Men of the Cave (Symbol of Hope Series)

by Burgess, Marisette

  Men of the Cave

  By

  Marisette Burgess

  Men of the Cave

  ©2012 by Marisette Burgess

  The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarities to real persons, living or dead, are coincidental and not intended by the author.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form by any means electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, except brief extracts for the purpose of reviews, without the permission of the publisher and copyright owner.

  ISBN-13: 978-0-9838832-8-9

  WRB Publishing

  Palm City, FL 34990

  wrb1174@att.net

  Dedication

  To my mother Marta, my first fan, who always believed in my ability as a writer; and

  To my husband Joshua, whose unyielding encouragement and support have gone far beyond the duties of a husband.

  My Love to them Both

  Acknowledgements

  I would like to extend a heart full of gratitude to all those who read Men of the Cave first, and gave their valuable advice: JB, MP, MA, ML, and TK.

  I am incredibly grateful to have had the honor of meeting and working with Charlene Crandall, who’s insightful advice brought life to the characters in Men of the Cave.

  To my PCWW’s, who’s encouragement and support go without say.

  And of course to Leona and Walter Bodie who make dreams come true.

  Thank you all.

  Contents

  Prologue

  1. Kasey’s Host Family

  2. Kasey’s Hostile Beginnings

  3. Dion’s Mini Cooper

  4. Kasey and the Villagers

  5. Kasey’s Family

  6. Kasey and the Gladiators

  7. Dion A Monster or A Knight

  8. Kasey and Destiny

  9. Kasey and the Mermaid

  10. Kasey and the Brothers

  11. Kasey and Hercules

  12. Dion’s Innocence

  13. Kasey’s Gifts

  14. Dion’s Plea

  15. Kasey It’s Time

  16. Kasey and the Fire Jumping

  17. Dion vs. Sam

  18. Kasey’s Spanish Christmas

  Prologue

  Pandora’s bones ached. This always meant one thing; a god was near. Her stomach cramped. Cursed most of her life with this sixth sense, she ignored it. The rain poured and lighting flashed through the small cracks in the door. She wondered, is Zeus approaching? Her isolated stone cabin kept the weather at bay. She went to the fire and threw more wood onto it. The thatched roof had several leaks, so she laid out three big buckets to keep the wooden floor dry. Then the door shook with a thunderous vibration. It was strange. Humans did not come near these parts, and the gods never knocked.

  “Who’s there?” She yelled. She pressed her frail body against the door, knowing she could never stop anyone, human or god, from forcing their way in.

  “Open, woman!” A harsh male voice answered.

  Was he a god? Why would he knock? If he were a god, he would be angry if she did not open the door. She made the decision to open. The wind was forceful, and she steadied the door so it would not blow wide open. She sheltered her eyes from the wind and rain hammering her face. Due to her blurred vision, all she could make out was a giant sized figure walking past her. When she managed to shut the door, she wiped her face with her sleeve and looked upon her guest.

  She gasped. Before her stood a man of goliath proportions. He wore shiny armor. The constant flow of water dripping from his garments puddled on her dry wood floor.

  He removed his helmet, then shook his long blonde hair. Two strong white feathered wings extended out from his back. He shuddered like an animal shaking its wet fur, and water sprayed in all directions.

  “By the gods of Olympia, who are you? What are you?” Pandora asked.

  “Gabriel is the name I was given. I am a messenger of the one true God,” he said in a low gruff voice.

  “The rumors around Olympia are true then?” she asked.

  “I am here to find where your allegiance lies, Pandora. Will you proclaim your loyalty to the one God and do his bidding, or do you bow and kiss the feet of the gods and goddesses on Olympia?” He commanded.

  The woman lowered her head and thought for a minute.

  “I have been nothing more than a pawn to the gods of Olympia. Used, tricked, and lied to. I hold no allegiance to them. But why should I anger the Olympic gods by doing the will of yours?” She straightened her back and raised her chin.

  “It is you who holds the key we need. If you refuse me now, the immortal life Zeus has granted you will end here. If you aid my God, he will give you a place in the heavens where you belong.”

  Her shoulders sagged, her chin lowered, she stared at the angel before her. “If it is truth you speak and I will be granted peace in the heavens, then I will do His bidding.”

  “You have made a wise choice Pandora. Here is what is to come. You must stay hidden and away from the Olympic gods until the battle is over. You will be vital to the preservation of humanity, but it will not come to pass for a long time. Do you still hold the jar created by Zeus?” The angel asked.

  “I do. It is hidden within the depths of my heart.” Pandora placed her pale fist over her heart. “It only contains hope for I already let out all the evil into the world.”

  “That is well enough. You must preserve that jar at all costs. It is crucial to our success. Do you understand?” The angel affirmed.

  “I do,” Pandora reassured him.

  “Before I go I must do one more thing. You have lived as an immortal under the rule of the pagan gods.

  ”Her eyes grew wide.

  “Bow before me.”

  Pandora hesitated. He needed her, she knew he would not harm her. She fell to her knees. Gabriel stepped forward, brushed her curly strawberry hair out of her eyes, and placed his thumb on her forehead.

  “Now you serve the one God. You are bound to The Almighty.” With his thumb, he made a T shape on her skin.

  “It will not come to pass for more than three thousand years, until a red headed female carries your blood line. Remember, protect the jar.”

  His wings swung forward covering his body and then he vanished.

  1. Kasey’s Host Family

  Three Thousand Years Later

  Balling my fists, I embraced the pain of my nails digging into my palms. The sensation a much better distraction from the torture I was about to undergo. I held my breath and clenched my jaw. Please don’t vomit, I thought. Then the drop came. I felt the slight jolt from the wheels, and I let out a slow breath. The plane landed. To refocus, I blinked several times. The old woman next to me looked horrified.

  “Estasbien?” she asked.

  I had spent the last two months trying to complete as many online Spanish lessons as I could. I wanted to be prepared for my adventure in Spain. According to the program, I picked up the Spanish language very well.

  “Si, gracias,” I replied. Embarrassed, I stood and turned to get off the death machine as quickly as they would allow me.

  The busy San Sant Airport was just a blur as I tried to get through it. My stomach twisted and churned with knots. I knew he did this to me. Teal’s miserable words of despair and pathetic groveling, before I boarded, were like a repeating record in my head.

  Did I act too irrational when I signed up for this study abroad project last March? But who would pass up a scholarship like this one? If we were still together, would I have left for Spain? More nervous and guilty than excited,
I began to doubt my decision. Was leaving the country to get away from my ex my best option?

  I re-focused and concentrated on getting a cab to Deia. When I walked through the automatic doors and the hot air hit my body, I was disappointed the weather felt like back home. Then I realized the immediate landscape. A green mountain hid behind a city that blended modern day skyscrapers with old Mediterranean stoned structures. Cars honked, people yelled, a city full of energy. The traffic of people everywhere disappeared into the natural beauty all around. The contrast between gray city surrounded by vibrant greens, browns, and blues, left me breathless. No such place could exist in America. The sea salt tickled my nose, but my lungs welcomed the pure air of the island of Mallorca, Spain.

  “Taxi?” The sound of a voice jerked me out of my trance.

  “Uh, si,” I answered.

  He hailed a cab. After one attempt, a white car with a yellow and black stripe down the sides and on the hood pulled up. A balding man with an enormous grin exited the cab.

  “Hola soy Renaldo. Adonde vas?” he asked speaking loud and slow. It appeared he greeted others like me before, foreign. Renaldo approached my bags. Once he came around the car, I saw that he was short and stocky.

  “Vas pueblo Deia,” I said with confidence.

  He chuckled, “Do not worry I speak English.”

  He grabbed my green suitcase, the carry-on off my shoulder, and put them in the trunk. I climbed into the back of the cab. The grey interior smelled of a lovely jasmine scent. A blue beaded rosary hung from the rearview mirror. Taped to the dashboard was a wallet-sized picture of Jesus.

  As Renaldo entered the cab, he asked in his broken English and heavy accent, “Adrez in Deia?”

  I snickered at his attempt at English.

  “I’m going to the Caracoles Restaurant,” I answered.

  “Ah, el Restaurante Caracoles, great food. Wonderful family. You must eat the swordfish. Very good.”

  “Do you know the family?” I questioned, my curiosity intensifying for any information on the family I would soon be living with for the next ten months.

  “Yes, very good people.” He pressed his foot to the gas pedal and accelerated out the airport at an alarming speed. His driving was fast and unpredictable. I scrambled to find the seat belt.

  “No seat belts?” I panicked.

  “No, they broke so I took them out. No worries, I safest driver. Never an accidente.” He punched the gas and laughed.

  As he came inches from other cars, people, and street light posts, I gripped the handle above the door, and swallowed hard the bile rising from the pit of my stomach. I shut my eyes.

  “No worries, we get there by lunch, one hour or less trip.”

  Once we left the city, it became easier to open my eyes for seconds at a time. I gathered in as much of the scenery as possible. The man’s dreadful driving made me nauseous. I wished I’d taken my motion sickness pills. How was I supposed to know that I would need them on the ground? There were fewer cars on the road once we left the city but he continued with his erratic speed. A few times, I snuck some peeks. The land's orchard of olive trees grew wild and took over the landscape. The trip seemed to take no time, because of this man’s crazy driving.

  “This is Deia,” he exclaimed.

  I pried one of my eyes open as I felt the car slowing. Once we reached a reasonable speed, I opened my eyes fully for the first time since I entered the taxicab. It was as if we were driving into a painting.

  “Is it real?” I gawked.

  He laughed, “Very much so, very magical she is not?”

  “To say the least.”

  The road curved in an elongated S toward the main street. Within the swirly landscape stood the most adorable sandstone structures hiding in the luscious green of the terrain. It was almost as if the little tiled structures played peek-a- boo from behind the greenery of the over-grown land. The village began in the valley of Serra de Tramuntana between two mountainous cliffs. The ancient town seemed perfectly placed. It started in the valley, worked its way up on the side of the mountain, and finished on the rocky cliffs.

  “El Restaurante Caracoles just around the corner,” Renaldo pointed to a bend in the road where it took a sharp right turn.

  Compared to Palma, this village appeared empty. A handful of elderly villagers walked the streets. Cars parked on the sides of the street, but my taxi was the only one in motion.

  As soon as we turned, I saw a blue awning hanging over a set of wicker chairs and tables. Above the blue canopy, a white sign in cursive, “EL CARACOLE.”

  A handful of people ate at the outside tables. The first floor of the building was obviously the restaurant part. The building extended one floor above the restaurant. I guessed the Castillo family must live on the second floor. The International Language School organized my two-semester stay here in Deia, as well as my living situation.

  My heart thumped when the cab stopped in front of the restaurant. I realized I only spoke twice to Señor Castillo. As Renaldo slammed the trunk, I exited the cab. He set my luggage next to my feet. I smoothed out my blue and brown floral skirt.

  The scent of exotic spices and foods stirred my stomach. I realized I was starving. I decided that for the next ten months I would let my vegetarian preferences off the hook and enjoy dishes of all kinds.

  Beyond the outdoor dining area, a long open room held round tables with white tablecloths. Large metallic rustic fans hung from the ceiling blowing massive amounts of air. The open restaurant had no air conditioning system.

  On the back wall, a brown polished swinging door with a big porthole window led to the kitchen. A mural covered the walls of the entire restaurant. It matched the look of the landscape outside with not nearly the exquisiteness or color scheme of the real landscape. The ambiance from inside the restaurant was loud.

  A man walked toward us from the back of the restaurant. Tall and slender with slick, black hair and a full black beard, he looked to be near his forties. He must be Señor Castillo since he wore an apron over his white and khaki attire.

  As the man stepped from under the awning, he smiled, “Kassandra Reese I assume.”

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you Señor Castillo,” I said. “Call me Kasey.”

  “Vale, please call me Fernando. I hope you had a good trip, si?”

  “Yes, thank you.”

  “Come, let us meet the family. I will take care of this.” He pulled out his wallet and paid Renaldo. “We would have picked you up ourselves, but with the restaurant, it is very difficult. My apologies,” he said overly theatrical with his gestures.

  “No problem,” I said.

  “Que lo pases bien muñeca,” Renaldo called. He got into his cab and sped off.

  I glanced to Fernando and shrugged my shoulders. I did not understand.

  “He said have a good time. He called you a doll.”

  “How strange, thank you,” I said.

  Fernando extended his hand toward the inside of the restaurant. I followed his gesture. I met some gazes from his customers, they turned away avoiding my glances. They too dramatized their expressions and mannerisms.

  “You will be an attraction for the people of this village,” Señor Castillo said. He also noticed his customers looking at me.

  “What do you mean attraction?”

  “Hmmm, not too many young American ladies in this village. The gentleman called you a doll because you look like a porcelain doll, and that is unusual here.”

  I smiled and glimpsed down at my brown sandals over my pale feet, “Thank you señor.”

  It felt awkward being the foreigner. Here in Spain, I’m the one with the unusual sexy accent. Perhaps I should dye my red hair black.

  “You will be very popular. Call me Fernando, please.”

  We walked through the restaurant, a few customers glimpsed my way. A table of five young guys in their early teens to twenties definitely stole glances. They didn’t seem Spaniard like the other locals eating at
the restaurant. Their complexions had a deeper hue. When we reached the back of the room, the rest of the family came through the swinging door.

  First out was a lovely and simple looking woman. She was fair and her warm smile made me feel like she should be offering me a fresh warm cookie. Behind her, three kids followed in by the order of their birth. The girl wasn’t too far off from my age. She was the spitting image of her mother, fair skinned with light brown hair. The two boys didn’t look like brothers at all. The youngest had his mother’s pale complexion and a little of both parents in his facial features. The middle brother looked exactly like Fernando.

  “Beatriz, Catalina, Garcia, Rodrigo,” Fernando pointed to each person in order as he introduced them. “I would like you to meet Kasey.”

  I smiled trying to emulate the warmth that came from Beatriz. “Mucho gusto, It’s finally a pleasure to meet you.”

  “The pleasure is all ours,” Beatriz said in her heavy accent. She gave me a bear hug and kissed my cheek. She gave her daughter a look as if expecting her to do the same. The girl seemed less enthusiastic about the embrace required of her. She lowered her gaze and with a straight face kissed both my cheeks but there was no hug. The boys followed their sister with some indifference.

  “Garcia, Rodrigo, please take her things up to her room,” Beatriz said to her sons.

  “Vale, Mama. Podemos ir a la playa despues. I will take Rodrigo with me,” Garcia replied to his mother. My Spanish was good enough that I understood he wanted to go to the beach.

  Beatriz smiled at me, “We told them they could not go until they met you. They have been waiting all day.” She turned to Rodrigo, “Si.”

  Both boys kissed their parents on the cheek, grabbed my things, and ran back through the swinging kitchen door.

  “I will be upstairs on the computer, vale,” Catalina sulked. She left without giving her parents a kiss.

  “Forgive us for her less than acceptable hospitality,” Beatriz looked concerned as if I were a judge.