“At least we’ve made progress.” Anne took a bite of one of the pasties.
“A door is still ajar,” Garth said. “Let’s take a look at that book of Cynthia’s, see if we can figure out what the Morgen meant.”
“It’s in the study on the floor under the reading lamp,” Anne said as Michael got up. She turned to Garth. “Did you get any sleep?”
He tried to cover an enormous yawn with his equally large hand. “There will be plenty of time for that.”
Michael came back into the kitchen, a frown on his face. “Where did you say it was?”
“Right next to the chair, on the floor.”
“Well, it’s not there now.”
“What?” Anne stood up. Her chair scraped across the floor. “Of course it is. That’s where I always read it.”
“Show me.”
They walked to the front room together. Anne plopped into the chair and reached down for the manuscript, but found only the grey and purple pattern of the Persian rug. “Where is it?”
Garth stood with his hands on either side of the doorframe. “Think now.”
Anne stood and looked around the room, then beside the desk and all around the floor. She lifted up a stack of newspapers and looked under them, then shuffled through them. Michael opened the drawers of the desk and riffled through their contents.
“What does it look like?” Garth asked.
“Just a big stack of regular paper.” Anne pushed down a rush of panic. “You both search the house. Look everywhere. I’ll see if I can find the file in her computer.” She went to the desk, already knowing what she would find…or wouldn’t find. The dark wood grain of the desk stared up at her, but there was no computer on it.
They turned the house upside down, even the basement, but found nothing. Cynthia’s manuscript was missing.
Once they reconvened in the front study, Anne turned on Michael. “I told you to be careful of that housekeeper.”
Michael held up his hands. “We don’t know who took it.”
“Well, who else could have? She has the key. Why are you defending her?”
Michael’s brow furrowed. He looked to Garth for help, but the man stood leaning in the doorframe watching Anne through narrowed eyes.
“What?” she asked.
“I’ve known Tessa a very long time. I’ve always found her to be trustworthy.”
“Not you, too.” Anne flopped down in the armchair.
“Why do you think it was her?” Garth asked.
“She has a key. Besides, I’ve never trusted her, not since the first time I laid eyes on her.”
“Perhaps it’s because of some past life experience,” Garth said.
“Oh, for God’s sake. Both of you—” Anne sputtered to a stop.
Garth held up a placating hand. “Your intuition is something to attend to. I have a way to investigate her.”
“Good.”
“However, we should consider other options.” Garth looked at Michael. “You say Cagliostro is in the country?”
“Yes,” Michael said. “At his country house.”
“I won’t ask how you know that.” Garth’s mouth crooked in a smile.
Anne softened a bit. “Our family’s security man has remarkable abilities.”
“Cagliostro could have sent someone for it,” Garth suggested.
“He could have sent Tessa for it,” Anne mumbled.
“Or someone we don’t know about,” Garth said in an even voice. “It could be another person here in Glastonbury, someone who knew Cynthia…even a stranger, someone who felt what was happening and slipped into the house. It’s not your Fort Knox, after all.”
Anne nodded, conceding his point.
Michael looked at his watch. “I’m going to miss my flight unless I leave now.” He turned to Garth. “Do you think it’s worth pursuing the whereabouts of the other Atlantean crystals?”
“Absolutely. We’ve seen what these two little crystals can do.”
Michael studied Anne as if she were a temperamental cat.
“I have an idea,” Garth said. “We can do some trance work while you’re in Germany. See if Anne can reconnect to Megan.”
“But—” Anne reached her hand out to Michael then let it drop on the arm of the chair. “Oh, go. Just go.”
“Anne,” Michael knelt at her feet. “Sweetheart.” He took her face in his hands. “You know I have to do my duty.”
She nodded, a tear falling down her cheek. “I’m sorry. I can’t seem to stop acting like a baby.”
“It’s the ceremony. Your nerves are raw, emotions all at the surface,” Garth said. He turned to Michael. “Come back as soon as you know anything.”
“I will.” Michael stood. “I’ll go get my bag.”
“No, old chap, I’ll fetch it for you.” Garth climbed the stairs, the squeaky one at the top protesting his bulk.
Michael sat next to Anne and pulled her into his lap. “One day we’ll have finished with the Illuminati. We’ll have put the world back as it should be. We’ll lie in the sun, we’ll have babies.” She laughed against his chest. “We’ll grow old together in peace.” More tears fell and Michael kissed them from her cheeks.
“What’s wrong with me?”
“It’s what Garth said. You go so deep.”
Garth returned carrying Michael’s suitcase.
“I’ll call you from the airport,” Michael said.
“Actually, it would be best if we worked right away. We can use her emotional state to our benefit.”
Anne looked at Michael. “I’ll call you, then.”
“I’ll take your case out to the car,” Garth said.
They kissed goodbye and Anne watched him leave, her hot forehead pressed to the cool glass of the front door.
* * * *
“Be aware of the directions.” Garth’s strong voice surrounded her like warm water. “East, south, west, and north.” They decided to do the working in the study where Anne usually read the book. “What is above you, what is below.” Already she was slipping into an altered state, but he helped her relax deeply. They started with her feet in the earth and worked their way up to her head in the stars, then he built a visualization of the crossroads where all the worlds meet.
She saw a beautiful city, golden in the sunlight, with domes of crystal and spires of colored glass reaching into the blue sky. People in colorful tunics walked the streets. The markets did a brisk business; they were full of vegetables, fruits and fish, bolts of brilliant cloth, pottery decorated with spirals and diamonds.
“Direct your awareness to those whose actions affect us still, whose work we must complete.”
A compact, muscular man appeared in her inner vision, his hair braided and decorated with seashells. He walked across green grass toward a silver vehicle with a bubble top.
“Megan,” Anne thought. “Show me Megan.”
The scene flickered. The craft was aloft, and below her lay the city nestled against the blue ocean.
“Megan,” she repeated, but something stirred deep in her consciousness.
“Hush, child,” came a voice.
* * * *
Govannan guided his personal craft down to the landing field near the headquarters of Gaia’s Guild, even though his ultimate destination was the research facility of the New Knowledge Guild. He decided to surprise them with an impromptu visit. His quarterly appointment with Gaia’s Guild, the group that kept them all fed and clothed, served as perfect camouflage. A young apprentice greeted him from a long desk at the front of the building and directed him to the top floor. He climbed the stairs, hoping that continued exercise would help heal his newly acquired limp. The persistent lameness puzzled Pleione. She kept insisting he come for more treatment
s, but he simply didn’t have the time. He felt well enough and the leg gave him no pain, it just didn’t work like it did before the accident. He arrived on the seventh floor winded and still limping.
He spent a pleasant hour talking with Oria, the head of Gaia’s Guild, a woman as round as the Earth Mother herself. They sipped a delicious tea from Asia blended with rose petals from Oria’s personal garden, while she listed the guild’s crystal technology needs. As head of the Matrix Chamber, Govannan often assisted the larger Crystal Guild in simple business matters when the chamber did not demand his attention. It kept him grounded and in touch with those who ruled Atlantis. Once Oria finished her list, he asked for another cup of tea and pointed toward the rectangular building across from her facility. “How are your new neighbors?”
She glanced after his finger. “Nice enough, really.” She paused. “It’s unfortunate they didn’t follow our geometrical recommendations for their building. We find it’s best to blend with the land, but that box over there…” She was hesitant to continue.
Govannan nodded. “As one sensitive to energy flows, I must say it seems stagnant.”
Oria relaxed. “Thank you for that comment. It’s exactly my experience. The building seems to cut off the natural circulation of energy.”
“May I ask, what is your impression of their research proposal?”
Again, the gentle woman looked uneasy. She picked up the teapot and realized it was empty. She sighed. “Our work depends on the cycles of day and night, heat and cool. One of our elders speaks of an old legend about human cycles. Cycles of…” She plucked the exact words like a woman transplanting a delicate orchid. “…growth and harvest, and dormancy before the next cycle.”
Govannan sat forward. “Do you think this explains the new illnesses?”
“Oh, I’m sure that is a matter for Pleione,” Oria demurred. “However, to delve into the energetic makeup, our very blueprint…” She shuddered, but left the rest unsaid.
Ever the diplomat, Govannan thought. “You’ve heard nothing specific?” he asked.
Oria shook her head. “I try not to listen to gossip.”
“Of course.” He paused, but it seemed she really meant what she said. “I will see to your needs, Guild Mistress.”
She rose and bowed slightly. “We are indebted to your guild, as always.”
“We to yours.” He matched her bow. “May I meditate privately in your gardens before taking my leave?”
Oria gave a little pleased chuckle. “I can send an apprentice…”
“Oh, no. Thank you. I need the peace of Gaia and do not wish to interrupt anyone’s duties.”
Oria inclined her head. “Our guild is your guild,” came the ritual saying.
Govannan took the stairs down to the ground floor and walked down a hallway that separated a long line of greenhouses from kitchen-like prep rooms. He ducked into one filled with bins of small grape plants and found a back door into a vineyard. He followed a long trellis that hugged the side of the hill and made his way up the rows until he arrived at a rather nasty-looking metal fence. On the other side squatted the red brick square of a building.
Govannan walked the fence looking for an entrance. He briefly wondered at himself, so recently turned to attuning people’s energy fields without their knowledge. Now here he was slipping into a facility, unannounced and in secret. He checked his inner compass, the sense that told him whether his actions were in harmony with the greater cosmos.
“Continue,” his deeper mind whispered. He came to a part of the fence that was frayed and made short work of enlarging the small hole that some animal began. He promptly crawled through.
Now the challenge was to find a way in. The brick outer wall extended for several stades in a monotonous and oppressive sameness. He consulted his inner compass again and saw in his mind two workers standing outside an open door, talking. Govannan pulled off his guild robe, folded it into a tight square, and stuffed it into the overalls he pulled on that morning for just this purpose. He felt for the location of the workers; he walked to the edge of the building, then turned left and continued down the ominous sameness of the brick wall. After another stade, he spotted a man and woman dressed in the same sort of outfit he now wore about to go back inside. He raised his hand and hurried toward them. Showing little curiosity, they held the door for him then turned and walked into what looked like a warehouse.
Govannan found a small nook between two locked doors. He leaned against the wall and stretched his finely tuned senses to explore the facility. The cacophony of energy flows repulsed him. He composed himself, tuned his senses to a higher frequency, and tried again. A high whine, almost a scream, tore through him. He winced and pulled back. He’d have to explore the place physically.
Hoping his intuition would lead him to what he needed to see, Govannan began to walk down the first hall. He realized all halls looked alike. How would he find his way out? He noticed numbers…not glyphs that communicated a concept, but numbers. In sequence. He was in hallway 8, junction 22. The number eight suggested a complete cycle, the balance of four seasons and their mid points; twenty-two, the master builder, brought the archetype into reality. Surely this was the location of the guild’s research into gene manipulation.
Govannan put his hand to a door, but again could not bear to extend his senses. He tried the door and it opened. Stepping inside, he found a storeroom of supplies. Behind another door he found stacks of metal cages of all sizes, and behind another vats of liquids sealed by metal lids. They gave off an odd odor that he could not identify.
Puzzled, he walked to another junction and went to his right. He passed two more turns without taking them and took the third left at random. Section 11, junction 21. Not trusting these numbers held any meaning, he tried another door. It was locked. Down two more halls, he opened another door. The pungent smell of urine and straw made him cough. He stepped in and closed the door, forcing himself to take shallow breaths. Darkness permeated more deeply than the smell. He heard a rustling sound. He pulled out a small crystal tabby and held it up, asking for light. After a long moment—much longer than it should have taken—the crystal gave off a tepid glow.
A sharp movement caught his attention. Shapes lay in the straw inside a series of wire cages. Govannan stepped closer, trying to pierce the shadows, but he couldn’t make out what he was looking at. A whine came from the creature on the floor, something between a plea for mercy and a moan of fear. He called for more light, and his crystal reluctantly brightened. On the floor, its dull eyes looking anxiously up at the human presence, lay a tapir whose stomach was carved open and then clamped back around tubes running a sluggish green liquid. The animal’s limbs, bloated and useless, moved in a grotesque semblance of flight, like it was caught in a nightmare.
Govannan took an involuntary step forward and the animal whined in panic, thrashing about and dislodging one tube that seeped green onto the straw. He stretched his hands out to the creature and it screamed in terror. Govannan took his crystal and sent a hard stream of energy toward the tapir, stopping its heart and its agony. He retched into the straw.
There was more. He couldn’t look, but he must. In the next cage sat a small monkey, its hands bound. Wires protruded from a metal cap where the top of its head should be. In another cage, a large mountain lion lay motionless, its eyes focused inward in pain. Halfway down its back, the tan fur suddenly gave way to long, coarse hair; what should be soft, padded paws were now the close-toed pads of a wolf. Govannan’s stomach turned itself inside out again. He could not clear the smell from his nostrils or the anguish of these tortured creatures from his heart.
He looked down the row of cages. His courage failed. He did not have the strength to bring peace to them all. He must escape and report to Evenor; the Governor’s Guild would help him. They would bring justice, end this suffering, and return the land of Atlan
tis to sanity.
Govannan fled, his mind dark, his heart torn and bleeding. Instinct led him down the passageways toward sunlight and fresh air. He found a door to the outside and pushed through it, thinking himself unnoticed.
* * * *
Anne followed Garth’s voice back from Atlantis, through the streets of the city and back to the strong magnetic pull of the Tor. She opened her eyes and found herself in the chair in Cynthia’s study where she began. She groped for Garth’s hand. “Oh my God.”
“What?”
“Horrible experiments…animals, half one thing and half another.”
“Oh, my dear. I am so sorry.” Garth reached into his pocket and brought out a small brown apothecary bottle. He tapped it against his hand and took out the dropper. “Open up.”
Anne obeyed. The alcohol from the tincture made her cough, but the brew of flowers and herbs spread reassuring warmth through her. “How long?”
“It should work immediately.”
“No, how long was I gone?”
“About twenty minutes.”
“That can’t be.”
Garth just watched her. “Time runs differently here in Glastonbury, and of course, in such a deep trance.”
Anne rubbed at her eyes and looked around the room. The grandfather clock ticked mechanically in the hall.
“Tell me everything you saw,” he said.
She did, revealing all about Govannan and his grisly discovery. “I saw no Megan. I tried. I kept thinking about her, but it was like I was trapped with him. Something told me to stop struggling.”
“I am very sorry you had to witness such atrocities. Keep the tincture and take it at two hour intervals until tomorrow at this time.”
Anne put the bottle on the table beside her. “Govannan seemed determined to stop it, though. It was like being behind his eyes. I could feel his reactions.” She folded her arms around herself. “He’s a good man.”
Garth studied her, sitting in his customary long silence. Just when she was about to ask what he was thinking, he spoke. “We must accept the visions we receive. Somehow this is important to our work.”
Beneath the Hallowed Hill Page 21