White Mountain Rising (Veil Knights Book 7)

by Rowan Casey

  “And with that, I need sleep,” Daniel said, rising.

  Hannah thanked Marissa, took the brochure, and followed him quietly into the other room. Sure enough, an adult woman and teens younger than they were had been resting on the cots closest to the window. They selected two furthest away to create the illusion of privacy, and then took turns in the bathroom getting ready for sleep.

  As she settled inside the sleeping bag, Hannah reviewed the day’s events and now felt confident that Charlene was in her past. The horn and the Veil were in her future.

  Rather than pleasant aromas waking her up, it was the sound of young voices arguing. Hannah blinked herself awake and saw the kids weren’t in the room but in the hall, close to her, fighting over a television show. The mother rushed out of the kitchen, clutching a mug of coffee for dear life, and shushed them.

  “Too late, I’m up,” she said and scrambled out of the sleeping bag. It was past seven and there wasn’t going to be a lot of time to waste if they wanted to get to the Worship house in Manhattan. Daniel was already up, she noted, so she walked into the kitchen where Gerard beamed at her.

  She was not a morning person.

  “Welcome back, Hannah,” he said by way of greeting. He was already cracking eggs into the iron pan, which had just been emptied of scrambled eggs for the mother. “Did you sleep well?”

  “Well enough, thanks,” she said and slumped into a chair beside Daniel, who was clutching a glass of orange juice. “You?”

  Daniel nodded and drained his glass. He was already washed and dressed in somewhat fresher clothes. Whatever bruises he got the day before were red and purple blotches on his face and neck. He seemed fine to her.

  The mother and the teens had thankfully kept to themselves but she overheard enough to understand they were dealing with a domestic problem that sounded pretty hideous.

  She ate, drank, and quickly washed herself, thankfully in a position to change her underwear so she felt fresher. Laundry was eventually going to become an issue but not today, thankfully. Before the clock struck eight, they were ready for their city adventure.

  As they headed for the subway stop, Hannah asked, “Where do you think their funding comes from? These places can’t be cheap.”

  Daniel shrugged. “Maybe donations during services or they have corporate sponsors. Or, if they’re really evil, maybe have some way to conjure money.”

  “Wouldn’t that be sweet? We’re almost broke, aren’t we?”

  “Pretty much. After today I doubt we have enough to eat tomorrow let alone do anything else.”

  “Then we need to find the horn today, don’t we?” She grinned at him, giving him her most winning smile even though she knew they had no real plan and therefore no real hope of actually accomplishing that goal. So far, everything had been improvised but she doubted that would work against an army of Gatekeepers under the Moderator’s command. They were outnumbered, the cult had the intelligence, and the Horn, and so this was not going to be an easy day. As a result, she congratulated herself on eating the eggs and pocketing some fruit for later.

  They didn’t speak much on the subway, which was just as well for Hannah, who was weary. She ached all over and was convinced she pulled a muscle somewhere along the way. Her knuckles stung from being rubbed raw and she’d really rather go to the movies than try and track down the horn.

  They transferred trains twice and soon enough were hitting the streets of Manhattan. Tourists and early risers were already filling the sidewalks and the sun was warming the morning air. It was quiet, and she liked that. Daniel checked his phone and pocketed it, ignoring whatever he saw. Earlier, when she had checked hers, there were calls and texts from people still looking for her. She ignored them all and powered it off. Maybe she was getting paranoid like Daniel, but she knew from television shows that cell signals could be traced. She didn’t want to be found.

  The White Mountain facility was large, gleaming of white and chrome on the exterior, its logo beckoning all to come closer. Soft instrumental music, not jazz thankfully, but still not to her taste, could be heard by the front doors and blazered men, looking more like security than ushers, flanked the double-doors. Daniel shuddered as they neared. They walked past it, taking in the sight before slowing.

  “What did you see?” she asked him.

  Daniel hesitated then said, “Something green, like ivy, vines wrapping their arms and legs.”

  “What does it mean?”

  “I have no clue. It’s not like the visions come with a manual,” he said with an edge in his voice. They were tired and worn out and he was definitely not himself. “But, if they have security out front, it’s for a reason.”

  “The horn might be in there?”

  “Only one way to find out.”

  “Swell.”

  “We should go in, act like first timers…”

  “…Which we are…”

  “…and sit through the service. Let me look at the Moderator. Maybe we can find a clue to the Horn.”

  “Yeah, you and your clues. They’ve worked out so far. I’m ready.” With that, Hannah strode back to the door and nodded her thanks as one of the ushers opened the glass door for her. He said nothing, so neither did she as she felt Daniel arrive behind her.

  The church, which was perhaps the best designation to apply, was contemporary in its décor with polished wood, more chrome, and things at odd angles. Clearly, someone had designed this carefully to appear modern and welcoming. The doorway to the left, into the sanctuary, was modeled to look like they were entering the White Mountain itself as the towering silhouette filling the entire wall. To their right were several rooms, including a coat room, offices, and the Welcome Center. Straight ahead was a single corridor that was flanked with wood doors, all closed and presumably locked. The Horn could be behind any of them or not even in the building. The lack of security in that spot was odd, but then again, no one would anticipate a robbery during services.

  Daniel was moving more slowly, taking everything in, no doubt using his sight to check on dangers or booby-traps. He was scanning up and down, swiveling his head in a very methodical manner. She decided to let him be and wandered into the Welcome Center which had a bank of interactive touchscreens against one wall, another wall was filled with pamphlets and booklets. A giant cut out of the Moderator, resplendent in his suit, held his arms open in a positive gesture. Some early visitors were taking their pictures with the image.

  Hannah swiped at the screen and it offered her a menu of choices from history to locations to philosophies to a membership application. The entire thing was attractively designed and while not to her liking, it was not at all threatening or sinister. She had to keep reminding herself that this was the Church whose worshippers attacked her just the day before. A hot knot of anger ignited in her belly.

  “We should get seats,” Daniel said from behind her. The center seemed not to interest him so she shouldered her backpack more comfortably and followed him to the Sanctuary. Inside, it was already one-third full with more than half-an-hour to go before the service was to begin. Ushers of all races lined the sides, assisting the infirm, or passing out programs. A choir of some sort was taking position above them and to the right. She noted they had electric instruments – guitar, bass, organ – which she was not used to. When relatives took her to church it was with a robed choir of about fifteen and a piano or organ. She didn’t go often enough to recognize the songs or learn the choruses. It was all a huge blur to her. But she believed in God and his only son, Jesus Christ; believed in the sacraments and the chance for redemption and an afterlife of some sort. She rarely talked about it and certainly the last few days tested her beliefs. Things only felt better after Daniel pointed out the connection between the Knights and the Church.

  They took comfortable, padded seats in the rear third of the sanctuary, hogging the aisle spots. Officiants of some sort, in white blazers and dark blue shirts, took to the raised altar. There was no podium, no
evidence of a Bible up there or in the pews. Hannah wasn’t sure what they were in for but she also knew they weren’t there for the message as much as to figure out why the Moderator would want the Horn. It was an ancient relic, Grimm told them, and that just didn’t fit in with this New Age-type faith.

  Daniel leaned down and whispered, “Have you counted the number of cameras?”

  She shook her head then began studying the walls and corners. One, two, five, seven…there were over a dozen cameras clearly visible. Some were to broadcast the event online but others were no doubt for internal security; the question became how many was for which task?

  “They were in the Welcome Center, too. The place is filled with security, cameras, and lots of locked doors. It’s more fortress than church,” he said.

  “So, you think it’s here?”

  “I do,” he confirmed. “We just have to figure out where and how to retrieve it. And why?”

  “Does why matter?”

  “It does as a measure of how hard they will try and get it back once we grab it,” he said with a firm conviction in his hushed tones.

  The choir and band started a song she didn’t recognize, with an upbeat tempo and plenty of handclapping. As the pews filled quickly now, parishioners started singing along, some referring to laminated lyric sheets that were scattered about. They clearly knew the lyrics or clapped along with the beat. It was fast-paced, with positive lyrics about unity and peace and togetherness. It brought smiles to the faces surrounding them and there was no hint of artifice. They really were into it.

  Two songs later, the place was packed, and one of the women on the altar stood in the center. She must have been miked because suddenly her mellifluous voice surrounded them. After some welcoming remarks she introduced the Moderator. From a panel or door at the rear of the altar, he emerged.

  Hannah was not overly impressed.

  The founder of the White Mountain was in his late 50s, slightly overweight, with a florid, friendly face framed by a shock of white hair. To her eyes, he was of average height and didn’t strike her as anything special. And yet everyone in the room was leaning forward, ready to hear his words.

  “Good morning,” he said. His voice was pleasant and unremarkable but everyone repeated it with a singular voice.

  “Has the week been a good one to you?” There were murmurs of assent, some grumbles. “Let us review, my children. There was another wave of people fleeing Syria. Unrest in Turkey. A suicide bomber in Germany. Corruption in Belize. Red Cross workers stopped from delivering supplies to Niger. It has not been a good week for the world.

  “Why? Why do we continue to let greed taint our souls? Why do we let the color of one’s skin or their tribal birthplace mark them as any different than you or me? If I were to chart every atrocity that happened this past week, I can show you how the majority of these problems are because of intransigent mindsets. If you are born in the wrong place or worship some other deity, you are to be hated, possibly killed. The conflict comes from competing ideologies, too few appear open to any other way of thinking. Any other way of believing. Any other way of living.

  “It has been this way long before we learned to record our history. Sociologists, anthropologists, and clergy have all said this is the way of human nature. It’s in our DNA and cannot be rewritten.

  “But let me tell you a story. This one didn’t make the evening news and was buried so deep in Reddit that you’d be hard-pressed to have noticed it. There was a girls’ soccer team in Paraguay and their coach told them how children in Yemen and South Sudan could no longer play soccer. They had no balls, no uniforms, their playing fields have been ravaged by fighting. The team of eleven year olds decided to do something about it. They worked with their parents and baked goods, sold them at the next game, and raised money. Local shopkeepers heard what was being done and made donations. So did the local church. Before too long, the girls had raised enough money to go online and purchase balls, cleats, and referee whistles. The team and their families worked in the local school gym to put together care packages. Their coach worked with international officials to locate deserving teams in both countries. Fifty packages were delivered to DHL, which donated the shipping, and within a week, there were twenty-five teams in Yemen and South Sudan that could play soccer once more.”

  There was a spontaneous outburst of applause and more than a few whoops of approval. The Moderator let the noise wash over the room and then patted the air.

  “Paraguay. Yemen, South Sudan. Three separate continents, three separate cultures but the borders didn’t matter to those eleven year olds. Skin color, religious and sexual preference didn’t matter to the shopkeepers or DHL. These were children in need and those children rose up to solve a problem adults were too blinded by hatred to fix. They put into practice what I have been talking about. They rejected the artificial lines on maps and grasped a hand in need.

  “Imagine that happening every day, in every town, village, enclave, city, and society. Imagine children, adults, and those in-between…” this pause was met with a near-universal collective chuckle. “…they pull one another up and hold no one down.

  “We have serious problems confronting the entire human race. This year we will exceed seven point four billion inhabitants with too many that are denied access to clear air and fresh water. Chasing profits has clouded too many from the dangers of a warming world and yet the seas rise, the glaciers vanish, and dozens of species grow extinct, unable to adapt fast enough. The Paris Accords and similar documents pay more lip service and offer more photo ops than make actual progress.

  “This has been my message since the White Mountain was first founded.

  “Every week I welcome newcomers and to those who have not been here before let me explain that the White Mountain is what we strive to achieve. Greatness. Great heights, implacable goals, and clean, white, purifying snow on the top like a cherry on the perfect sundae. Our goal is to work across borders, to ignore the political infighting, and make the world a singular place for ourselves and our children. You will be the Gatekeepers, welcoming all who desire peace to join us on our figurative mountain.”

  The Moderator continued speaking, addressing his themes with anecdotes pulled from current events, sprinkled in with historic allusions, and more than a few jokes. He spoke easily, without notes, and there was no praying. When he paused, it was to let the choir sing a song that seemed chosen to reflect the themes of the speech.

  Daniel was gazing intently at the man, studying the crowd, the ushers, the choir. He was taking it all in, mentally filing notes she hoped he would discuss with her when it was over. She easily grasped his message and theme and she had to admit, losing national identity in favor of a singular world identity made a certain amount of sense to her.

  When it was clear things were coming to a close, he nudged her and they rose and tried to be unobtrusive heading out. He silently led her to the Welcome Center, pausing to see if the security goons were present, and then they pretended to scroll through the screens.

  “What did you think?”

  “Well,” she said, gathering her thoughts, “I liked his message more than the music.”

  “Global harmony, no borders - sounds idyllic. Totally impractical, but it sure sounds good. But we can discuss that later. Right now, we have to find the horn.”

  “Right now? Just when everyone is coming out?”

  “When else? The place will be crowded and no one will see us trying doors. If the security goons stop us, we’re first-timers who got lost.”

  She looked at Daniel and there was something in his eyes she hadn’t seen before, something that haunted him, made him looked fevered.

  “What did you see?”

  “Him. There were things surrounding him.”

  “Things?”

  “Black, scaly, horned…things,” he said quietly. “They clung to his arms and legs, caressed his head while he spoke and whispered in his ear. They were like nothing I’ve see
n before.”

  “Black never sounds good,” she agreed. “He’s preaching world peace and white mountains while those things are curled up around him. What’s up with that?”

  Daniel frowned at that and shook his head without an answer. He was stumped and if he was, she had little hope of figuring out what it all meant. He studied the screen before him and turned towards Hannah.

  “There’s only this one gathering today. We can scope things out now and come back later and try to find the Horn. Come on,” he urged her.

  “If you can’t see it, how will you know where it is?”

  “I can’t see it, but you felt it before, you can do so now,” he reminded her.

  “D’oh!” She remembered the warm, welcoming tingle right after he first spotted the battered trumpet. “Let’s go, then.”

  “Better to go alone, so it can look like you got turned around. Two of us might look weird.”

  With that, she spun on a heel and headed for the corridor with all the closed doors. The usher/security people were busy directing people out from the service so heading there proved easy. It’s not like they were expecting someone to actively go in search of sacred relics. The first three doors left her feeling nothing and as she neared the fourth door, a warm sensation welled up in her heart. It was the oddest game of hot and cold she ever played. She lingered by the door but felt nothing further so Hannah slowed her pace and headed for the last door in the hall. With every step the feeling radiated from her chest and she could sense it in her arms and legs. The teen cautiously placed one hand on the handle and felt an almost electric tingle. It was in there!

  Hannah turned to wave to Daniel, who was loitering in the main lobby area, fumbling with one of the brochures. He didn’t see her but her motion caught the attention of an unusually large, not terribly nice-looking usher. He frowned at her and waved an arm, indicating she had no business being down there and he was too important to go chasing her. With an apologetic nod and shrug of her shoulders, she hurried back in his direction, rushing right by him and threading her arm with Daniel’s, moving him towards the main doors. Fortunately, he didn’t hesitate and fell in step with her until they got out onto the sidewalk.