Beneath the Hallowed Hill

by Theresa Crater

  He smiled, indolent from their lovemaking.

  “Some Pleiadean lady arranged it that way after an afternoon spent much like this one, no doubt,” Megan said, raising an eyebrow.

  “There has never been an afternoon like this one in all history.” He leaned over to kiss her. His braids jingled just as they did at home, but here his skin glowed red.

  Megan wasn’t trained to jealousy. Men lived with their mother’s clan, staying with their lovers only when they both wished it, much like in this place. In fact, Megan felt right at home in this extended family compound. After their afternoon together, she thought Govannan’s previous experience was only to her benefit.

  “Please, come with us.” One of the young women opened the double doors and tilted her head. The second followed behind them as they walked arm in arm. They passed into the garden again, then into the main hall where the dining room was set for a feast. Children ran shrieking, mothers yelled at them to behave, helpers fussed with tablecloths and vases of breathtaking flowers. Cooks brought in platters of bean cakes, bowls of vegetables, pitchers of juice and wine.

  “I see your cousins have made you festive,” the matron called to them when they approached the main table.

  “Cousins?” Megan turned to the attendants. “You didn’t say.”

  “We are all family here,” one said.

  The matron nodded, her wheat-gold hair falling in curls down her back. “Tomorrow, we take you to the Grand Matriarch, but tonight I want to hear of my Earth family.”

  Megan sat with the matron of the house, who introduced her to the elder women of the family, and she spent the meal answering questions, straining to remember obscure great-aunts and sort which grandmother was the child these women remembered from just the other day, a century or two ago on Atlantis. The cousins took Govannan to another table where he lounged sampling strange fruit and talking with everyone. His native grace reasserted itself in his Pleiadean body, and Megan watched his long hands peel the rind of some red, globed fruit. She kept glancing over at him to reassure herself their afternoon was another of her dreams. The pleasant throb in her center reassured her it was all real. They had a long Pleiadean night before them, so Megan relaxed and told the family news.

  “This season of darkness is a part of Earth,” one of the elders reassured her. “The Grand Matriarch will help you. Now, how goes the Lady of Avalon?”

  Megan told them of her time there—what she learned, how she went into the Tor, what she saw there. She told them of the old Morgen. Well into her tale, she looked up and realized all the children had been taken off to bed and the eldest of her listeners snoozed. “I’m sorry. I’ve talked too long.”

  “Quite to the contrary. We enjoyed our evening immensely,” the matron said, but she stood up and looked around. The same two young women appeared. “Take our guests to their suite. We’ll leave mid-morning for court, so please help them prepare.”

  The two curtsied and led Megan and Govannan back to their rooms, although they could have found them easily on their own. Once they were alone behind their doors, Megan pushed against him.

  “More?” Govannan chuckled deep in his throat.

  “Yes, please.” She pushed her hands beneath his tunic, finding hard muscle. He swept her up again and walked into the bedroom. She delighted in his strength. Halfway to the room, she slid down. “Govannan, you’re not limping anymore.”

  Govannan took a few steps. “It’s true. It’s healed.” He looked at her appraisingly. She pulled off the flowing pants they gave him and pushed him onto the bed, where they made love until they fell asleep, sated.

  * * * *

  The reception at the high court of the Pleiadean Grand Matriarch was as ornate and baroque as the Sirian ambassador’s was simple and natural. Megan’s two cousins dressed them in such elaborate robes that she could hardly bend over. Govannan looked primly official, but unruffled. They were both instructed to wear their crystals, which somehow fit in with all the finery.

  When they arrived, the two women stayed with them, suggesting where to step and what words to repeat, until finally it dawned on Megan that this was a ritual. As she approached the throne with Govannan coming from the opposite direction, she realized the room was laid out as a labyrinth, with the white-haired, surprisingly petite Matriarch in the very center. The woman stood ramrod straight before a gold throne encrusted with jewels. She carried a crystal rod that seemed to pulse with each movement of the gathered host. Megan arrived at her feet and looked up into startling violet eyes. A thin diadem graced the Matriarch’s head, sparkling with tiny diamonds. She held up her wand; it was topped with a stone that seemed to be made of pure light.

  It came into Megan’s mind that she should hold up her crystal. Govannan did the same, holding up his gift from the Sirians. They touched the points together. The chant of those gathered in the hall crescendoed, and the Matriarch chanted in an ancient tongue that sounded like the very language of the stars themselves. She brought her wand down to touch the two crystals. A stream of energy entered the stones and flowed down into the bodies of the holders, so high and pure that Megan blanked out for a few seconds. She came back to herself to find her cousin discreetly supporting her, but Govannan stared into the Grand Matriarch’s eyes, his whole countenance etched in light, a beatific look on his face. She would ask him later.

  Again, the knowledge that it was time to go came into everyone’s mind at once. The Matriarch turned and smiled at Megan. “I shall come with you.” They walked through the room and down a long hallway, and entered a temple set up much like the one at home, but this crystal dwarfed the one on Atlantis. Still elevated from the ceremony, Megan flowed with the ritual, listening to the chant that opened the crystal, but the Grand Matriarch took her forward alone. “The Morgen requests your immediate presence. We will send you back to her directly.” Megan barely had time to turn and wave to Govannan before she was in the crystal.

  “I will see you soon, my love,” he said in her mind.

  “Bless you, child,” the Matriarch intoned.

  I’m a woman now, surely, Megan thought as her dusty red skin turned to silver blue light and she whooshed up the channel toward home.

  Chapter Twenty

  The Chishty family wanted to make all the arrangements in India for Michael and Franz, much to Arnold’s irritation. “I couldn’t very well tell them that the Illuminati wants to steal an Atlantean sentinel crystal from them,” Michael said.

  “I thought that was the purpose of this trip.” Arnold made a sharp turn and pulled onto the main road.

  “It’s not something you just blurt out on the phone,” Michael argued.

  Arnold insisted on renting their own car and told Franz this was not negotiable. Michael hoped the family wasn’t offended.

  Chandigarh was the only city planned by French architect Le Corbusier that was actually built. The city’s edict laid out the ideas behind the plan, with admonitions for future generations to keep industry and traffic away from the parks and residential areas, not to replace landscaping haphazardly and even declaring no personal statues could be erected. The name Chandigarh came from Chandi, the supreme Mother Goddess. Michael was depending on her help, but they were driving out of the city. The Chishty’s home turned out to be in the trendy Mohali Hills, a three thousand acre township with brand new villas and town homes a few miles north of the city. A guard at the gate checked with the family before letting them in.

  Once inside, Franz turned to Michael. “Our order had a relationship with the elder Chishty. He was a well-respected Sufi writer with a keen interest in the Vedas and Buddhism…in fact, all the world religions. His son inherited and moved the family here.”

  Michael pointed at a golf cart driving across a green. “I’ll hazard a guess the son is not interested in Sufi philosophy.”

  “Most likely, but
you can never tell,” Franz said.

  The female voice of the GPS admonished them to turn right. Every time Arnold missed a turn, the prerecorded voice would announce, “Recalculating,” sounding like an elementary school teacher scolding a rowdy class.

  “Maybe he’ll want to get rid of his father’s collection,” Michael suggested.

  Franz hesitated. “Our order’s funds are—”

  “I’m sure Grandmother Elizabeth would cooperate,” Michael assured him, hoping he wasn’t speaking out of turn. If so, he’d use the money Robert left him.

  The GPS announced that they had arrived, and Arnold pulled into the drive of a house that looked like it belonged in Spain. The door opened and a man walked out, his stiff back and starched white uniform suggesting that he was an employee. He opened the door for the two men in the back, assuming Arnold was a servant like himself. He gave the two a slight bow and directed Arnold to park next to the garage. “Wait for me here,” Arnold mouthed to Michael, but the servant led them inside.

  The reigning Chishty received them in a large entertainment room replete with an enormous flat-screen TV and attendant silver boxes for DVDs and MP3 players. The hardwood floors gleamed, unrelieved by carpets. Basir Chishty himself stood with his arms wide, a wide smile on his face. “Illustrious friends of my father, my home belongs to you.” He kissed them on both cheeks. His cell phone rang and he glanced at it, frowning. He turned back to his guests. “Refreshments. What can I offer you? Mineral water? Wine? Cola? Fresh juice? We have the best oranges. Have you developed a mania for chai like all Westerners?”

  Michael introduced Arnold when he arrived, and Basir went through the same ritual. They agreed on mineral water. Basir sent his man for it as they settled in a seating area next to a wall of windows that looked out on a newly planted garden.

  “You’ve just moved, I take it?” Franz asked. “It must have been quite a job sorting through all the family belongings.”

  “Oh, my sister’s family has stayed in the city. She’s sentimental, so I left it all to her. Everything here is new.” He sat in his new house like an old maharaja.

  “I knew your father when I was a young student,” Franz said. “I enjoyed a long evening discussing the fine points of Sufism with him on several occasions.”

  Basir nodded politely, clearly uninterested. Franz asked about the circumstances of his father’s passing and Basir told him it was peaceful. Evidently counting on the man’s worldly manner, Franz cut to the chase. “We have come about an artifact your father owned. A large crystal, as tall as a man. Are you familiar with it?”

  Basir’s eyes narrowed speculatively. “May I ask your interest in it?”

  Franz glanced at Michael, who sat forward. “My grandmother is fond of such items. We thought we’d see if the family would be interested in parting with it, given the new circumstances.”

  “You’ve come all this way for this?”

  “We were in northern India on business. We wanted to pay our respects, naturally.”

  The man studied him for a moment, his head tilted. “Indulge me with the story of this crystal.”

  Michael called up his museum persona. “This particular stone belongs to a set. We’re not sure how many there were originally, but I know of three. They are supposed to hail from Atlantis.” He smiled indulgently. “My grandmother is fond of such romantic stories. She has come into possession of two of them and would like to collect the entire set, if that would be possible. Would you be interested in selling the stone?”

  “Perhaps I should put it to auction.” Basir laughed.

  Michael tried to stifle his reaction, but Franz stiffened. Basir glanced between them. “Don’t tell me another collector shares my grandmother’s taste?” Michael asked.

  “A man claims his employer has two others as well.” Basir’s hard eyes undercut his smile. “Perhaps I should put you two in touch.”

  Arnold stood up. “We need to go now.”

  Basir frowned at this rudeness.

  “I’m sorry, sir,” Arnold said, “but you’ve put your sister at grave risk.”

  “What could you possibly mean by—” Basir’s cell phone rang again. He looked at it, annoyed by the interruption, but his expression changed to incredulity. He looked at Arnold. “It’s the police.” He answered the phone, speaking Hindi. His expression grew more disturbed with each word. He threw the phone down and ran across the room, shouting for his servant. He gave the man orders and turned to his guests. “My sister is in hospital. I must go at once. You’ll have to excuse me.”

  “What happened?” Franz asked.

  “Someone broke into the house, in the middle of the day. She was shot.”

  “Is there anything we can do?”

  Basir turned sharply. “You have brought trouble to my house.”

  Franz started to reply, but Arnold took his arm and headed toward the door. “This is what we came to prevent. I’m sorry we were too late.”

  Arnold drove while Michael tried to punch the Chishty’s address in the city into the GPS system. “Are we sure they had such a large crystal in their home?” he asked Franz, who hung on in the back seat.

  “The last I knew, the elder Chishty had a temple of sorts in the back of his house. That’s where the sentinel was last located, according to our records.”

  “If I didn’t go off on a wild goose chase, maybe we could have saved this woman’s life,” Michael said.

  “Basir said she was taken to hospital,” Franz answered. “She’s not dead.”

  They reached the city quickly and Arnold turned onto the residential streets, cursing at the slow traffic. He took a sudden, tire-squealing turn down an alleyway.

  “Recalculating,” came the voice of the GPS.

  “Turn that damn thing off,” Arnold snapped. “I know where we’re going.” He drove another block through the alley and stopped in a spray of gravel. He ran past two houses and stopped at the back of a large home. Michael and Franz followed more slowly. Arnold listened for a minute then scaled the six-foot fence.

  Franz blinked. “Where did you get this guy?”

  Michael burst out laughing and clapped a hand over his mouth.

  “Doesn’t he know the police are here?”

  Before Michael could answer, the gate swung open and Arnold stuck his head out. “Come on. What are you waiting for?” The two followed him around a jacaranda bush to the back door. Arnold tried the knob, but it didn’t budge. He pulled out a tool and unlocked it.

  “Why don’t we just go to the front door?” Franz whispered.

  “The police will ask too many questions,” Arnold breathed to him. “Wait here.”

  They hid behind a large freezer on the back porch. The minutes crept by until Arnold reappeared. “They’re upstairs, probably checking the jewelry,” he whispered, then gestured for them to follow him. He glided down a hallway, frowning at Michael when his shoe squeaked, then pushed a door open by increments. Brilliantly colored tapestries depicting a variety of deities came into view. Low tables were overturned, the floor scattered with small statues, incense burners, Shiva lingams, and other stones. A large black statue of Chandi lay on her side, one of her many arms broken off, the tray of fruit and rice before her trampled. A serene Buddha surveyed the mess.

  “Look at this,” Michael whispered. Franz joined him at an empty metal base with a raised edge around it. One side was bent down. “Do you think this was the pedestal for the sentinel crystal?”

  “Could be.” Franz said. “Looks like they may have gotten it.”

  Arnold slipped away from the door. “The police are coming down,” he said in an undertone. They backtracked through the house, sneaking out the back door just in time. “I’ll find out what the family reports missing,” Arnold said once they were in the car.

  * *
* *

  A few days later, Cagliostro stood on the deck of his yacht putting on his diving equipment as if it was a ceremonial robe. He hung Paul Marchant’s crystal key around his neck as an afterthought. He doubted it would be important now that he had the three sentinels, but why not bring it? Yesterday, he supervised the team of divers bringing down the three crystals, forcing them all to move at a snail’s pace, mindful of every detail of the operation. They set up the stones to his exact specifications, which he triple-checked.

  He still had a dull headache from being underwater so long, but he wasn’t willing to wait another day. This time he was going down alone. No Miriam. No assistants at all, except Mueller up top scanning for intruders. He sent Miriam after the Roerich fragment. A wild goose chase, that. He didn’t need it because it was just something to keep the Le Clairs confused. With a nod to Mueller, he secured his extra tanks and lowered himself over the side of the boat. He followed the line from the day before down to the bottom where his underwater temple awaited him.

  He set the sentinels in a triangle around the large Fire Stone, still lying on its side in the sand. The expert from Black Ops said it would take a crane to lift it. It could be done, but Cagliostro decided against it. It wasn’t because of the expense; he couldn’t risk damaging the stone. Based on his last attempt, the crystal was working, although not perfectly. Maybe the distortion from the angle kicked him out. He couldn’t be sure there actually was another being present. The whole experience was a blur. The three sentinels should help stabilize the field.

  Moving carefully and methodically, Cagliostro positioned his body at the mid point of the triangle, about halfway up the body of the Tuaoi Stone. Still tethered to the line, he closed his eyes and began. First he reinforced the directions and sealed his circle. At home in his laboratory, he was able to activate the sentinels by thought alone. He hoped the new environment would not change that. He began an inner chant. Sensing a shift after just a few minutes, he opened his eyes. All three crystals glowed with light.