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PROLOGUE

According to a thirteenth century legend, a young

Benedictine monk known as Herman the Recluse, from the
Podlažice monastery in the Czech Republic, was sentenced
to be walled-up alive for breaking his monastic vows.
In an attempt to escape this slow death, he promised
to create, in a single night, a book filled with all human
knowledge that would glorify the monastery forever. The
monks agreed to let him try, knowing that the task would
be impossible.
As the deadline loomed, Herman realised he would
never finish the task alone. According to the legend, he
made a special prayer to the fallen angel Lucifer, asking him
to finish the book in exchange for his soul. Lucifer—the
Devil—agreed, and completed the Codex Gigas that very
night. Herman then added the Devil’s picture in the book
out of gratitude for his aid.
This book soon became known as the Devil’s Bible.

In the winter of 1222, the Benedictine monks of Podlažice

in the Czech Republic, wrote to Pope Honorius III for a
donation to save their precious monastery. It wasn’t until
the August of 1223, that their prayers were answered in
person, by the Papal Legate himself, Arnaud Amalric.
It soon became apparent that Arnaud would only help
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 Luke Gracias — The Devil’s Prayer

the Podlažice monastery if he could claim the Codex Gigas or

Devil’s Bible held by the monastery for his own.
The monks refused to sell the book. Arnaud then offered to
lend the Benedictines a thousand crowns to help pay off their
debts, but only if he could hold the Devil’s Bible as collateral.
The monks reluctantly agreed and offered Arnaud the key to
the chest containing the book, a form of security for the loan until
it was repaid.
The chest containing the monks’ beloved script was transferred
to the Cistercian monastery in Sedlec, neutral territory, close to
their own monastery in Podlažice.
Over seventy years passed before the Benedictines managed
to reclaim the chest from Sedlec. However, the key was nowhere
to be found. When they finally pried open the box, they found the
Bible inside, its ornate metal and leather cover slightly worn with
age. When the book was opened they discovered twelve pages
were missing.

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 Part One:
Unfinished Business

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 CHAPTER 1
“ ELI, ELI, LAMA SABACHTHANI ”

17th A pril 2014

Perched high on a steep granite outcrop, outside the small town
of Granja de Moreruela, some thirty-five kilometres north of
Zamora, Spain, lay the ancient convent of Santa Therese. Isolated
and inaccessible, its steep incline covered with a dense forest. This
desolate convent was not built as a residence, and consequently
had no kitchen, nor access to water. It had no occupants at its time
of completion. With no trade routes nearby, it was not built to
shelter weary traders or travellers.
According to folklore, the granite outcrop, on which the
convent stands, is cored though the centre by a bottomless pit.
From this pit once emerged a creature that was half-man and half-
beast—a centaur. It was said that black-winged creatures would
fly around the centaur as it roamed the surrounding forest.
The convent chapel was built of solid rock over the top of
the hole, not as a place of worship, but to seal the bottomless pit,
which was thought to be the ‘Gateway to Hell’.
Enormous granite steps have been hewn into the hill, leading
through crumbling stone porticos to the convent chapel at its
peak. Every so often, beside the sharply inclining steps, is a small
platform, carved with a small candlelit grotto. There are fourteen
platforms in all, for each of the fourteen Stations of the Cross.
The dense forest shrouds a secret ritual that has taken place every
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 Luke Gracias — The Devil’s Prayer

year during the Semana Santa (Easter Week) since the thirteenth
century.
The Brotherhood, dressed in black robes with black pointed
hats, held torches aloft and dragged cat-o’-nine-tail whips behind
them as they trudged up the steep incline. The Semana Santa
procession was led by a penitent dragging a large wooden cross;
he was flanked either side by two others holding gold crosiers.
Drummers accompanying the parade played an eight beat.Tut-
tup, tut-tup, tut tut-tup BOOM. The kettledrum was followed by
the loud whip crack of penitents indulging in the ancient ritual of
self-flagellation. The hypnotic drumbeat repeated itself as others
with chained and shackled feet moved in unison up the hill.
The Maundy Thursday full moon silhouetted the high walls
and chapel of the monastery above the tree line. Hidden within
the dark hallways of the convent, Sister Benedictine kneeled on
the carved rock floor of her room, her habit was bunched around
her waist and revealed a naked back, so crisscrossed in welts it was
almost devoid of skin.
Mesmerised by the repetitious drumbeats drifting in through
her tiny window, she whirled the cat-o’-nine-tails above her head
and lashed her back, timing each strike in sync with the rhythmic
whip cracks of the Brotherhood. Women’s screams travelled
down the corridor to her room from deep within the bowels of
the convent, but Sister Benedictine remained silent, save the deep
breath she took each time her whip carved out more flesh from
her back.
Her stone-walled room was threadbare except for a simple
bed, desk and chair. Atop the desk lay a well-thumbed bible. The
walls were bare save a non-descript wooden cross, and a solitary
line of graffiti on the wall chalked in coal that read, “Eli, Eli, lama
sabachthani?”—Christ’s final words as he hung from the cross—
My God, My God, why hast thou forsaken me?
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 Luke Gracias — The Devil’s Prayer

Over the relentless drumming, distant trumpets blared the

funeral march, and heralded the start of the next procession.
Sister Benedictine lowered her whip and stood. She lifted the
black nun’s habit to cover her back and put her coif back over her
head. She tightened the white cord around her waist and looked
out the hewn rock window down the sheer walls of the convent.
The torchlights carried by the black-clothed monks snaked
up the hill and coiled into a circle at the candlelit grotto of the
Eleventh Station of the Cross.
A male voice boomed in Spanish “La Undécima Estación: Jesús
es clavado en la cruz.”—‘The Eleventh Station: Jesus is nailed to
the Cross.’
The drumbeat was replaced by sounds of nails being hammered
into wood and stifled screams. More trumpets blared, drowning
out the sounds of the hammers and cries. At the base of the hill,
a sea of torches held by monks dressed in red habits followed the
trumpeters on their journey to the First Station of the Cross.
Sister Benedictine scurried tentatively out of her room and
into a long corridor lined with arched doorways. The dancing
firelight of the sconces painted long shadows on the granite walls
and on the sister as she slithered past. The sound of women’s
screams grew louder as she reached an opening to a small spiral
stone staircase. Ignoring the cries she continued on. The passage
rose upwards with a few rough steps and led to a heavy wooden
door.
Sister Benedictine heaved the door open and entered the
modest convent chapel.
The ancient room was empty, dimly lit by two sconces
and a small candle chandelier. Painted on the walls of the
ancient chapel were murals, now old and faded, depicting a
vile monster, witches, and black bat-winged creatures with
contorted human faces.
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 Luke Gracias — The Devil’s Prayer

Adeptly, the sister moved behind the altar and reached a pale
hand below to extract a small kerosene lamp and a box of matches.
She propped herself up with the lamp on a ledge by one of the tall
windows adjacent to the mural of the archangel Gabriel pinning
the fallen angel Lucifer. Her fingers worked quickly to release the
latch. The window swung open to reveal a cliff on the opposite
side of the hill, away from the noisy procession. Shielded by the
thick walls, the sounds of the trumpets and the procession were
barely audible.
A cold breeze swept across the sister’s face as she looked out
at the land, which fell away steeply before it was covered by the
dense moonlit forest below. In the distance she saw the lights of
the city Zamora, obscured from sight, but recognisable by the
hazy glow in the outlying sky.
Sister Benedictine gingerly climbed out of the window,
wincing as the frame brushed against her raw back, and perched
precariously on a thin rock ledge below. She gripped the lamp and
matches tightly as she pulled the chapel window shut behind her.
Moving with care, she lowered herself down the steep incline into
the encompassing cloak of the forest, then rushed through the
trees down the steep slope of the hill. At the base of the hill, she
continued into the forest until she arrived at a clearing. There she
saw the ruins of the old Moreruela Cistercian Abbey.
Lit only by the moonlight, she skirted the edges of the ruin,
along the broken-down passageways, through the hall of the
monks, and past tourist signs leading to the abbot’s residence. She
hurriedly entered a large dilapidated room, the hem of her habit
picking up dirt along the way. Among the carvings on the walls
was a circular depiction of the Devil, lying sideways, head cocked
by his right hand. From the Devil’s mouth, a small fountain of
water flowed into a small drain below. With her left hand, she
blocked the current of water. Then, with her right, she gripped
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 Luke Gracias — The Devil’s Prayer

one of the Devil’s horns and swiftly turned the carving sideways.
The carving spun all the way around, halting the flow of water.
There was a groan of stone in the opposite corner as a slab
of granite disappeared behind the wall, creating an opening in
the ground just large enough for one person to squeeze through.
Sister Benedictine lowered herself through the recess. In the dark
space she fumbled with the matches briefly before lighting the
lamp. The firelight shone out and illuminated an underground
tunnel.
The entrance to the tunnel was paved with large slabs of
sandstone. A few metres from the entrance, the tunnel ahead was
flooded by a large pool. Sister Benedictine walked carefully to the
edge of the pool and stood on a large, nondescript slab of stone.
The slab slowly sank under her weight until she was knee-deep
below ground level. She watched patiently as the pool of liquid
ahead of her started to drain, revealing a recess three metres deep.
As the last drop disappeared, the entrance in the ceiling groaned
shut.
Sister Benedictine stepped out of the small hole she now
stood in. With her kerosene lamp lighting the inky darkness, she
climbed down the notches in the side of the recess.
She ignored the few human skeletons that lay scattered
at the bottom. The liquid that had been there had stripped the
unfortunate intruders to the bone.
She walked past the skeletons, and then at the far side of
the recess, she climbed back up again. She followed the tunnel
another twenty metres until she reached a dead end, where she
found large iron studs embedded in the wall. With practised
precision, she picked two studs and turned one clockwise and
the other counter-clockwise. The adjacent rock wall slid open,
allowing Sister Benedictine to squeeze through the opening and
into a scriptorium beyond.
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 Luke Gracias — The Devil’s Prayer

The domed scriptorium was untouched by time, and not a

single mote of dust hung in the air. The walls were lined with
ancient texts and the room still held numerous desks complete with
inkwells and quills. She glanced briefly at the enormous painting
on the wall of the abbot Arnaud Amalric dressed resplendently
in red, paying a thousand gold crowns to the Benedictines of
Podlažice. In the foreground of the painting was an open ornate
palanquin with four posts to carry it, the Devil’s Bible could just
be seen within. Sister Benedictine pushed forwards until she
reached the far side of the room and the abbot’s ornate desk.
Sister Benedictine placed her lamp on the abbot’s desk and
brought a match to the two large candles that sat there. She crossed
to the corner, where stood a beautiful life-sized bronzed statue
of Saint Peter holding the key to the kingdom of heaven. Deftly,
she relieved him of his key and inserted it into the keyhole of the
palanquin box in the large painting.Turning the key, she pulled hard
at the left side of the frame. With great effort, it swung open to
reveal a vault. With both hands, the sister lifted out a large heavy
book. A thick linked chain connected to the book came reeling out
from the vault like an uncoiling snake. She placed the book on the
abbot’s desk, carefully so that the chain did not clatter. She delicately
turned the pages, each encased in glass. After turning to the sixth
and last page, she extracted a folded piece of paper and a pen from
her habit. She unfolded and smoothed the paper, which was the
same size as the pages in the book.The sister took a deep breath and
began to copy the ornate drawings and text from the page.
She worked scrupulously by the dim light of the kerosene
lamp, and did not look up as the two candles burned down to
pools of molten wax. Each stroke of her pen was painstakingly
precise.
There was a loud crash as the heavy ornate doors flew open
and three monks, wearing scarlet robes and wielding torches,
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 Luke Gracias — The Devil’s Prayer

burst into the room. The sudden gust of air blew the loose papers
from the abbot’s desk, and Sister Benedictine yanked the lamp out
of the way.
The monks rushed towards her, the first hissing in Spanish,
“The scripture is sacred, you are defiling it!” his word hitting like
knives. The other two monks drew swords from their sides and
closed in. “Nobody is allowed in here,” said the first monk, his
teeth hitting the consonants sharply. Sister Benedictine edged
towards her secret exit as the monks recognised her habit. “She is
from the Convento Santa de Therese,” one of the sword-wielding
monks exclaimed, lowering his weapon.
“It does not matter—she cannot leave here alive,” the third
monk said with ice in his voice, as he advanced towards Sister
Benedictine.
She threw the lamp at the third monk. The monk leaped out
of the way and the lamp shattered, exploding on the bookshelf
beside the outraged monk. The ancient texts were ablaze within
seconds and the monk screamed as the flames scorched him.
“Save the texts!” shouted the first monk, his eyes not wavering
from Sister Benedictine.
The sister heaved the large book above her head. “Take one
more step and I shall let the sacred book fall,” she threatened in
broken Spanish, “The glass will shatter and destroy it forever.”
Closing in on Sister Benedictine, the two monks halted
their advance as the third monk continued to battle the flames
consuming the books.
She took another step back, edging her way closer towards
the opening of the secret passage, the book’s chain clanking as
it unravelled. The first monk put his hands up in a gesture of
platitude and took a step towards the sister, the second monk
close by his side. Threateningly, she lifted the text again, and the
first monk held the other back.
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 Luke Gracias — The Devil’s Prayer

Her retreat was halted when the chain refused to give anymore.
Desperately, she glanced back to find it was fully extended.
The third monk turned to join his comrades, the destructive
flames finally subdued.
Cornered, and out of options, Sister Benedictine threw the
heavy tome up in the air and ran...

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