by Darren Swart
The Reverend had held the stone for Barb for twenty years. In many ways, he was glad to be rid of it. But then, there was a side of him that would miss it. All those who touched it were left with a mark so indelible, it could never be stricken from them. He was no different. Transfixed, Marty stared at the box. He seemed oblivious to everything around him, save the little wooden box. The Reverend felt Marty’s mind adjusting to the presence of the stone like a series of locks being opened. The stone sang in siren’s harmony in a language forgotten long ago. In time, it would tell the story of why he was here.
In the meantime, he would not notice anything around him. It would give him a chance to work with Gillian. As she looked on at Marty, the old man focused on her thoughts. He could see that her mind was fractured by years of the unspeakable horror of killing again and again. It was not his place to be her judge, but it was his duty to be her healer. He could feel Gillian’s rising apprehension with him. Instinctively, she was afraid, and yet she needed help so badly. If he did not help her, she would be lost within herself. The old man looked deep within her and saw the struggle. He witnessed the dueling personalities; the conflicts of her past, the uncertainty of her present, and her lack of perception of the future. It was her survival instinct that kept her cold and hard, and focused on the mission. But she was detached, devoid of any true feelings. It kept her emotional intelligence from growing. She desperately wanted to change, but could not seem to break free.
Even at this early stage of their relationship, Thomason could see that she had deep feelings for Martin which she repressed. They were the same feelings she suppressed every time she was attracted to a young man. The preacher could see the demons, as they snapped and snarled every time her heart tried to step forth. Healing her was going to be a challenge. Quietly, he studied her. It was her father who continued to push her at every turn. She was his puppet and he wasn’t even living. He sensed no birthday cakes or Christmas trees in her past. She had no close friends and had been robbed of any kind of a normal childhood. At her core, he could see the little girl begging to come out, longing to be released. As he turned the pages of her psyche, he could see the emotional numbness. She was trapped within herself. It troubled him to see in her in such pain. At every turn, her father’s formidable will blocked her from changing.
The Reverend could see a path of self-destruction within her. It led to a senseless death to honor a man long dead and forgotten. Joseph knew if she was to face what lay ahead, she would have to be something more than a robot waiting for its next order. This was going to be painful for her, but it was necessary. He saw no other way. The old man chose his next words carefully. In a voice practiced in years of delivering a message from the pulpit, he drew her in. He pulled her attention away from Marty and the box for a moment. “Gillian?”
Mesmerized, she blinked. Her eyes were round and wide, like a child’s.
“I know we hardly know each other, but I need to share something with you.”
She seemed distracted, and she nodded distantly.
“I know you and Martin have only been together for a short while now and it is a lot to ask, but you both face some very difficult times ahead. Martin needs you at his side. Is this something you are ready for?”
She nodded like a five year old.
“Make no mistake. This will be more difficult for you than anything you have ever done.”
She turned her gaze to Marty for a moment, reassuring herself that it was worth it. He is worth it. She turned back to the preacher and nodded. The old man reached slowly across the desk with outstretched hands. He held his large, soft hands open to her, and smiled at her kindly. “Place your hands in mine, Child.”
She forced herself to let go, against a sudden crash of alarm bells within her. Strangely, she almost felt compelled, as though she was under a spell. Timidly, she moved her hands toward his. As their palms met, he clamped his fingers closed on her hands. She could not move. A sudden surge of energy came from the old man’s fingers into her. It was as though a bolt of lightning coursed through her. A floodgate of emotions welled forth like a dam collapsing. She struggled against the maelstrom of memories, as they wrangled out of the darkness of her subconscious and into the light. Her eyes widened, as fear, awe and anger welled forth, followed by angst, remorse, wonder and love. Emotions flowed through her in a torrent. It staggered her for a moment. She could feel the old man reaching into her mind, probing. She tried to push him away, but he pushed past her like she were a child. She couldn’t hide from him. She felt violated. She gritted her teeth in anger, as tears forced out of the corners of her eyes. She would kill him to stop him. Strangely, he was unafraid of her. Her eyes burned, as she focused on the old man’s face. His face transformed before her to the face of her father she struggled against. It was only then that she began to see the walls within her. It was only then that she understood her true fear. It was then that she realized that even though her father was long since dead, she still feared losing his respect. It was upon this revelation that the walls began to crack. Calmness ebbed forth like the trickle before the levies break. In the stillness of the morning calm, a peace she never knew existed began to grow and flow through her. It was far different from anything she would have expected.
Thomason watched, as the calm washed over her like a baptism. He smiled. For the first time in her life, she was free. He ever so gently released her hands and leaned back in his chair, exhausted. He sat quietly, radiating his glow outward. Her hands dropped limply back into her lap. She sat back and continued to relax across from him.
She sat for a moment, groggy and disoriented, like she had awakened from a long terrible dream. For the first time in her life, she saw a future for herself. A single tear formed in the corner of her eye, followed by another. She sat confused, trying to understand where the flood of tears was coming from. Thomason pushed a box of tissues toward her. She dabbed her eyes. She could not remember ever crying. She choked, as she managed a small laugh. “You know, this job was a lot easier when people were just shooting at me.”
His voice was calm. “Gillian, I know that was hard for you. It takes most people years to arrive at what you have come to realize in just a few moments. You’re a brave young woman. I admire and respect you.”
She stared at him in disbelief for a moment. This was the first time anyone had ever given her an affirmation. The feeling was overwhelming.
“You face a dangerous time ahead, but you are both strong. You must trust and rely on each other’s strengths. Martin will need your trust to do what he is destined to do. Your fates are intertwined. Never underestimate the power you give to each other.”
She blinked at him. She hardly knew this man. How could anyone know this? The Reverend smiled and stood. The spell seemed to break. She smiled at him, weakly. “Thank you” was all she could manage.
He smiled at her as a parent smiles at a child. Marty’s gaze was frozen on the box. He still hadn’t reacted to them.
The Reverend broke the moment by speaking loudly enough for Rose to hear, “Well kids, I need to finish changing the sign out front. I’ll give you some time alone. Let me know if there’s anything you need.”
He placed a hand on Marty’s shoulder, as he came around the desk. Marty stirred for the first time since the box was presented. “Let me know if you need to talk, Son.”
Marty blinked, distantly “Uh, yeah, okay. Thanks.”
The preacher left, closing the heavy wooden door firmly behind him. Gillian sat dazed for a moment. She looked at Marty. “I’m not sure what just happened here? It was as though he was looking straight through me. Do you think we can trust this guy?”
It was like he was seeing her for the first time. She absolutely glowed with radiance. “I don’t see why we wouldn’t trust him. Barb trusted him enough to hold the box. He waited twenty years for me to come for it, and then hands it over and leaves. I don’t understand how you could demonstrate more trustworthiness, if you tried?
”
Gillian nodded. He was right. She tried to sort out feelings of insecurity. It wasn’t something she was used to. She shrugged off the feeling and changed the subject. “Well? Are you going to open it?” She looked at Marty like an expectant six year old on Christmas morning.
He grinned. “A bit impatient are we?”
She rolled her eyes, but said nothing. He eased the box toward himself and lifted the cover. The wood was old and dark with age. The unhinged lid lifted off easily, revealing the carefully folded amber silk within. He set the lid aside, laying it carefully on the desk beside the box. He removed the small piece of silk, uncovering the contents of the box. A multi-faceted blue stone the size of his thumb lay nestled in amber velvet. Both stared at the gem and then at each other. He gingerly reached in for the stone, almost afraid he would break it. At the slightest touch of his finger on the jewel, a jolt of energy shot through his arm and paralyzed him. He sat with his finger frozen to the stone, like a block of ice. He sat paralyzed, incapable of speaking or moving. He didn’t know what to do.
As he touched the gem, Gillian watched him twitch. She reached toward him and found that her hand could not touch him. Every time she reached toward him, her hand was repelled by some unseen force. She moved her hand up and down his arm, and found his body was encased in an energy field. She relentlessly pushed at the field, but to no avail. There was no reaching him and he was only a foot away. She fought to control the panic, convincing herself that this was supposed to happen. She sat back and waited for the force field to subside.
Marty blinked, while his eyes adjusted to his surroundings. He was no longer in the Pastor’s study. He stood in a long hallway. The thick, rich carpet was soft under his bare feet. He couldn’t remember how he got here. He certainly couldn’t remember taking his shoes off. The hall seemed to stretch without end. Small butler’s tables with Tiffany lamps and flower arrangements against the wooden walls with deep rich carpet gave it a warm, calm feel. He looked in both directions. It seemed endless. Solid heavy paneled doors dotted the corridor much like a hotel hall. He stood for a moment, not quite sure what to do. “Gillian?”
His voice fell into the silence.
“Anyone here?”
There was no response.
He opened the door closest to him. It led him into a cave. The sandy soil beneath his feet was cool. The air was thick, with musty smelling smoke. As he strained his eyes against the meager light, he could see a young man ahead digging furiously with a shovel. “Hello?”
The young man took no notice of him. He continued to dig like a man possessed. He threw down the handle and began to dig with his hands. He stopped suddenly and reached forward. Marty could just make out the blue stone in his hand, a stone very much like the one Marty had just touched only moments ago. A sudden flash of light presented a figure before them. The figure of a man seemed to take no more notice of Marty than the young man digging. He listened, as they spoke in a foreign tongue. It made no sense to him. Something about the figure made Marty pause. He backed toward the door he had come in and shut it, leaving him back in the hall.
He wandered farther down the hall. He opened the next doorway into the gray stone walls of a forgotten castle. A large surly man carefully carved on a small wooden box before him. He brushed his unruly red hair to the side, as it fell into his eyes. The box looked identical to the one the stone was in.
“Excuse me?”
The man took no notice of him, but continued to work. Marty watched for a while, and stepped into the hall once again. For what seemed like an eternity, he wandered from one door to the next. Each room was a different period and place. The only consistency was the stone. It was like walking through a living diorama of the stone’s history. Finally, he reached a door he could not open. Try as he may, the door remained shut. He sat for a moment, wondering what he should do before moving on. The next door opened easily.
As he entered, he encountered a thin man dressed in white suit who sat comfortably in a large leather chair, reading. His skin was so pale it that was almost translucent. His fingers were long and delicate, as he flicked through the book.
The library was enormous. Books on shelves reached as far up as Marty could see. Marty didn’t know such a place existed. He stood patiently and waited for another scene to unfold before him. None did. Much to his surprise, after a moment, the silver-haired man looked up at him. “Hello, Martin, I’ve been expecting you.”
Marty blinked in surprise. Civilly, he responded, “I’m sorry. I didn’t expect for you to see… I mean, look, I mean…”
The silver-haired man smiled. “You mean, speak?”
His hand swept to a chair before him, motioning Marty to sit.
He eased back in the comfortable, leather wingback. “Well, yeah. That sums it up nicely.”
“My apologies for what must seem like a winding journey to this point. I have no way of controlling what the Sappire will show you or how. My purpose is to help you to understand the responsibility of protecting your legacy.”
“I’m sorry. Who are the Sappire and what is this legacy?”
The man in white chuckled. “The Sappire are not so much of a whom as a what. They are the Sapphires bequeathed to you by your family. But they are more than simple baubles. The stones were commissioned by the creator and given to the twelve tribes at Mount Sinai. You are bound to the Sappire like your ancestors. You hold within you the morphic memory of every ancestor who has faithfully guarded the stone before you. Your family has protected it from prying eyes, thieves and warfare for centuries. The doors you passed through before me were your ancestors and their contributions to the Sappires’ secrecy.”
“There was one door I could not open. Why?”
“It was not the proper time for you to open it.”
“Will I ever be able to open it?”
The tall man gestured Marty to sit across from him. “Perhaps someday you will, but not this day. Instead, let us discuss the jewels for a moment.”
“Did you say jewels, as in plural?”
“Yes. There are twenty-four in all. Half are Sappires, half are their lodestones. There is another jewel you must seek that is the mate to the one you now possess. They form a lock and key, of sorts.”
Marty looked confused. “A key to what?”
The thin man smiled. “All in good time.”
Marty felt lost. “How will I know how to find this other stone?”
“The Sappire will guide you.”
Marty contemplated this for a moment. “So this stone will lead me to another stone?”
“Correct.”
“So, when I find the next stone, what do I do?”
“That is difficult to say. There is purpose in all the stones reveal. I will help you along the way as much as possible, but there are aspects even I do not know to the stones.”
None of this made sense. Marty tried another angle. “So, where do I begin to look?”
“Your trail leads to France. You must follow your instincts there.”
Marty sat back, somewhat exasperated. “I don’t get any other instruction other than go to France?”
He smiled, patiently. “You must realize that what you face is not just the quest of a single gem. There is so much more at stake. What you are about to embark upon is more about the journey than the destination.”
Marty frowned. He wasn’t big on word games and scavenger hunts.
The stranger’s hair seemed to glow now, as he spoke. “Look around you.”
Marty looked up. There was row after row of books, for as far as he could see. “All I see are books.”
“And what do books represent?”
“Knowledge, I guess?”
“It is important for you to realize that all this accumulated information cannot help you on your path.”
He looked at his companion, skeptically. “Well, there must be something here?”
The man stood and walked across the room to him. He touched h
is forehead. Marty could feel the warmth of the touch, but could not see the small glowing spot left behind on his forehead.
“There are parts of your life that must be experienced to be understood. Books can only be written in retrospect. You are forging ahead on a new path. With that, comes a certain uniqueness to be entrusted to those demonstrate the character necessary to handle the power of the Ark.”
Marty felt like he was taking a test that he hadn’t studied for. “I’m sorry, but I don’t understand.”
The thin man smiled. “You will.”
Marty blinked. Everything he had ever learned had come from a book, or so it seemed. The thin man continued. “Your perception of the world has changed. Accept it. This is how the Sappir’s will guide you. Accept it and move on.”
Marty appeared a little troubled. The stranger placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Be not afraid. You will become accustomed to your new talents.”
Without as much as a warning, the room began to glow with a piercing white light consuming everything around them. Marty squinted against the bright light, only to see it wink away as quickly as it had started. As he opened his eyes, he found Gillian staring at him. Gillian repeated her question. “Marty, can you hear me?”
Marty blinked at her and looked around the room. “Of course. Why are you shouting?”