by Darren Swart
“The legacy of the stones. He is the Stone Bearer. His ancestors recovered them during the Crusades. His family has sheltered them from wars and theft for generations.”
“So, what are they? What makes them so special?”
“That’s complex. We think they’re the key to something larger.”
Digger looked at him, calmly. “You mean you want to control Rachel?”
Franz’s heavy jowl dropped. He was speechless for a moment before he stammered out, “W-what did you say?”
Gillian intervened from the back seat. “Digger, Sweetie, that’s enough. Franz has had a long day. I don’t want to kill him right now. If he knows too much, I’ll have to. Okay?”
Gillian could see Franz’s neck muscles tighten, as his face blanched. They had rattled him. She smiled for the first time that day.
Digger looked back at her. “Sorry.”
“It’s okay. You pay attention to the road, okay?”
“Yeah, probably better that I do.” The statement was followed by another long silence.
Gillian considered what Franz had told them. Franz had never been a good liar. He knew it. She knew it. Gillian looked down at her left hand for a moment. McPherson had cut off half of her pinky finger under the pretense of trying to obtain information he knew she didn’t have. He had tortured her for the sport of it. At some point, she would have the opportunity to repay the debt. She forced the aspect of revenge from her mind. The only thing she could concentrate on now was rescuing Marty from the clutches of a mad man. She owed him that. A worrisome question nagged her. Why did they bother taking Marty at all? If the stones were all they needed, then, why is he still important to the duke? That made no sense. There was more to this than Franz was telling them. The strategy formed, as she spoke. “How would you like to keep your miserable life for a while longer, Franz?”
“I’m listening.” He sucked in his breath, as the blade nicked the nerve just under the skin.
“I don’t care about a bunch of stupid rocks. Do we understand each other?”
He stammered, “I-I believe so.”
“Right now, all I care about is getting Wood out of this mess. I owe him that.”
“I understand you must feel you owe this young man a debt for all the misfortune. It’s not your fault. You shouldn’t feel guilty. You couldn’t have known.”
Her free hand swung over the seat and clinched his neck in a vice-like grip. She pushed the blade in a little deeper and spoke in clipped tones. “Cut the crap. I don’t feel guilty. But I do feel responsible, so here’s what we’re going to do. We’re going in. We’re going to find Wood. We’re going to get him out. Are we clear?”
Franz struggled to breath. He managed to eke out, “C-crystal.”
Without a word, she released him and sat back, plotting how to handle McPherson.
****
He smiled, confidently. “When can we see it?”
The duke returned the smile. “You waste no time.”
Marty regarded him, steadily. “Time is not something I have the luxury of right now.”
The duke nodded, pleased at his perspective. “I couldn’t agree more. Let’s go, shall we?” With that, he stood. Servants scurried to move the chairs away from both of them. They chatted like old chums. As they left the great dining hall, an army of servants busily cleared the table and sideboards behind them.
****
Christian and Gunter stared at Anna’s body in the service hallway. Christian reached down gently, using a monogrammed linen handkerchief to cover her face. A tear fell to the white linen below, dotting it with a wet spot.
Gunter placed a hand on Christian’s shoulder. Quietly, he said, “I will inform Gretchen about her sister.”
Christian nodded. He cradled Anna in his arms for a moment before tenderly setting her down. She had always been so full of life. He didn’t understand why the duke had killed her. But then, he rarely understood why things happened the way they did in this strange, evil place.
Chapter 34
It was past noon when the Range Rover crossed the border into Switzerland. The SUV chimed the low fuel alarm. The silence only exacerbated the irritability everyone felt from hunger and tension. Gillian sat obstinately, unwilling to even allow them to slow down much less stop. It was Digger who finally convinced her that they had no choice. In curt snippets of conversation, they chose a practically empty café in the deserted streets of a tiny ski village. Andermatt was a tourist haven during the ski season. The only people remaining were locals enjoying the quiet of the off-season.
They found a quaint restaurant nestled comfortably in a traditional chalet. The brasserie wore old world charm like a favorite pair of shoes. The smell of wood cured with a century of tobacco smoke greeted them, as they walked into the dim light of the tavern. The sound of techno pop filtered from the kitchen in the back. A young woman arrived at the table right away. Her white blonde hair was woven in traditional braids, which stood in stark contrast to her Verve sweatshirt, which hung loosely on her body and faded blue jeans. With a courteous smile, she greeted them in broken English. Gillian and Digger stared at Franz, as he responded in flawless Swiss. The girl looked relieved. Franz rattled on as he made no pretense by ordering for the three of them. Gillian shifted in her seat, uncomfortably. She would have been happy with a power bar and a bottle of water. She wanted to get back on the road. Franz shifted in his seat in awkward silence; Digger looked at the open beams and thick wood furniture, wondering just how old it really was. Gillian watched Franz with the fixation of a hawk watching a rabbit.
After what seemed like an eternity, the food was presented with little fanfare. Even Gillian could not dismiss at how beautifully it was displayed, given the meagerness of the clientele. In typical Swiss-style, heaping plates steamed with unusual looking dishes. With artistic flair, each of them had large shallow bowls ringed with painted spring flowers and raised patterns along the edge. Despite her urgency to go on, Gillian found her stomach growling at the prospect of diving into the plate before her. She poked at it with her fork and looked at Franz. Non-commitally, she asked, “What exactly is this?”
Franz gave her a tired smile. “Wurstsalat. It’s a salad with field greens, sausage, cheese and roasted potatoes.”
Digger poked inquisitively his bowl. “And this?”
“Bircher muesli. It’s oats, cream, cinnamon and apples.”
Digger gingerly bit into it. After the first nibble, he was committed and dug in with enthusiasm.
After several bites from her dish, Gillian pointed to Franz’s bowl. “What are you eating?”
“Zurcher Eintopf. It’s pork shoulder, onions, potatoes and carrots.” She made a face at the thought of onions and continued eating.
The young woman placed a steaming pot of hot tea on the table. After seven hours of tense travel, the food was a welcome relief. Not a word was said, as they plowed through the food. As wonderful as the meal was, it could not squelch the pallor of silence that loomed over them.
Chapter 35
They walked leisurely through the hallways, chatting like old friends. Oddly, they shared several similar interests, which caught Marty off guard. Marty wasn’t sure what to expect in one who was clearly so powerful. He seemed charming for someone who had committed cold-blooded murder only minutes before. Marty was beginning to wonder if he was being too naïve. As they walked, he noticed little things at first. Paintings from the Renaissances period, marble sculptures, and crystal chandeliers were so tastefully integrated that they just belonged there. At every turn, he would notice something different. The duke began to notice his distraction. “So, you like my home?”
Marty nodded. “I’ve never seen anything like this. It’s amazing. How long has it taken you to collect all of this?”
The duke smiled. “My family acquired wealth well before the Napoleonic Wars and have continued to amass what you see through the centuries. We have been both strategic and fortunate, without a doubt
. It is unfortunate, but my son took it all for granted. He has squandered his life on drugs and women, and debased his birthright before his end.”
Marty looked at the duke for a moment. A man so driven by control could not contain his own child? There was a noticeable sadness to his voice. Sincerely, Marty said, “I’m sorry you’ve lost your son. Has it been very long since he passed?”
Without breaking stride, the duke responded, “It has been two weeks.” He smiled an aristocratic smile and said, “So I guess I shall have to live forever, or at least until I have produced another offspring suitable to take my place. That is, unless you would like to be my heir…” He looked at Marty, slyly.
Marty assumed he meant the statement in jest, but he wasn’t laughing. He blinked at the duke, giving the statement a moment to sink in. He thought fast. “Let’s discuss it over dinner, shall we?”
The duke laughed and stopped walking. They stood before a full-size, neoclassic portrait of a young man. His face rigid, the chin slightly aloof, his eyes looked to something in the distance. A large beautiful Burmese waited patiently at his feet. The duke reached toward the young man and depressed a wooden medallion in the paneling beside the portrait. “At dinner then.”
With a faint hiss of air, the painting disappeared into a wall pocket, leaving behind a thoroughly modern, brass elevator door. The duke placed his signet ring into a small depression in the door frame. The elevator chimed open. Marty studied the insignia in the depression. The All-Seeing Eye formed the inset, for which the signet ring fit perfectly. The duke gestured for Marty to enter the elevator car before him. He stood beside Marty, as he keyed in a nine-digit cipher on the keypad before him. The doors silently slid together in the middle and the car began to descend. This was the first elevator Marty had ever ridden where there were no indicators to reference how far they had traveled. There was no way of telling how far they had gone down. But, as they exited the car, there was the unmistakable feeling of coolness from the subterranean chamber around them. They stood before a glass chamber, with environmental suits neatly hung inside.
There was a soft hum in the room. Marty had to concentrate on what the duke was saying to hear him. “Sealed chamber… Nitrogen used to prevent oxidation… Ultraviolet light filters…”
He struggled to concentrate on what the duke was saying. Marty watched him don the environmental suit and followed his example. Fredrick reached across and helped him secure the various zippers and Velcro flaps, and attached air lines. Patiently he flipped on the electronics until Marty could suddenly hear him through the tiny speakers in the suit’s helmet. Even in the suit, the hum seemed to be getting louder. The steady sound now threatened to drown out all of what the duke was saying. Marty felt disoriented, as he moved forward. His feet felt as though there were suddenly weighted. He struggled to move, as he slogged at every step. Even at the short distance between them, it was becoming a chore to keep up with the duke. The duke seemed oblivious to his struggle. As they entered the Artifact Room, Marty had to stop walking for a moment. His vision began to tunnel. He struggled against it, but had no choice but to take a deep breath and close his eyes for a just moment. For a moment, he wondered if the duke were somehow drugging him through the suit. Suddenly, it all cleared. As quickly as it had started, it stopped. The fatigue, the hum and the disorientation all stopped. It was quiet. Relieved, he opened his eyes only to find he was no longer in the chamber with the duke. He faced a familiar wooden door. He smiled and shook his head, as he turned the knob and walked in. The library was almost a place of comfort now. The door swung quietly shut behind him. He looked around, expecting to see Peter, but he wasn’t there. From a distance, she came skipping playfully toward him, a precocious eight-year old with blonde curls and Cherub like cheeks. As she skipped, she hummed a little tune to herself. It wasn’t a tune he recognized. She made her way down the long narrow room. Her hair bounced as she skipped and her smile was infectious. Without thinking, he found himself returning it. She skipped to him and wrapped her tiny little arms around his waist.
“Uncle Marty, it’s so good to see you. It’s been so long!”
Oddly, he knew he didn’t have a niece, but the warmth of her hug made him want to believe. She backed up a short distance and took him by both hands. With a deeply dimpled smile, she chimed, “I just knew you’d come.”
He found himself smiling without thinking. “I’ve really been looking forward to meeting you, Rachel.”
She tugged at his hands, pulling him toward a royal velvet settee where they sat side-by-side. He studied her deep azure eyes for a moment. “Why are you afraid of him? You know he can’t harm you.”
It was her turn to study his eyes. She looked past the shell of his body into his very soul. She was greeted by an ancient spirit; one that had been tempered by many lives before. Confidently, she confided in him. “I have seen his savage hunger for power. He is a frightening mixture of arrogance and hollowness. He has no perception of empathy or remorse. He is like the child who would pull the wings from a butterfly just to see what would happen. He will experiment with my power just to see where it would lead him—without any consideration of aftermath of the world around him.”
Marty pressed on. “True, I have seen that side of him, but don’t you have any control over what happens with your power?”
Her eyes changed from blue to a deep olive green. “Sadly, I am only an instrument. As with a lock and key, once he has opened the portal, I have little control over what I am commanded to do. With the correctly spoken phrase or intonation, he could order me to do unspeakable things. But his commands must be clear and in the language of the ancients. I cannot be used against another entity such as myself. I cannot be used to change the fabric of time or space.” Her small impish face turned deeply serious. She placed her hand on his. He could feel the warmth of the tiny hand. “I can be used to destroy matter and open existing portals.”
“But he already seems to control this world. What more is there for him to do here?”
“It is not this world that he seeks to dominate. He seeks other worlds to conquer. And he will not stop at that.”
Marty shrugged. “Any ant can have dreams, but at the end of the day, he’s still an ant. I don’t understand how he can travel to another world and dominate an alien culture?”
She gently patted his hand and shook her head making her blonde curls sway. “The same way he did here…lies, deceit and misinformation.”
Marty tried to conceive of how it was possible. “But aren’t you too powerful for a single man to control? He can’t simply command you to do his will, can he?”
She tried to simplify her response, so he could understand. “Think about a magnifying lens in the sunlight. If you focus the lens in the sunlight into a single concentrated point of light, think of the effect it has on your tiny ant. Now, think of me as the lens, and the Supreme Father as the sunlight. The duke only needs to adjust me to do whatever purpose he needs of me. I cannot use my power for myself. Any human with the will and knowledge can control me to whatever means suits him.”
“Wouldn’t God stop him, though? I mean, he could intervene or something, right?”
“He could, but I doubt He would. It’s the whole issue of free will. He won’t interfere unless the duke threatens the whole system. If it reaches that point, He would extinguish this universe like a matchstick to prevent Fredrick from infecting the others.”
“You make it sound like He would just wink and we’d be gone.”
She nodded, without smiling. “Something like that.”
“So you’re saying the fate of the universe lies in my hands?”
“Not just you. You have friends. Together, you form a powerful Trinity. Frederick cannot hurt me, but he can destroy everything around me. If he destroys the people of this planet, I no longer have purpose.”
Marty gave her a sour look. “Please tell me this is more than self-serving on your part?”
Her little face wa
s deeply innocent. “I am tied to you all. The loss would be immeasurable.”
He studied her eyes, trying to understand. They changed from green to an almost black violet. “I don’t understand what you mean?”
She placed a tiny hand on his cheek. “And you cannot, at least, not at this point. Some day, you may.”
“So, now what do we do?”
“I need you to trust me. This will not be easy.”
She placed both tiny hands on his temples. He could see the mountain top where they would go; flashes of images of things that would come disturbed him. She removed her hands. “Can you do this?”
As he looked down, he sighed, not daring to let her see the tears in his eyes. Quietly, he nodded. He breathed deeply to steady himself and looked back into her eyes. She stood up on the settee and gently kissed him on the cheek. “Know that I will be with you. I know this scares you, but it is the only way.”
He nodded.
She hopped down off the settee and took his hands in hers. “It is time to go.”
Quietly, he nodded, and stood.
She smiled up at him, still holding his hands. “Please believe in me. I will protect you. Your path leads to Jebel Madhbah. Close your eyes.”
Again, he closed his eyes, as she continued to speak. He opened his eyes to the hiss of a demand valve, as it supplied air to his suit. The duke was slightly ahead of him in the vault. The chamber was bathed in amber light. Marty didn’t know if he was ever going to get used to this. They moved carefully into the lit chamber. Even in the subdued light, he could see the details on the Cherubs, as they approached. It was smaller than he imagined. Columns supported each corner, and each column was magnificently carved. Each looked similar, but he could see intentional subtle differences. The sides were dimpled and beaten flat by ancient hammers; an intricate relief of a tree with hanging spheres in the center. The edge along the bottom was worn and ragged in places. Thin strips of gold were missing, revealing the dark ancient wood underneath.