Cassandra: That is a wonderful goal. But I’m a long way from being your teacher.
Sumsari: You are closer than you think. You only need to find your musical voice. If you wish to learn how to move a child in his mother’s womb, you need to listen for the voice of nature around you. Once you hear the voice of the earth, you can express it in unique ways.
This was what Logan was waiting for—Sumsari’s understanding of the voice of nature. He listened as his mother queried further.
Cassandra: Are you saying that the earth makes an actual sound?
Sumsari: Yes. Science calls it the Schumann resonance. The earth is like a massive tuning fork. Understand it this way. The conductor of an orchestra tunes the entire orchestra to middle A before the concert begins. But once the performance starts, each musician must express his own singularity and uniqueness yet still stay in tune with the rest of the orchestra. The earth does the same with every insect, animal, and human ever born. It endeavors to keep us in tune. The voice of nature runs through all of us, even though we may not hear it.
Cassandra: What happens if we stop being in tune? Or worse, if the earth goes out of tune?
Sumsari: I think we would look like the screaming man in a picture I once saw.
There was an extended moment of silence on the recording. The image of Munch’s “The Scream” flashed through Logan’s mind. Could it be that Jamie’s headaches were a result of the earth going out of tune? Were the earthquakes with no epicenters being caused by the same thing? And could all of this be linked to the mysterious phrase that was painted on the shaft of the whistle, Wrap thin serpent to discover earth voice?
Cassandra: How long did it take you to hear the voice of nature? How long should I expect it to take me?
Sumsari: That, my lovely lady, is called the journey. If any of us had the answer to the question of how long anything might take, we could have written the Chronicles ourselves. But until then, evolve, create, and teach yourself to play in a way the world has never witnessed before. It is the only way to engage in any task you undertake. If you teach that to your son, you will do him a great service.
With that, the recorder clicked off. Logan looked at it and saw that there was another recording on this chip. It was from later that afternoon. He pressed the Play button and heard the rustling of papers before his mother spoke.
After my lesson with Sumsari, I went over to Deya’s. I told her what Sumsari had told me about the voice of the earth and that I needed to discover my own way of playing the violin. She smiled and told me to follow her and to bring my violin with me. We went downstairs to her meditation area. She told me that when she was a child, she dreamed of becoming a singer. But she wasn’t able to accomplish her goal. I didn’t understand what she was talking about. I told her that she’d sung beautifully at our wedding a few months ago. She grinned and told me that she couldn’t have done that two years before. She agreed with Sumsari: as long as we have expectations of how things should be, we will always be disappointed. She told me that before the Great Disruption, she and Babu traveled to a city in southern England. While they were strolling down a street there, they came upon a poem stamped into the concrete.
I wrote down the poem Deya recited so I wouldn’t forget it. It went like this:
Arise from the earth like water,
Give birth to your sacred dreams,
This world is an ocean of mirrors,
An invitation to create and be seen.
Deya told me that she’d never forgotten the words, but it wasn’t until she read the Chronicles that she fully understood what they meant. She agreed with Sumsari’s assertion that we have to create something new; we can’t create something that already exists. That is not creating, that is duplicating, just as it says in the Chronicles. She told me that she learned to put these words into practice. I asked her how, and she pointed to the mirror. She repeated some of the words from the poem again: The world is an ocean of mirrors, an invitation to create and be seen.
She told me to look at three words in that sentence: mirror, create, and seen.
She turned, looked into the mirror, and closed her eyes. Somehow I knew to step back from her. Her body began to sway slowly back and forth, as if in time to music that only she could hear. She opened her eyes and looked at her reflection just as she had instructed me to do. Several minutes passed as she gazed into the mirror and then began to sing. I have no words to describe the purity of her voice and how utterly transfixed I was by it. I didn’t understand a word of what she sang in her mother tongue of Hindi, but I felt her emotion. I felt lifted. She continued to sway in front of the mirror, staring at her reflection. When she was finished, she closed her eyes and stood motionless for a few moments. Then she turned to me and said that simply watching your own reflection perform a task can train your brain to help you become what you desire.
She repeated the three words from the poem: mirror, create, seen. She told me that the secret to the art of Reflecting is to reach the moment when you don’t know if you are the reflection or the one looking at the reflection. She said that sincerity and lack of expectations were the keys to reaching that state. She picked up my violin and handed it to me.
I knew what she wanted me to do, but I was too uncomfortable to play in front of anyone. Deya didn’t take no for an answer. So I tried. It didn’t work. Deya told me to stop trying to play the violin perfectly, stop trying to imitate what she had done. She told me that I needed to play as Cassandra the creator and not Cassandra the imitator. It was the same thing that Sumsari had said. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. The short musical sequence that I had heard Sumsari playing for Madu when I had entered Sumsari’s studio earlier that afternoon came into my head.
Logan heard his mother hum the sequence a few times. It was the same melody that Jamie had been humming at the doctor’s office that morning.
I opened my eyes and began to play. I played better this time, but I was still too conscious of Deya’s presence. She was right, though. There were moments when I felt as if I was the person in the mirror looking back at me. It is very unnerving for your perspective to shift like that. At one moment, I’m looking at my reflection in the mirror, and in the next moment, I’m the person in the mirror looking at myself. I lost track of who and what was real.
Deya told me it would take practice. I see how the fundamentals of Reflecting can be a very powerful training tool. There is a lot to be gained from watching yourself perform a task. It’s as if an objective part of you gets to observe the emotional part of you. It’s like being two different people at the same time. I’m not sure if that makes sense. Nonetheless, I can’t wait to try this again when I am alone tonight.
The anamorphic nature of Reflecting, along with what Deya is teaching me about the mirror, has given me an idea for a new mosaic. I’m not planning to tell anyone what it’s going to be. Let’s see if they can figure it out!
Logan remembered his mother’s abstract mosaic, which was headed to the commemoration. What did it have to do with Reflecting and what Deya taught her?
He also remembered Mr. Perrot’s comment about how quickly his mother had learned to play the violin. Now he knew her secret method.
28
Would you search for God if someone had never told you he was there to search for?
What, then, is it to search for enlightenment?
Are you searching for it because someone else said you should?
—THE CHRONICLES OF SATRAYA
CHTEAU DUGAN, SWISS ALPS, 9:00 A.M. LOCAL TIME, MARCH 23, 2070
“We found the bodies of both agents near the entrance to the tunnel below the dock,” said WCF field agent Colette Hasburg.
“Was anything found on the dock or in the tunnels?” Valerie asked.
“Nothing yet. Our dive teams are still combing through the lake.”
Valerie and Chetan had arrived at Château Dugan, the former home of Simon Hitchlords, via a WCF transport helicopter from Zuri
ch. The sprawling estate, in the foothills of the Swiss Alps directly to the south, had been of great benefit to Simon’s father, Fendral, during the tumultuous years leading up to the Great Disruption and after. The dense forest and lake had sheltered the Hitchlords family from much of the unrest in the nearby villages and towns. As the world recovered during the Rising, Château Dugan had served as the chrysalis in which Federal and then Simon plotted to regain their family’s power, wealth, and position in the world. Now the palatial grounds were the property of the WCF, seized after Simon’s crimes had come to light.
“It took us more than ten hours to map the extensive tunnels below the Château,” Agent Hasburg said. She projected the map for Valerie and Chetan, as the three of them stood in the Château’s dungeon.
“Looks like you can access just about any portion of the grounds from down there,” Valerie said.
“The fact that the bodies were found in the tunnels leads us to believe that the killer entered that way.”
“What was this place used for?” Chetan asked, glancing around the shadowy square room, where an open well was located. Loose wiring was attached to lights mounted on the ceiling that dimly illuminated eight iron doors. Another light fixture was perched on the wall alongside the set of stairs they had used to enter the dungeon.
“Whatever dungeons are used for these days,” Agent Hasburg said mirthlessly. “We believe that the intruder used the tunnel to access this spiral staircase inside the well.” Agent Hasburg turned her PCD into a flashlight and directed the beam over it. “If you look carefully, you can see that the mildew growing on the steps has been disturbed.” Valerie joined her at the edge and peered over, spotting footprints. “And if you look at the floor here, you can see traces of that mildew.”
“Why would someone put a water well in the middle of their home?” Chetan asked.
“My guess is that this well was one of the first things built on the grounds,” Valerie said. “Over time, the house was constructed around it. Doesn’t smell very good down there, does it?”
“There is a good reason for that,” Agent Hasburg said. “After the plumbing in the Château was modernized, the owners used the well for other purposes. We found four more bodies down there. We have only been able to identify one so far, a Lokesh Sarin from Banaras, India. He was reported missing in July of last year.”
“That’s Deya Sarin’s son,” Valerie said. “That’s how Simon knew to look for the books in Deya’s garden in India. Long story,” she added, catching Hasburg’s look at the mention of books.
“As I was saying,” Hasburg went on, “the other corpses are just skeletal remains. Two men and one woman. We believe they have been there since the pre-Disruption era.”
“Assuming that the intruder used the tunnels and climbed up this well to the dungeon, what was he looking for?”
“Good question,” Agent Hasburg said. “As far as we can tell, nothing was stolen from the Château. None of the video surveillance systems on the grounds or in the house picked up any unauthorized persons. The dungeon is the only place in the Château that is not monitored by video cameras, but we believe the intruder entered this room.” Hasburg led them to the third iron door to the right of the staircase. “The WCF security tape was ripped off the door.”
They entered a room where empty metal buckets lay on the floor and a metal chair stood directly over the metal grate of a drain in the stone floor. Chetan was squatting down by the wall opposite the doorway. “Look at this scribbling.”
Valerie took out her PCD and videotaped the writing on the wall. The initials GSR were etched multiple times. “Well, we know that at least one person was kept here against his will.” Under the initials was a series of twelve vertical lines.
“We found trace evidence of blood on the chair and the floor near the drain,” Agent Hasburg said. “Turns out the blood is Mr. Sarin’s. Whatever happened to him, it probably happened here.”
Valerie finished videotaping what she now realized was a torture chamber. “All right, let’s recap this,” she said. “Some guy approached the Château via the lake, killed two agents, and used a secret passage under the dock to enter the dungeons.”
“We can’t be certain that this was the only place he went,” Agent Hasburg said. “The hidden passageways lead in every direction. The dungeons are the only place we have evidence that he went.”
Chetan had risen and continued around the room and was now standing in the far corner.
“What are you looking at?” Valerie asked him.
“There seem to be some fresh marks here,” Chetan said. “At least, they look recent.”
Valerie walked over and ran her fingers along the corner where most of the marks were concentrated. Chetan took out a pen and began to scratch along the grout line between the bricks. Suddenly, it was plucked from his fingers and stuck to the wall. “Well, that’s interesting,” he said, as Agent Hasburg walked over. Chetan moved the pen up and down along the corner. “Looks like this particular brick is magnetized,” he said, then went and grabbed the metal chair in the center of the room.
Valerie moved out of the way. “You plan on smashing the wall down?” she asked sarcastically.
Chetan raised one of the legs of the chair and moved it close to the magnetized brick. It was immediately attracted and made a clinking sound as it stuck. With a strong pull, Chetan dislodged the brick from the wall. To the left, the wall moved a few inches, revealing a door they hadn’t realized was there.
“Well done,” Valerie said, impressed, giving Chetan a pat on the back. “Let’s see what other secrets Château Dugan holds.”
Valerie pushed the stone door open and entered the room first. As she did so, bright, overhead lights came on and illuminated what was inside. Chetan followed close behind her.
Valerie turned to Agent Hasburg in the doorway. “You’ll need to bring the forensic team down here; there’s a lot to bag and tag.”
While Agent Hasburg placed the call and spoke on her PCD, Valerie and Chetan began to investigate the Hitchlordses’ treasures. Soon enough, Chetan found a box filled with leather pouches containing diamonds and other gems. “If someone broke in here, why would they leave all these valuables?” he asked. “What would have been of more value than these gems?”
“I have my suspicions,” Valerie said. “Do you remember when I told you that we never recovered the three missing sets of the Chronicles? I bet they were in here.”
“But Simon’s dead. Who else could have known about this place?”
“I’m more certain than ever that Simon and Andrea weren’t working alone,” Valerie answered gravely. “Someone else knew about this safe room.”
Chetan nodded, sharing her concern. After he opened another box, his concern deepened. “I think you’ll want to see this.” Valerie turned and saw that he had pulled some photos from an orange envelope. He handed her one and pointed to someone in it. “Isn’t that Logan’s mother, Cassandra? And I think this one is of Logan’s father.”
Valerie sighed. She went over to the stainless-steel table and laid the photographs on top of it. She turned one over and read the handwriting on the back: July 21, 2066, Freedom Day Rally, New Chicago. “This was taken just a few months before they were murdered,” she said softly. “After all those years, Simon managed to track them down.”
“I am not so sure he was the one who did the tracking,” Chetan said, as he read a note he had taken out of the orange envelope.
“What do you mean?”
Chetan set the note and the envelope down on the table beside the photos. He pointed to the upper left corner. “Look at the return address.”
1211 East Cicero, New Chicago, IL 60611, North American Federation. Valerie didn’t recognize it. She picked up the note and read it.
May 1, 2065
Mr. Simon Hitchlords,
It’s been a while since we’ve seen each other. You were just a boy the last time. I heard your father is at the pearly gates or as I
suspect, somewhere much warmer. But I’m sure you’re having a good old time spending your family’s money.
I’ve found some people you might have forgotten about. But I sure bet your father would want to see them again if he were alive. Have you got any interest in doing so in his place? If someone were to go missing who was already missing, what can be the harm in that?
Let me know. I’m sure a guy like you won’t have a problem getting in touch with me.
RJ
Valerie and Chetan looked at each other for a few moments before Valerie said what both of them were thinking. “We need to find out who RJ is.”
29
He who asks in belief is praying.
He who commands in knowingness is creating.
—THE CHRONICLES OF SATRAYA
TEOTIHUACÁN, MEXICO, 8:40 A.M. LOCAL TIME, MARCH 23, 2070
Logan carefully set the stone whistle that he and Mr. Perrot had pieced back together on a table in the pyramid-shaped room of the National Institute of Anthropology and History’s research center. Mr. Perrot closed the lid of the metal suitcase in which they’d transported the ancient artifact and placed it on the floor. The two of them had caught the first flight from New Chicago to Mexico City that morning. On the way, Logan had filled Mr. Perrot in on Valerie’s suspicion that the Tripod Group might be involved in the natural-gas disasters. Personally delivering the whistle to Mr. Montez would afford Logan the opportunity to question him about Tripod directly.
While they waited for Mr. Montez to arrive, Mr. Perrot walked over to the large white statue. “So is this the statue that you spoke about? It’s very impressive.”
Logan nodded, walking over. “Mr. Montez said that they found it in a chamber very close to the one Jordan and Jamie fell into during the earthquake.”
“He does resemble the priests depicted on the stone whistle.” Mr. Perrot pressed the backs of his hands against the palms of the statue’s hands. “The statue’s hands are a good twenty-five centimeters apart.”
Journey Through the Mirrors Page 20