—THE CHRONICLES OF SATRAYA
ISLE OF MAN, 7:12 P.M. LOCAL TIME, MARCH 20, 2070
Every stroke of the bow on the finely tuned strings of the violin reverberated through the courtyard that lay between the roofless ruins of the Cathedral of St. Germaine and the main grounds of Peel Castle. The sun, which had not graced the Isle of Man for many days, had reappeared that morning and was now setting in the west. The shadow cast by the castle spire had reached across the courtyard’s immaculately manicured lawn and was now creeping up the weathered stone wall of the cathedral. The violin player’s black dress and long blond hair fluttered in a strong and sometimes gusty wind as she played on. Her bow transitioned from the slow louré stroke to legato, then from the haunting sound of the col legno back to louré. Flawlessly, she spun her tale. Two men sat on a stone bench in the adjacent courtyard, listening. The piece she’d composed told the story of a captive’s despair and the arrival of a savior who provided hope.
“This piece is about you, my friend,” Sebastian said to Lawrence, the steward of his home, Peel Castle. “We would not be enjoying her music at this moment had you not taken action years ago.”
“You played a part in that liberation, too,” Lawrence answered, his eyes resting on his adopted daughter, Anita, who was still lost in her music. “Those were terrible times. We were all required to act after the Great Disruption and the Rising. Your parents would be very proud of you, Sebastian. Even today, you continue with your work. The son of Camden and Cassandra would not have made his way and escorted the world to safety had you not helped to lift the veil from his eyes.” Sebastian did not immediately answer, and a pause ensued before Lawrence spoke again. “You think there is more to this, don’t you?”
“Others are moving into place,” Sebastian said. “There is one whose full intent has not yet been made clear.” Sebastian bowed his head in contemplation. His parents had bought the grounds of Peel Castle from the Manx National Heritage Foundation in 2034. It was here that they constructed their new residence, which provided not only a place to house their art collection and extensive library but also a place where they could carry out the duties of their lineage. Their passing ten years ago left Sebastian as the last genetic descendant of a group known as the Tutela de Luminis, the Guardians of Light.
At length, Sebastian looked up and fixed his eyes back on Anita. “The arrival of the Chronicles forty years ago set in motion a series of intricately woven events. A great gamble was taken with the release of that knowledge.” Concern was clear in his voice. “The ebbs and flows of that gamble have yet to be completely realized. The Rising is over. Now we must see if the wager on mankind was well placed.”
Sebastian and Lawrence noticed that Anita had stopped playing. She adjusted the tuning pegs on her violin and then once again began to play.
“We gamble every day,” Lawrence said. “Even the simple act of loving someone is risky, as we hope that our love is returned in kind. Your mother and father’s faith in mankind brought the books to the world; I have no doubt of that.” The wind returned exuberantly, providing a howling overtone as it passed through the ruins of the cathedral, heightening the drama of the evening. Lawrence filled their glasses with more wine. “Not long after you were born, your parents asked me if I regretted not having a family of my own. They knew that my choice to live a life of service came with sacrifices. I casually answered no. I didn’t realize at the time how much of an untruth that was.” A serious look came to Lawrence’s face as he watched Anita perform. “What the Pottman family did is hard to fathom. I wonder often what possesses people to do such horrific things.”
“Anita was fortunate you turned up at their infamous dinner party,” Sebastian said. “The lives of many people changed that evening, including yours.”
“Especially mine,” Lawrence said. “I know now that I would have answered your parents very differently if they asked me their question again.”
“Life would not be so grand if our answers today were the same as they were yesterday or the answers we provide tomorrow were duplicates of what we uttered today.” Sebastian touched his glass of wine to Lawrence’s and took a sip. “To wisdom.”
“You sound like Razia when you say things like that,” Lawrence said. Sebastian smiled. “There are parts of the grounds that I believe still hold her energy. I regret that you had to let her go. It would have been pleasant to have her with us. I’m certain Anita would have enjoyed it. But we all had choices to make, lives to live, and journeys to take.”
Sebastian nodded, his attention suddenly drawn away from Anita. “And it would seem that my current journey is not very dissimilar to yours.” He looked over at eleven-year-old Halima as she quickly made her way across the courtyard to them. Bukya, a large German shepherd, followed close behind, his muddy paws indicating that the two of them had gone on an adventure. “Here comes the newest member of our ever-growing family.”
“You look like you have been digging for buried treasure,” Lawrence said to them, as he took the serviette that was wrapped around the neck of the wine bottle and used it to wipe the dirt from Halima’s face and hands. “I am at a loss to say who did more digging, you or Bukya.”
“Mr. Sebastian,” Halima said, slightly out of breath, “who is Sumsari Baltik?”
Sebastian thought for a moment. “I have no recollection of that name. Lawrence?”
“Nor do I,” Lawrence answered, as he finished wiping Halima’s hands.
Halima pulled something out of her pocket and handed it to Sebastian. It was a silver neck chain with a silver tag attached to it. “I found that. Actually, Bukya found it.”
“It appears to be a dog tag, a type of identification worn by members of the old U.S. military,” Sebastian said, and then read the engraving: Sumsari Baltik, ID #2974630. “It must have been lost before the Great Disruption. Perhaps when the grounds of Peel Castle were a tourist attraction.” Sebastian handed the necklace to Lawrence. “Where did you say you found it?”
“In one of the tunnels under the old armory,” Halima said. Lawrence gave her a stern look. “I know, but my little brothers weren’t with me. And Bukya won’t let anything bad happen to me.” Halima turned toward the cathedral. “Maybe Anita will help me figure out who Sumsari Baltik was.”
Lawrence cleaned off the chain and the dog tag and placed them around Halima’s neck. “Every great mystery needs a great detective to solve it.”
Halima’s face brightened, and she went to sit beside Bukya on the grass.
Anita continued her violin solo. She had been playing for a couple of hours now. The castle’s groundskeepers were lighting the torches in the courtyard. If the past was an indicator, Anita would remain lost in her melodies and continue playing well into the night of the spring equinox without stopping for rest.
“How is she able to play so long?” Halima asked.
“She has trained herself,” Sebastian said. “When one learns the art of singularity of mind, one loses all sense of time.” At his words, Anita stopped playing again. She was adjusting the tuning pegs again. Sebastian looked at a fiery blend of orange and red in the sky as the setting sun kissed the horizon. He rose to his feet, his fists clenched.
“What is it?” Lawrence asked.
Sebastian closed his eyes. As if sensing his master’s consternation, Bukya stood and let out a strong bark, casting aside Halima, who was leaning against him. “The voice of the earth has been disturbed,” Sebastian said, when he reopened his eyes.
A scream ripped through the darkening evening. It was Anita. Her violin and bow had fallen to the ground, and she was clutching her head. Bukya darted over to her, and the others quickly followed.
“What’s wrong, dear?” Lawrence asked.
“I don’t know.” Anita struggled to reply. She rubbed her temples, grimacing. “My violin keeps going out of tune, and now I have this terrible headache.”
Sebastian squatted next to her and placed his thumb on her forehead, gently massaging it for a
few seconds. Then he said, “It is not your violin that is out of harmony. It is you who are out of tune.” Sebastian paused and glanced up at Lawrence. “I think it is time for one of our masterpieces to find a new home.”
5
Desire is the voice of an immortal soul.
—THE CHRONICLES OF SATRAYA
MEXICO CITY, 2:46 P.M. LOCAL TIME, MARCH 20, 2070
Logan and Valerie hurried down the long, darkened tunnel. They held their PCDs out like flashlights in front of them. Mr. Montez followed. The earthquake was over, and the shaking had stopped, but outside, many visitors lay wounded or dead, crushed by falling rocks along the aptly named Avenue of the Dead. Logan tried calling his son’s PCD, but there was no answer.
They navigated down one of the newly discovered tunnels that Carlos had mentioned earlier. The strung lights attached to the ceiling had been knocked out. The ground was lined with uneven bricks, and the walls and ceiling were reinforced with metal bracing. As they made their way deeper inside, they passed several anterooms where they saw frightened people huddled in the dark. Valerie quickly instructed them on how to get out of the pyramid safely.
They continued forward, maneuvering around the fallen beams and damaged bracing material, looking for any sign of the children and Carlos. Then they came to a gaping hole in the ground, where they had to stop. “The earthquake ripped up part of the floor,” Logan said, eyeing the three-meter gap. “Should we jump?”
“Too far,” Valerie said. She grabbed Logan by the arm, leading him back to where some bracing had fallen off the tunnel wall. “We might be able to use this,” she said, bending to pick up one end of a beam.
“Good idea.” Logan grabbed the other end. Together they carried the heavy beam to the breach in the floor, and with the help of Mr. Montez, they were able to slide it across the gap.
“How are your gymnastic skills?” Valerie asked, as she stepped onto the beam and began to walk across, raising her arms to balance herself.
Logan bent down and held the beam steady, and once she was across, Valerie did the same from the other side, letting Logan and Mr. Montez follow. They continued, and the farther they walked, the worse was the destruction they saw. More bodies littered their path, and more of the tunnel’s bracing had given way. They instructed the survivors to wait by the opening in the floor until help arrived. Some did as they were told, but others took their chances and made their way over the beam.
Logan looked through the doorway of a chamber and spotted something on the ground: a red cap. “It belongs to one of the kids,” he said, running toward it. There was a large pile of stones that had fallen from the ceiling at one corner of the room, and Logan noticed the pieces of Jordan’s crushed PCD under one of them.
Mr. Montez was lifting stones from a pile of rubble. “Oh, no,” he said.
Logan and Valerie saw an arm extending from the bottom of the heap. They rushed over to help. The face was badly bruised but recognizable. Carlos. He was dead. In silence, they quickly removed more stones from the pile.
“The kids aren’t under here,” Valerie said with relief.
Logan surveyed the chamber more carefully. In the far corner, he spotted a one-meter-round hole in the floor. There were no ceiling blocks near it. “Looks like part of the floor collapsed here,” he said, walking over. He shone the light from his PCD down the hole. “I think there is another chamber down there.” He called out for his children, his voice echoing.
Valerie and Mr. Montez hurried to his side, and they all peered down, waiting.
“Dad!” a voice answered from below. It was Jordan.
“Jordan!” Logan yelled back. “We’re here, we’re coming to get you!”
“You have to hurry!” Jordan said, his face barely illuminated by the light from Logan’s PCD. “Jamie’s hurt.”
Logan took off his shirt and wrapped it around his PCD. It glowed like a small lightbulb. “I’m going to toss my PCD down to you!” he yelled. “Move your sister, and move away from the opening.”
A rustling sound could be heard below. “OK,” Jordan said. “Go ahead.” Logan tossed his bundled shirt into the opening and a few seconds later the glowing ball hit the ground. “It’s down here now,” Jordan announced. He walked over and unwrapped the PCD from the shirt.
“Turn up the intensity!” Logan called.
“Is there another way down?” Valerie asked Mr. Montez.
“I don’t know,” he answered. “It seems the earthquake has exposed another secret chamber.”
Valerie nodded. “I’ll get some help,” she said to Logan. “Hold tight. I’ll be right back.”
Logan leaned over the hole. “Jordan, we’re getting help.”
“Hurry up! Jamie says her head hurts really bad!”
Mr. Montez examined the edges of the opening. “This floor is made of mica,” he said quietly. He raised his voice as he called down to Jordan. “Can you see a door or an opening of any kind?”
Logan could see the moving glow of the PCD as Jordan walked around. “There’s a lot of strange stuff down here.” The boy’s voice echoed upward. The light moved farther away from the opening. Jordan screamed.
“What is it?” Logan shouted. There was no answer. “Jordan! Jordan, answer me! Are you all right?”
A moment passed. Then Jordan’s illuminated face reappeared under the hole. “There are two skeletons over there,” he said, his voice filled with horror. He pointed to his right. “They’re leaning against some kind of big archway. I don’t see any kind of door.”
“It might be a burial chamber or a place for sacrificial rituals,” Mr. Montez said.
“Go over and wait with Jamie,” Logan told his son. “Valerie should be right back with some help.”
Mr. Montez rose and took a seat on a large, flat stone. “It’s very strange, this earthquake,” he said. “They’re not common in this region. One of this magnitude has not occurred since the Great Disruption.”
The strung lights on the ceiling suddenly came on. “Looks like they restored power,” Logan said, looking through the doorway. Frightened people were running toward the tunnel’s exit. To Logan’s relief, he heard Valerie who returned with a rescue team carrying lanterns, equipment bags, and medical kits.
The four men threw a rope ladder down the hole. Logan grabbed a lantern from one of their bags, turned it on, and set off downward, Valerie’s warning to take it slow falling on deaf ears. He climbed about six meters down the ladder, with Valerie behind him, and the two of them reached the lower chamber.
“Dad,” Jordan said, hugging his father. “Jamie’s over here.”
She was sitting against a wall with Logan’s shirt wrapped around her head. “Jamie, honey, are you OK?” Logan asked.
“My head hurts,” she said.
Logan examined his daughter’s head. “I don’t see any scrapes or bruises,” he said.
“I don’t see any blood, either,” Valerie added. “Did you hit your head when you fell?”
“I don’t remember.”
“You’re going to be fine,” Logan reassured her, but she did not seem convinced.
Logan and Valerie stepped back as the rescue team arrived and began attending to Jamie.
Logan turned his attention to Jordan, who looked to be in good shape, considering. Logan pulled out the red hat, dusted it off, and put it on his son’s head. “So what happened?” he asked.
“We were on the floor up there, when all of a sudden, the ground started to shake and shake. People in the tunnel started screaming. Jamie lost her balance and fell to the ground, and I went over to help her.” His voice began to quiver. “Carlos was at the other end of the room when a bunch of rocks fell on him. Jamie and I tried to pull the rocks off, but they were too heavy. We tried, Dad, we really tried . . .” He was struggling not to cry, but tears filled his eyes nonetheless.
“It’s all right, Jordan,” Logan said. “It’s not your fault.”
Jordan nodded. “Jamie and I were still
trying to get the rocks off of Carlos. Through the doorway, we could see people running down the tunnel. They were yelling and screaming, and a lot of them were hurt. The shaking kept going, and all of a sudden, we heard a big bang. The hair on our heads stood straight up, and then all the lights went out.”
“I wonder if that was the arc of light we saw,” Valerie said.
“You say the hair on your heads stood up?” asked Mr. Montez, who had been standing nearby. “Did you feel little shocks on your fingertips or your head?”
“Yes,” Jordan said. “My hands felt funny.”
Mr. Montez nodded, turning to Logan and Valerie. “Static electricity,” he said, before walking off as something caught his eye.
“Then what happened?” Logan asked.
“Jamie said her head started hurting. I grabbed her, and we tried to get out of the room and follow the people out of the tunnel.”
“Wait,” Valerie interrupted. “Jamie told you her head hurt before you fell down here?”
“Yeah,” Jordan replied. “Then all of a sudden, more rocks fell from the ceiling. That’s when I dropped my PCD, I think. We moved over to the corner of the room, and that’s when the floor broke apart, and we both fell through it.” Jordan wiped the last remaining tears away. “And then you and Valerie showed up.”
“Well, at least the two of you are safe,” Logan said.
A rescue worker approached them. “Aside from her headache, your daughter appears to be fine,” he said. “I suspect she might have a small concussion. We’ll get her ready to transfer up. It will be a few more minutes.”
“Thank you,” Logan said. He could see them lowering a small gurney via the hoist that had been set up above. Logan looked back at his son. “After all this, you’re going to be able to write one heck of a report.”
“Logan.” Mr. Montez’s voice called out from the opposite end of the room. “You must see this.”
Logan hesitated to leave Jamie, who was being readied for transport.
“Go,” Valerie said. “I’ll watch her.”
“You stay here with Valerie, too,” Logan told Jordan. “This chamber might not be structurally sound.”
Journey Through the Mirrors Page 5