Beneath the Hallowed Hill

by Theresa Crater

  Michael straightened out his jacket and walked up the marble steps, moving from the familiar comfort of his group’s headquarters into the elegance of the Le Clair family’s club. An enormous chandelier dominated the front entrance. He approached the concierge who stepped out from behind the desk. “This way, sir.”

  Michael followed down carpeted hallways, passing portraits of famous members and tall potted palms and orange trees marking out quiet nooks, to an elevator that swooshed silently upward. They emerged into another long hallway and walked halfway down to a set of double doors. The concierge knocked and the door opened from within. Arnold’s large frame blocked the entrance.

  An unexpected wave of relief washed through Michael. “It’s good to see you.”

  The head of the Le Clair family security waved Michael inside a surprisingly modern suite. The sleek wooden floors gleamed beneath Turkish rugs, but it was the expanse of windows overlooking the city that caught his eye. Ice clinked in a glass, and Michael turn to find a chrome bar in one corner. Doctor Abernathy held out a glass of some burnt amber liquid. “I expect you need some fortification.”

  Michael accepted the drink and looked around for a seat.

  “Over here.” Doctor Abernathy indicated a table near the windows. “Hungry?”

  Michael shrugged. He didn’t eat the night before and only nibbled on the plane. He should be hungry, but only felt empty and cold.

  “Soup?”

  “I guess I should eat something.”

  “I’m sorry for your loss, son.”

  Michael sank into the chair and loosened his tie. “I was just in Glastonbury,” he said almost at random.

  “How did you find things?”

  “I hardly had time to see the house, but everything seemed fine. We were at the Well when I got the news.”

  “What do you know so far?”

  Michael told him what Jacob shared with the group. He took a sip of what turned out to be cognac. It burned its way down his throat and spread a fine fire through his torso.

  “We’ve done a bit of poking around ourselves,” Doctor Abernathy said.

  “The group is grateful for any help.”

  “Nonsense. You’re family now.”

  Another knock interrupted them. Arnold opened the door, and a white clad waiter brought a tray to the table and lifted the cover from the dish as if he were unveiling a masterpiece. The smell of French onion soup wafted up and Michael’s stomach answered with a gurgle. “That was fast. Thank you.”

  Doctor Abernathy waited until Arnold had shown the man out. “We cross-referenced the New York and New Jersey DMV with the names we know and found a black Mercedes owned by one James Smith. His fingerprints match Karl Mueller’s. He’s working for Cagliostro now. We suspect we’ve found our killer.”

  “Whereas the police never will.” Arnold turned a chair around and sat straddling it.

  “You found him so easily,” Michael said.

  “Only because I have access to certain files,” Arnold answered.

  Michael had seen enough of the man’s methods not to doubt him. He mopped the last of the soup up with a scrap of roll, then pushed the tray away.

  “What did they steal?” Arnold asked.

  “Crystals. Robert did some psychic research for us on a collection that was willed to the order by a member from the Bay Area. He was on his way to our headquarters to return them.”

  “You’re certain they were with him?” Arnold asked.

  “Yes. He thought they were programmed in Atlantis, that one of them was a sentinel for the Tuaoi Stone.”

  Doctor Abernathy let out a low whistle. “Do you concur?”

  “Robert is—” Michael lowered his head. “—was the best psychic I’ve ever known. I trust his judgment. He wrote a report, but we didn’t have time to discuss his findings.”

  “Have you read it?” Doctor Abernathy asked.

  Michael shook his head.

  Arnold leaned forward. “Can you access it?”

  “I don’t want to rush the family.”

  Doctor Abernathy looked at Arnold, who nodded. “A private collector in Austria reported some items missing yesterday. One was a large crystal thought to be an important Atlantean artifact.”

  Michael hit the table in frustration. “Damn.”

  “What is this Tuaoi Stone?” Arnold asked.

  “Metaphysical tradition holds the whole of Atlantis ran off the energy of an enormous crystal, several stories tall,” Michael explained. “Cayce saw it in a temple with a retractable roof. It provided the power for ships, houses…the whole shebang. I’ll bet there was more than one, though.”

  Doctor Abernathy nodded. “If Cagliostro is gathering Atlantean crystals, perhaps he’s located some important artifact, or even found the Tuaoi Stone.”

  “That crystal would be very large,” Michael said. “I doubt any museum or private collector has it; I’d know about it. It must still be buried at the bottom of the Atlantic.”

  Arnold leaned his chair forward. “Let’s stick to the facts. We know he’s stealing crystals. Are there others he’s likely to target?”

  Michael closed his eyes and tried to visualize the names of museums and private collectors holding such artifacts. “The organization keeps a list. My own files are in storage.”

  “Where?”

  “At Grandmother Elizabeth’s.” He boxed up his apartment rather quickly after Anne was ready to travel. The files would be difficult to get to now. Robert had a duplicate, even harder to reach.

  Arnold got up, flipped open his cell phone, and pushed a button. After a few seconds, he said, “I need the plane.” His voice grew muffled as he walked back into the living room.

  “We’re going somewhere?” Michael tried to mask his dismay.

  Doctor Abernathy chuckled. “No. Arnold is following up a lead about the whereabouts of Cagliostro. You have a funeral to attend and—”

  “Some research to do,” Michael finished for him. He started to stand up.

  Doctor Abernathy held up a hand. “First, you need to sleep.”

  Michael sank back into the chair. “I gave up my apartment before we left for England.”

  “We have room here.”

  Chapter Five

  Anne woke before the dawn, when the celestial tides stir the Earth awake. The birds had begun tentative chirpings just outside the window, and by the time she finished her morning shower, they were in full song. She rummaged through her suitcase and found some clothes. Downstairs, she threw on Cynthia’s cloak and began the climb up the Tor. Her calves started to burn halfway up, but she soon reached the top. She sat against the stone tower and turned her face to the glowing horizon. Today, there was no voice from the long past, no vision of a standing stone; the present was enough. The grey mists gradually gave way to the soft greens of spring as the sun peeked over the edge of the world.

  A lamb ambled over and sniffed around her, then took a tentative nip at her cloak. Laughing, she pushed the youngster away. It scampered over to its waiting mother and nudged its nose under her belly to nurse, its black tail swishing back and forth. Anne leaned her head back, enjoying the warmth of the sun on her face. After a few minutes, a shadow blocked the light. She opened her eyes to a thick bank of grey clouds blowing in from the ocean. A cold drizzle started up. Pulling up the hood on the cloak, she headed for the house. She hoped to visit Chalice Well today and walk over to Wearyall, to explore the sites Michael had mentioned, but not in this rain. She’d wait for sun…or at least until she acclimated to the English weather.

  After a quick breakfast of toast and tea, Anne found herself drawn to the front office. She opened a few drawers, but felt no inclination to get down to work. She lit a fire and took out the manuscript. As soon as she settled in the well-worn arm
chair, she heard a scratch at the back door. She jumped up and hurried to open it, but the porch was empty. She looked around the back yard and up the slope of the Tor. Two lambs chased each other, but she saw no red and white hound. Now she was imagining things. She walked back, settled into the armchair again and opened the manuscript.

  * * * *

  After the Emergence Ceremony, the new citizens of Atlantis went back to their families to share what the oracle told them. The Council threw a party at the palace that night in their honor. It usually ushered in the dawn. The tension the initiates all felt before the ceremony melted into a spring rush of enthusiasm. Steady Erythe, whose expectations to work in agriculture were confirmed, danced into the night, flitting from partner to partner like a mayfly. Megan resembled her shy friend more than herself, slipping away into the shadows to savor the intricate fruit punch and consider her future. She heard stories about the Crystal Matrix Chamber, of course, but the exact nature of the responsibilities it required was a mystery to her.

  Pleione and Diaprepes sat at a table near the doors that now stood open to the balcony. Snippets of their conversation with friends drifted to Megan’s ears: “The Crystal Matrix Chamber? Such an honor.” “The training is demanding. Do you think you’ll see much of her?” “What a surprise. When was the last apprentice chosen for that temple?” “It’s been years. The Guild Mistress was concerned.”

  Megan wandered into the gardens of the palace where the members of the High House—the house of her father’s mother—lived and worked. They coordinated the functioning of all Atlantis, from the operation of the temples to the growth of crops and trade. All the guilds reported to them. Eden was the capital, the major city on the central island, and every ten years the leaders of the other islands met here. Megan belonged to her mother’s family, the famous healers from the north, not her father’s, who ruled over all Atlantis. Now she also belonged to the Crystal Guild.

  She turned from the laughter and music, and walked up the slope of the sacred hill toward the Temple of Poseidon and Cleito. The gate in the golden wall that surrounded the temple opened with a swing. Inside, the silver walls glinted in the moonlight. The statue of Poseidon grazed the ceiling of the ivory roof inlaid with gold, silver and orichalc, the famed Atlantean metal. Six winged horses drew his golden chariot and one hundred Nereid surrounded him riding dolphins. They in turn were circled by the five sets of twins who were the original founders of the land, her father’s almost mythical ancestors.

  A muffled cough echoed from behind one of the statues. Megan stepped into the shadow of the dolphins and peeked around. A man and woman, heads bent together, talked quietly. Something about the man caused Megan’s breath to catch. He was of medium height, but as solid as a draft horse; his shoulders and chest filled his robe. The muscles of his forearms stood out like ropes. He threw back his head and laughed, setting the small shells and beads braided into his smoky black hair dancing. She imagined his hair grazing her cheek, his arms reaching out. Megan shook her head and tried to place him, but the memory hovered at the edges of her mind, elusive as the ocean’s horizon on a misty day. Their voices grew more distinct and the scrap of a sandal sounded close by. She slipped out before they could discover her.

  She walked home instead of returning to the party. The sky was still dark. In her room, she slipped into bed and lay listening to the ocean breeze play in the palms, trying to quiet the flame that voice ignited in her. The memory of this man refused to come, and yet he was so familiar. She thought about the ceremony. Was it really just this morning? Never, while lying here dreaming of her future, had she imagined working with the giant crystals, although she always had a facility with the stones. Small tabbies lay scattered about her room. She reached out and cradled one in her palm. When the sky grew pale in the east, she finally fell asleep.

  Late the next morning, Megan took her time gathering her clothes, her garnet earrings, her favorite shells, and a few brightly colored pillows from the large stack on her bed. She would see what else she needed after she moved into her new quarters; it wasn’t like she was leaving home forever.

  Downstairs, her aunt pressed a huge mug of orange and passion fruit juice into her hand. “For your head,” she said, winking, but Megan left the party before drinking enough wine to need this much juice. She thanked her aunt, took a few sips, and slipped the mug beneath the low bench in the garden. The grand matriarch, the eldest grandmother of her clan, sat nearby. The rest of the family gathered round, their bronze and creamy faces smiling. The grand matriarch cleared her throat and the adults hushed. Children still ran through the garden, the smallest screeching in delight at being chased. A sharp look from her grandmother sent the child’s mother running to quiet her.

  “Today you leave our home to go study with the Guild Masters of the Crystal Matrix Chamber. You may not know this, but you had an ancestor who helped to set the Great Stones. Now we have the honor of sending another member of our family to serve there.” Her umber face reflected the sun like a small moon. “Study hard and play well, Megan, but remember we are still here for you. This place will always be your home.”

  Sudden tears filled Megan’s eyes. She was overwhelmed with a confusion of sorrow, exhilaration, fear, and one emotion she still could not name. She felt warmth in her belly when she remembered the laugh she heard in the musky dark last night. Like a child, she flung herself into her great mother’s arms. The matriarch pushed her hair from her face and kissed her forehead in blessing. The tears passed like quicksilver. Now full of the upcoming adventure, she surged to her feet and spread her arms, trying to hug everyone at once. She was sent off by congenial laughter, fond tussling of her hair, and little pieces of advice: “Study hard, but have some fun.” “Don’t be afraid to ask questions.” “Your second cousin is near that temple.” “Come back to see us soon.” The children ran around laughing, not understanding the fuss but enjoying it nonetheless.

  They walked her out to the lawn to her father’s conveyance. Apparently, he stayed the night. Her uncles finished loading her trunk and her father opened the back door for her. “Ready?” Megan nodded and got in. He closed the bubble top and started the vehicle. A few stray tears wet her cheeks as she watched the waving crowd grow smaller.

  Diaprepes headed straight for the ocean and dove beneath the waves, treating Megan to a jaunt among the fish and waving kelp. He let the craft rest quietly for a few minutes so the schools of fish could reform. From a distance came the song of a whale. Megan twisted to see if she could spot the giant, but saw only the blue water lit by the filtered sun. Diaprepes watched her for a while, then said, “Wonders await you, my dear.” He winked and turned to her mother. “Hungry?” Pleione nodded vigorously, and they shot up out of the water and headed toward the shore.

  Her parents flew to a pleasant restaurant in one of the merchant districts, talking easily and speculating about her eventual role in the guild after training. Megan only half listened, giving herself over to the moment. Hummingbirds shot through the patio, their ruby throats and emerald green bodies glinting amongst the scarlet fuchsia. People called to each other on the street below, laughing, lounging in the doorways of their shops. Eden seemed reluctant to stop celebrating.

  The time came to drop Megan off at her home for the foreseeable future. She pushed her nose to the window when they drew close. The complex was laid out in careful proportions; the Grand Hall a golden mean rectangle, the Crystal Matrix Chamber itself in the center of a tightening spiral of standing stones, like a flower at the end of a curved stem.

  Diaprepes sat his silver craft down on the landing pad away from the headquarters of the Crystal Guild and turned to Megan. “This is it, my little dolphin. Do you want us to come with you to the house or drop you off here?”

  Megan glanced around. “Where am I going, exactly?”

  Pleione pointed past the complex to a villa tucked into the hillside.


  “I’ll walk,” she said. “What about the trunk?”

  “Someone will pick it up.” Diaprepes spread his arms and Megan hugged him goodbye, then her mother. She shouldered her bag and, with a quick wave, turned and walked across the landing pad where she took a path that meandered past the large golden buildings. She resisted the urge to look back; that was always bad luck in stories. She climbed the hill, passing garden nooks brimming with color and coming to a splashing fountain. The water drew her and she sat on a stone for a few minutes, letting the sound soothe her. A breeze played with a set of wind chimes for a moment. She walked on. The gardens gave way to an open field that then turned into a stand of almond trees filled with buds. Above the orchard stood the villa, tucked into the hill. Megan scrambled up three steps to the porch and knocked on the door of her new home.

  The house matron, a crone with pillow breasts and grey hair, eight hundred years old if she was a day, led Megan to her room. She introduced herself as Thuya, an Egyptian name. “Here’s the dining room,” she announced as they passed a room set with two long tables. “This is a classroom.” Megan caught a glimpse of a long row of pillows and all shades of quartz set at intervals against the wall. They turned down a corridor. “One of the kitchen gardens.” Green vines climbed a white string lattice. They made one more turn. “Your apartment is the last one on the left.” Thuya opened the door and stood aside. “Welcome, Megan. It’s been a long time since we had a new apprentice. I’m glad I have a novice to look after again.” She smiled, her brown eyes warm. This woman was wide where Megan’s mother was narrow, short where Pleione was tall, but Megan relaxed, comforted by her presence. She shouldered her bag with a word of thanks and closed the door of her new home.

  She was assigned a suite. The first room was a small sitting area with a desk on one side. The sleek chrome and glass console holding her communication screen contrasted with the homey furnishings of her sitting area, a low couch upholstered in a loose teal fabric with a small pine table in front. She went to the desk and ran her finger over the top of the screen, thinking about the stories of how communication used to be telepathic in the not too distant past, how children grew into full consciousness much earlier than now.