,” he said. The servant nodded and slipped away. The Grandmaster turned to the captain and governor.

“Gentlemen,” he said. His voice was kind and warm. “Thank you for coming on such short notice.”

He extended a hand towered the Rogers. “Always a pleasure sir,” Rogers said with a nod.

“And to you too. Please, come sit.”

The Grandmaster exchanged a handshake with the captain and they all sat down. They passed the bottle around and when everyone had a full glass, Torres began.

“As you all know, we have been trying to locate a specific set of temples for a decade. The Assassins have been searching for them as well. However no such luck has come to pass.” Marques interrupted. “Are these the same temples with unknown origin?”

Torres looked at the Captain. “Indeed they are. But I did not call you here to discuss the wonders of the temple. No, you are here because I believe that I have found the where these temples lie.” The governor’s mouth dropped open and the captain’s eye grew wide.

Governor Rogers struggled to find the right words, “B-B-But how? The temples are nothing but a myth.”

The Grandmaster chuckled. “Ahh, but you see, myths are legends and legends can be real.”

The Captain took a sip of wine. “Well, I’m pleased to hear that we know the location of something the Assassins do not, but have you seen these temples yet, in person?”

There was a moment of silence. The Grandmaster looks at Governor Rogers, then Captain Marques. “Not exactly,” he said. “But I have done the research I believe that I have pinpointed the location of the island we are seeking.”

Rogers crossed his arms. “And where might that be Torres?” he asked.

The Grandmaster pointed to a small clump of land of the cost of Jamaica. “Here, just north of Jamaica.”

Marques looked surprised. “It’s much smaller than I would have imagined,” he exclaimed. “What keeps you from traveling to this island?”

Before Torres could answer, a large guard fully dressed in shiny iron armor, by the name of El Diablo came running onto the patio. He whispered something into the grandmaster ear, and then ran back across the patio and disappeared along the path.

“Well, gentlemen,” Torres said as he stood up, “I have a special surprise for you.” He chuckled.

Governor Rogers stood up quickly. “That really isn’t necessary,” he said. “We don’t need anything else.” The captain, however, disagreed. “Let him show us, eh. I am a fan of surprises anyway.”

Rogers looked around, as if expecting someone to side with him. But it was only the three of them and he was out voted. With a sigh he agreed. Torres lead them off the patio, down a different set of steps than to a wooden door in a stonewall. Four guards stood outside arms crossed. The two closer to the door pulled it open to reveal a long tunnel down. Marques and Rogers exchanged a glance.

“Down there is my own personal workshop,” Torres explained. “No one, myself and guest should be down there.” Rogers took a step forward. “Is our gift down there?” he asked.

The Grandmaster nodded. “Please, follow me,” he said as he descended down the stairs. Governor Rogers followed close behind him. Marques looked down the hallway, before mumbling to himself, “Here we go.” He went in after the Governor and as soon as all men were in side, the door slammed shut.


Chapter Three: The Prisoner    


The three men continued down the hallway, which was kept bright with torches. The walls were damp and mossy and the stairs were so slippery that they had to hold on to the old rusty bar to keep from falling. It was a long walk down, almost a full minute. When the reached the bottom, there was another wooden door. This one was hard and damp. The Grandmaster pulled out a key, turned the lock, and pushed the door open with force. Inside was a large room, filled with books and maps. In the center was a large rectangular table with two stacks of books, along with ink and quill and a few maps.

Torres smiled. “Welcome to my workshop.” He went over to the rectangular table and sat in a chair. “I do my own studies down here,” he said. “I also come here when I need to think. It’s quiet, peaceful.” He looked at the biggest map on the table.

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