by Aiden James
“It’s why these men are known as ‘Servientes De los Angeles’,” said Roderick, chuckling. “Which is why your father, Ali, has avoided visiting this place like the plague.”
Unfair. I should mention that one of the habits I’ve always loathed of Roderick’s is his need to tease at my expense. As noble as he truly is, he can’t resist a dig now and then. I used to be the same way toward others, I’ll admit, until my first encounter with the Native Americans in the mid-fifteenth century. When that behavior resulted in too many hurt feelings among my Cherokee friends, whose humor was far kinder than Roderick’s and mine, I resolved to quit teasing by use of hurtful barbs. Yes, I’m sure there are those out there who point to my sarcastic asides in my previous tomes. But that’s not the same thing…or is it?
“The Servants of the Angels, huh?” said Amy, thoughtfully. “My father talked about that name. I guess he was referring to you, then.” She frowned, obviously thinking about her parents, who were murdered horribly by Viktor Kaslow’s former employer. Alistair gently wrapped his arm around her shoulders and pulled her close to him.
“Yes, that’s who we are, and have always been,” said Rafael, pausing to look over at Francisco, as if he had just stepped out of line by not allowing Francisco center stage for this subject. The Essene leader smiled and nodded for Rafael to continue, and so he did, wearing a relieved expression. “We once had a chosen name in Hebrew, but we adopted the Spanish one when Pizarro invaded what is now La Paz.”
“So, the next thing you’re going to tell me is real live angels reside in this hallowed place,” said Cedric, whose insolent tone revealed his disdain for what he expected to hear next from either Francisco or Rafael. “Ain’t that about right, Francisco?”
Francisco studied Cedric’s face before answering, surely reassessing his original read on this CIA maverick.
“Is it so difficult to believe in angels residing here, Agent Tomlinson?” Francisco’s eyes flashed with a touch of anger. “Aside from what you witnessed upon your arrival at the edge of our domain through Tampara’s spyglass, you are among three immortals. These are men whom most of the world would never believe exist—any more than the world’s vast population believes in your Paul Bunyan, Santa Claus, or Peter Cottontail…no? If nothing else, look at the circumstantial evidence around you. Who on earth would need doorways like the ones you have seen—unless they were created by creatures concerned with having enough room for their immense wingspans?”
It appeared Cedric was on the verge of yet another smartass response, but then caught himself. Perhaps this had something to do with the angel remark he had made to me as we prepared to step inside the castle. More than likely, though, his silence was procured by the irritated stare from the pasty druid sitting across from him, and the perturbed grunt from the powerful eight-foot warrior sitting to his right.
“Tell you what,” he said, still somewhat insolently. “You show me a genuine angel and I’ll shut the hell up about it.”
“Be careful what you wish for, old friend,” said Roderick, his tone subdued. “Not every angel is of the Christmas card variety. You might soon regret such a wish—especially here.”
“Only if it is the demons of Bochicha,” countered Rafael, casting another glance toward Francisco, and only continuing when Francisco nodded for him to do so. “They were once all the same—all beautiful, and the protectors of mankind. But the Children of Elohim changed more than a third of the angels into emissaries of hatred and destruction. Is it not so, Francisco?”
“Children of Elohim…what in the hell?”
Cedric covered his mouth in an effort to keep from laughing, and at least this was an attempt at some respect…though by then his act was wearing razor-thin with our hosts.
“Actually, I have heard of them, as well,” said Amy, smiling demurely. She tightened her grip on Alistair’s right hand with her left. “It’s all related to the Servants of the Angels…correct? My father, Dr. Stephen Golden Eagle, once read to me a Hebrew legend he recovered from an ancient sheepskin document he unearthed in Syria. The carbon dating put it at eight thousand years old. According to Dad, Elohim—the oldest verifiable name for ‘God’ in Hebrew—cursed the deities that were part of an ancient eight-pointed star. Elohim took issue with His children’s love of blood sacrifice. As a result, all were banished into a state of limbo, and a third of the angels willingly joined them—an event told a different way in the Bible. These lower deities themselves were once beautiful, and were Elohim’s offspring. But they all became demons, and the former angels took on the hideousness of each bloodthirsty god and goddess they served in exile.”
Both Francisco and Rafael studied Amy for a moment in silence, nodding thoughtfully. They were obviously impressed, but said nothing.
“One of your ancestors, Francisco, once talked about the same thing,” said Roderick, shooting a look of admiration Amy’s way before returning his attention to our host. “Yael Mordecai once referred to this star that Amy mentioned as the ‘Estrella De la Sangre’.”
I found the entire discussion fascinating, and Alistair seemed just as impressed. But the subject seemed to hold minimal interest for Tampara, who politely looked on. Cedric, meanwhile, looked to still be debating as to whether this was a truckload of fresh bullshit or not.
“What a fantastic prelude to the evening this has become!” beamed Francisco. “Your knowledge, Roderick and Amy, has left me greatly impressed. Even so, I urge you all to take Rafael’s advisement about Bochicha’s emissaries very seriously. We had an incident here a couple of years ago with a pair of Americans we are quite fond of, and these demons found a way to escape their dimensional prison. While they rarely have made recent appearances, it still can happen…. If you are fortunate to encounter an angel during your stay with us, Cedric, pray it is one that regards you favorably. May it be one of His holy angels and not one of Bochicha’s. Otherwise, it may prove impossible to save you from being devoured.”
It appeared Cedric wanted to continue the discussion, but Francisco insisted we should eat before the steaks cooled any further. Before long, the mood at the entire table turned merrier as the wine and chicha (I later learned this was a powerful maize liquor) flowed freely. A drink Tampara seemed to favor, he somehow managed to get Roderick to join him and Rafael in downing multiple shots.
Only Francisco and I went easy on the liquor that evening, limiting ourselves to two glasses of wine apiece. While everyone else drank to their heart’s content, he engaged me once more in conversation.
“As I mentioned earlier, Moroni foretold of your return to Bolivia in search of your coin. A coin we have regarded as one of our most cherished relics for nearly two millennia,” he said, keeping his voice low to avoid obvious involvement of the others. “Our very first Superior, Micah Albidan, brought the coin with him from Qumran, along with a treasure trove of items our Order had collected for nearly a thousand years before we were forced to flee Israel.”
“How did it end up in Qumran?”
“You mean you don’t know?”
He chuckled as he regarded me. A playful glint danced in his eyes, as if he had a fun secret. Fun for him, anyway. I truly hate trying to guess what someone might know about me.
“No…I have no idea.”
“Then you were unaware that Joses, brother of Jesus and James, was the one to collect your coin after you hid in the Pharisee’s vineyard after you dropped it?”
Holy shit!
“I watched Joses pick it up,” I said, studying his face to see if I could discern anything that could help me predetermine what the next surprise might be. “But how did he know I was in the vineyard? They never came looking for me, and I sneaked out of there just before Caiaphas’ guards and the Roman soldiers dragged Jesus away in chains.”
True. As I mentioned, once I heard the extent of the beating delivered to Him and the anguished cries of my former peers, I couldn’t bear to stay any longer. It was a night of one regrettable move after ano
ther, and every one of them resulted in supreme cowardice that has haunted me ever since.
“Legend tells us an angel told him that you were there,” said Francisco. “Joses never saw you. But when the archangel Gabriel appeared and advised him not to rise up and take arms with James to defend their brother—that it was Elohim’s will for Jesus to die unjustly—he kept the coin. Joses believed it was a holy relic, and he was the one to name it the ‘Singing Coin’. He took it with him back to Qumran, which, as you know, was his home with the other Essenes. He gave it to his mother, Mary, for safekeeping. It was later added to the sacred collection eventually carried across the Mediterranean and then over the Atlantic to South America….”
I didn’t hear the rest of what he said.
The vision had seized my mind’s eye, dragging me back to Simon Zelotes’ spacious home in Jerusalem. I could hear the ripping of Jesus’ clothes as they shackled Him after beating Him mercilessly…I could hear the sjambok rip through His skin, and the terrible screams. But that was nothing compared to the single, accusatory word that had pursued me through the centuries….
Judas?
Francisco gently touched my wrist, pulling back to the present.
“Sorry about that…I’m feeling a little light headed,” I said.
“Perhaps it is weariness from the trip?”
Francisco eyed me with a level of compassion I hadn’t seen since when I toured Judea with my Lord. It was eerie to me how his facial likeness bore such strong similarities to Joses and James.
I shuddered.
“Maybe it is, since we had a long flight and a few mishaps on our way here…. I could use another drink.”
“I wasn’t talking about that journey,” he said, and his gaze seemed to penetrate past my physical being. “I’m referring to the trip you just now took back in time.”
I felt incredibly vulnerable and suddenly hated being there. Maybe it was a mistake to come. A wave of nausea swept over me, accompanied by a high pitch I hadn’t heard since the night of Jesus’ betrayal so many years before.
“The coin is calling you,” he advised, pausing to scan the room. “It is calling from the place it has rested in relative peace for so many eons…. You hear the shimmer—I’m certain of it. I hear it, too.”
He was right—I could hear it, and the shrill pitch was getting louder. But as I looked around me, it certainly appeared no one else heard it…they were all smiling, laughing—acting as if they hadn’t a solitary care in the world. Francisco’s expression made him look as if he was on the verge of a severe migraine, despite his compassionate smile.
“I’ll show you where it is tomorrow, if you would like to see it—or take it with you,” he said. “It’s your coin. But… keep in mind there is a reason why Viktor Kaslow wants it. I sense this fiend’s intelligence continues to grow with his increased penchant for wickedness. According to Moroni, the vibrations and other unique qualities of this coin could bring about catastrophic events unlike anything the earth has ever seen, if it’s harnessed to today’s technology. The ‘Singing Coin’ is relatively safe here inside the castle. Unless Kaslow or anyone else knows its exact location, they will never recover it. Yet, if you take it with you….”
He didn’t finish. Nor did he need to spell it out further. If I took it with me, the coin would no longer be protected from someone like Kaslow, or anyone else who could ‘hear’ it. I dearly wanted to finish collecting my coins, but it was no longer the desperate search and rescue mission, where I had raced against time taking my beloved Beatrice and Alistair from me. Bringing something so volatile into the outside world would likely mean terrible danger to others—especially those I cared about most.
Maybe my soul has always known this…maybe it’s the main reason I wanted to save the damned thing for last in the first place!
Francisco gently patted my wrist again.
“You don’t have to make a decision tonight,” he said. “There is still time to weigh the pros and cons.”
“I guess….”
“Listen to the ‘still small voice’ in the very core of your being, Judas. Wait for its answer, and when it comes, tell us.”
“How long do I have?”
“I believe you know the answer to that question.”
True. That part I did know.
I could take as long as I needed…provided Kaslow didn’t show up first.
Chapter 11
I retired early that night, shortly after Francisco and Rafael finished giving us a fairly extensive tour of the castle’s main floor. At least I hung out long enough to catch the first truly impressed expression upon Cedric’s face.
It happened in a place Rafael referred to affectionately as the ‘castle icebox’. Much cooler there than anywhere else in the castle, the immense room has never been updated beyond glass display cases containing a variety of priceless artifacts. The only way to see anything is with either lighted torches or flashlights. Not surprisingly, our hosts seem to prefer the former.
I experienced several moments of nostalgia when seeing items once on display in Jerusalem’s temple, along with twenty-three scrolls from the Talmud and other rare ancient texts kept behind protective glass. But it wasn’t these things that impressed Cedric, or such items as a Zorastrian idol and a trumpet from King Solomon’s legendary temple—both made from solid gold. Ironically, it turned out to be the very subject he had made fun of earlier.
Angels.
But not the living heavenly beings he had hoped to encounter, as mentioned at dinner. Even so, the pair of golden giants that suddenly loomed above him in the glow from Francisco’s torch startled him. Not enough to elicit a yelp, but he instinctively jumped back, bumping into Amy.
I believe it was the incredible realism on display that affected him so. Francisco seemed especially delighted at Cedric’s reaction, and proudly pointed out that the pair of angels were created by unknown ancient artisans—one Hebrew and the other Aymara. The Hebrew angel had once graced King David’s bedchamber, while the other angel came to the Essenes’ castle from deep within the Amazon jungle.
Both angels held their arms out before them, as if carrying mysterious objects presently invisible to their audience. Despite the different artistic orientations, the statues carried a magisterial aura that proved to be a fitting finale for our icebox tour.
“So, where is the Singing Coin kept?” asked Alistair, as we returned to the reception area.
Although the Andean spring was in early bloom, we found two silver trays loaded with cups filled with hot cider and a decanter filled with brandy waiting for us near the fireplace. A medium blaze seemed to be the perfect remedy for the chill that stayed with us from the relic vault where we had just spent the past hour. There was also a box of cigars Rafael advised had been dipped in the same fine brandy.
“For now, that location is a secret,” Francisco advised, motioning for us to all help ourselves to the refreshments. “When the time is right, your father will be made aware of its location.”
My son nodded politely. He is such an easy read most times, and he shot me an imploring look to push the issue. But as I’ve mentioned before in this chronicle, I truly was in no hurry to recover this particular coin. And, at the moment its call had quieted, with only a slight ring. I assumed only Francisco, Roderick, and I could hear it.
I grabbed a cup of cider and a couple of cigars, and told Francisco I was ready to turn in for the night.
“So soon, William?”
Cedric helped himself to a cigar as he said this, and held me in his gaze as Rafael lit it for him. I waved off the Essene’s offer to light mine, as well.
“I’m bushed,” I told him, and shrugged when Amy and Alistair shot me the same disappointed look…a great snapshot of how their once awkward attraction to each other had become a truly symbiotic relationship. My widening smile was actually inspired by the hope Beatrice’s and my rekindled connection might soon be similar. “Considering what’s on the horizon from our R
ussian menace, I think I’ll take advantage of a good night’s sleep.”
Roderick nodded to me, surely wondering why I’d say such a thing when I sleep three to four hours a night at most as it is. Tampara watched me leave with the same indifference he had shown throughout the evening. Even though his stature and bronze skin set him apart from most native people, I found it remarkable how calmness seemed to be a hallmark of such folks—regardless of the continent, or in this case, dimension in which they lived.
Francisco, sent a young boy named Petra to show me to my room, which was on the fourth floor, where I had recently learned all of us would be staying during our visit. After walking up to the fourth floor veranda, he led me to a corner room at the end of the long open hall. As Francisco had advised earlier, the doorway to my room was enormous.
It took a moment for Petra to manage the pole and its hook to manipulate the gold ring located several feet above my head. If he hadn’t accepted my help to reach the ring, it might’ve taken a lot longer to gain entrance. Once inside, he stoked the low-burning coals in the fireplace to ward off the room’s coolness. We were beyond the reach of the castle’s furnace system, but at least there was electricity, and no need for candles or torches.
The large bed looked comfortable, and the adjacent bathroom was surprisingly opulent. Granite walls surrounding a waterfall shower were polished to a high gloss and in stark contrast to the stone’s original roughness I had seen elsewhere in the castle.
“Will you need anything else, Senor?” asked Petra, prepared to leave the room.
“Do you suppose Francisco would prefer I smoke these out on the balcony?” I asked, showing him the pair of stogies in my hand, and anticipating the most likely response I’d get from a kid. “Or, is it okay to smoke inside?”
There were no smoke detectors to worry about, and perhaps the disaster least likely to destroy the solid-stone castle was a fire. Still, Petra eyed me shyly while his face flushed from embarrassment. He shook his head doubtfully, in obvious acknowledgement that no one had ever presented such a question to him before.