The Book, the Key and the Crown (Secrets of the Emerald Tablet Book 1)

by Jennifer Cipri

  “What strange people?”

  “People who might do you harm. I told him he should let you know the truth about the Valley and about yourself. But he refused and he forbid me to tell you too. He was your father. There was nothing I could do.”

  Father Ash holds a large key ring and, as we approach a door near the Virgin Mary statue adorned with fresh roses and candles, he locates the proper key.

  Through the door he leads me into his rectory. It’s carpeted and, like the church, lit only by candles. “Don’t you have electricity, Father?” I can’t help but ask.

  Father studies his key ring again. “One day I’ll tell you about the candles,” he murmurs. “For now, there’s something more important.”

  As we pass through the living room and make our way to the end of a long hall he says, “But I told him, if you were to come to me and ask for the truth, I could not tell a lie to you.”

  At the end of the hallway is another door. Before he puts the key in I ask him, “Is that why my father always yelled at my mom when she wanted to come to church?”

  “Probably.”

  “So what’s this truth you want to tell me? That my father’s been hiding?”

  He slips the key inside the door and looks back to me. “It’s not that simple. The truth I have to give to you… is more like… opening a door. Once I open that door, Stori, there will be several others you have to get through. And even then, it’s up to you to come to the ultimate understanding.”

  “I don’t understand already. I wish everyone would just speak in plain English around this place.”

  “Come with me. It’s time.”

  He pushes the door and it opens onto a narrow stone staircase leading up. Candles sit in small shelves carved along the wall. The flames sputter as we climb past them. Where is he taking me?

  Father paces himself as if each step counts and I concentrate on keeping as close to him as possible.

  “Have you ever heard of the Emerald Tablet, Stori?”

  “No.”

  “It wasn’t really a tablet. It was a book. The last it was seen was in the eighth century by a man named Baristos. He found it in ancient Turkey in a vault under a statue. There was a corpse holding it. A corpse upon a golden throne.”

  At the top of the staircase we turn west to another ascending flight. As we climb the rough cut stone I feel my outer thigh muscles straining. (I better start taking stairs more often or I might find myself getting weak.)

  “Who was the corpse?”

  “No one knows. A king is what most assume.”

  “When was it written, Father?”

  “Long before that king lived, or Baristos.”

  At the top of the landing he turns and waits for me. When I reach the landing too he puts a hand on my shoulder. “In ancient times, Stori, as ancient as the years of Moses, one of the greatest writers of all time lived. He was the mind who influenced Socrates, Plato, Aristotle…His works were the midwife to the birth of the Renaissance. All of his writings pertained to man’s quest for perfect knowledge, also known as Final Sight. He himself had achieved it—all of life’s mysteries were revealed to him. He knew the secrets to eternal youth, time travel, and visiting heaven while still on earth. He also wrote prophecies about the future and the coming end times. This man was named Hermes. Hermes Trismegistus.”

  The name sounds instantly like a scandal. “But that’s not what the church teaches. You could get in trouble.”

  Father grins and grips my shoulder tighter. “I’ve broken many rules I shouldn’t have. But isn’t that was living is for, Stori? Did not the greatest one of all show us that rules are meant to be broken?”

  He picks up a candle from a shelf and hands it to me.

  We move along another vestibule. At the far end is a stained glass window. When we reach it I see another door. It’s arched wood and maybe ten feet tall and somehow frightens me.

  “Is the book in there?” I ask him holding my breath.

  “No. But the woman who knows about it is. The woman who remembers many of its verses. Who can tell you about a certain prophecy in it—concerning you.” He reaches in his pocket and pulls out a single key. It’s wooden, with three fat notches and a cut out triangle as the head. The triangle is big enough for me to put two fingers inside. He places it in my hand. “You will keep this from now on.”

  And with that said he turns on his heel and leaves me.

  I stand there in his wake, listening to his retreating footsteps until I can’t hear them anymore. I ponder all he just said. And then I face the dreaded door. I have the oddest feeling that once I slip the key inside, nothing will ever be the same again.

  Am I ready?

  I don’t know.

  Am I afraid?

  Yes.

  But still, I use the key and the door opens.

  In a far corner, sitting on a footstool in front of a fire is a woman.

  She has her back to me. Her hair is snow white and wooly as a lamb’s. Her body is slight, like that of a child’s, yet there’s nothing childlike about her.

  She’s grand.

  The blazing fire behind her, in what looks like an antique hearth, beats a blood-orange aura all around her. Her lamb’s wool is illuminated with red. She looks like a vision, something too ethereal to be true.

  I clear my throat to get her attention, hoping not to startle her. I wouldn’t want to give her a heart attack or anything, seeing how old she is.

  She doesn’t move.

  I rap lightly on the doorframe. “Hello,” I call.

  She turns and looks my way. The fire behind her has obscured most of her face. Then in all her glowing glory she asks me, “Stori? Is it you?”

  How does she know? “Yes. My name is Stori.”

  Her hand flies to her mouth as if I amaze her. “I’ve been praying for days. My heart has been so burdened and all I could do is pray. That the right person would come. Some sign for what I must do.”

  “Is everything okay?” I ask her. “Do you need anything? From the store? Are you hungry?” It’s not like me to get all caught up in the problems of a perfect stranger. I’m not acting like myself. I don’t like it.

  She stands and steps closer; she wears a cotton nightgown down to her ankles and the way it hangs about her gives her the appearance of a ghost. “Is it you?” she asks again. “The girl I named under the sycamore at first light?”

  “Are you the Other Mother named Caroline?”

  “Yes.”

  “You did name me. Stori. I’m Stori Putzarella.”

  “Yes. I have been waiting for you to come to me. At last you have.”

  “I hope I’m not bothering you—”

  She puts a hand up to silence me, but I don’t take offense. I shut up for her on cue. “I wanted to call for you. But I couldn’t. These things can’t be forced. You had to get here in your own time. Come closer, into the light.” She’s making little scoop motions with her hand.

  I’m back to being nervous again. Actually, I’m scared. What a trip this is, that I, Stori Putzarella, fearless in the Valley, am afraid of an old woman locked in an attic.

  “Come,” she beckons.

  For a split second I want to get right straight out of here. But I find that I can only obey her. So I take a few timid steps over the threshold.

  “Closer,” she says.

  Wow. Look at this place. How cool is this? It’s like a medieval attic or something. Towering columns lead into beautifully crafted archways. Stained glass windows feature lovely silhouettes.

  And over in the farthest corner is a small kitchen table before a massive stone wall covered in shelving. Pots and pans and all kinds of containers clutter the shelves. I get the strongest desire to rush over there, put on her little coal burning stove and ask if I can make her dinner.

  She allows me my time to marvel at her little habitat, not speaking a word.

  “This place is cool,” I say. “I never knew you were up here. I just thought it w
as a regular attic.”

  “Come to me, child,” she says. “We can’t waste any more time. I need to look into your eyes. I need to see who you are.”

  I obey. Now I’m up close and personal. She’s so tiny but if she’s old I can’t see it. She doesn’t look a day over sixty. Her olive skin shines and her eyes are violet with a piercing light deep inside them. A majestic beauty she is. Suddenly I’m no longer afraid but overcome by a desire to fall at her feet and cry. To tell her everything. Everything I have been holding inside. The things I only write in my diary, or tell Amanda. The things I’m afraid to tell my parents, for fear of breaking us, the Putzarellas. If it’s even possible to break a thing that has already been shattered into dust.

  Caroline’s eyes dive into mine. She cranes her neck and concentrates. She goes on like this for a little while and I stand still imagining she’s working some kind of magic on me. But then all of a sudden she says, “I see.” She says it just like a doctor does when he checks your tonsils and is about to tell you you need surgery.

  “What? What is it?”

  She shakes her head in disapproval. “Sadly, it is not what I hoped for. But I should have known. I should have known.”

  “What? Should have known what?”

  “You have been hardened. The world has gotten to you, and it’s gotten to you bad. You’ve got a bad case of fear. It’s terminal.”

  “Fear? Terminal? What do you mean?”

  “There are lots of ways to die, young Stori. Most people die before they ever find their graves. Oh, I have been so lonely. And the darkness is growing all around us. We are not safe anymore.”

  “Yes,” I tell her. “That’s actually what I’m here to talk to you about. You see, my father went missing and people are talking about Cosimo. If I don’t find him soon this social worker might put me and Regi in a home. I have a friend at Pilgrim’s Island and she told me some really horrible things.”

  Caroline’s ears prick up. Something I’ve said has sparked her interest. “Tell me about the Island,” she insists.

  “Well, my friend said the mayor is going to make all the girls his wives. And she said the mistress in charge there…well…” I stop myself because I don’t want the same catastrophe with Miss Van Patten to happen with Caroline. We’ve just met and I don’t want to ruin it already. I’m sick of sounding crazy. I’m sick of the visions and the mania and the feeling like everything that I see or believe is not really there.

  “Don’t be afraid. It’s not crazy.” How does she know what I was thinking?

  “She cut herself and didn’t bleed. I know it sounds crazy but I can’t stop thinking about these things, and wondering if there really are such evils in Redemption. And if my father disappeared, I need to know if the evil stuff had anything to do with it. It’s hard to explain but the morning I woke up and read his letter I kind of felt like he was being forced to put those words down. But I get paranoid sometimes, you see, because of my illness. It makes me so suspicious of people and it makes it real hard for me to make friends. But still I believe something’s up. So I came to Father Ash looking for the truth and he sent me to you.”

  I’m not even aware my head is hung until Caroline lifts my chin with her finger. “Why girl. You’ve been crying over the best parts of you.”

  Her touch is what I needed. Her voice, her words are a balm. Yet still I fight it. “Yeah right.”

  “Who told you aren’t special?”

  “Never mind that. I’m supposed to ask you about some book called the Emerald Tablet. Written by some guy named Hermes.”

  “Oh yes, the book,” she says somewhat resentfully, like I just brought up an ex-boyfriend.

  “Why are you sad about the book?”

  “If I had seen something better in your eyes maybe I could start to feel happy again about the book. You see, I was called by an angel of the Lord to be a keeper of its verses. I am called a Keeper. If I knew back then what it would mean for me, I would have never accepted. You’re too young to hear about things like that, but all you need to know is I chose the Keeping over having a family.”

  “You mean you never had children?”

  Now it’s her turn to be ashamed. Her eyes drop to the floor. Something about this infuriates me. I want to find whoever told her she couldn’t have a family and bash their face in. “So what,” I challenge, no longer afraid to speak plainly. “Who gives a shit. Having a family isn’t everything. And it makes people miserable. Most people I know who have children, it doesn’t make them better. It only makes them worse. It makes them more selfish, more afraid.” I think of my father, “More cruel.”

  Maybe this helped. For she picks her head up a little. I don’t want to hear that she’s hurting. Someone like her, all alone doesn’t deserve it. But she says it anyway. “I am a broken-hearted woman, Stori. I have never gotten over it. I always wanted a child.”

  “You have something better. You’re a Keeper. Who else can say they have that!”

  “Yes. I have Hermes’ words passed down from my ancestors. But it is not a gift, as I thought it might be. For when the rest of the world is living in lies, what does knowing the truth give you? Burden. Burden is what it gives you. I know many things about this city. I know many things about what’s going on. And I know the prophecy about what is to come. The knowledge has left me lonely and with no one to call my own. But I made the sacrifice, because I believed. I believed that one day my time would come. To help this city. To help the world.”

  “Can you tell me why you were waiting for me?” I ask, hoping to distract her from her pain, but also remembering what Father Ash told me about myself somehow being involved.

  She goes to one of the stained glass windows and I sit at the kitchen table. At the base of the windows are two iron cranks. They squeak as she turns them. The panes open away from each other. Once open, I can see stars in a clear night sky and the edge of the billboard hanging over the expressway. “Hermes Trismegistus, the Thrice Great Prophet of ancient times, was the first living man to ever visit the Kingdom of Heaven and achieve perfect knowledge and prophecy. He lived at the same time as Moses, and he wrote many books. Within these books were the secrets of ancient history, wisdom, prophecy and true magic. All of the books are still out there, for they were forged by an alchemical process that rendered them indestructible, but where they are I know not. One in particular was called the Emerald Tablet.”

  “Yes. Father Ash told me. There’s a prophecy in it. About our city.”

  “Would you like to hear it, Stori?”

  “Yes.”

  She clears her throat and begins.

  Oh, sweet and sullen Tat, my pupil who gazes at the stars. You have asked me a question I do not want to answer: Will Man return to Eden soon and be absolved? Sadly, I have glimpsed into time. Far far into the future and this is what I see: There will come a time, long from now, when all our studies and ruminations will be locked away from the world. Science will sadly be reduced to the mundane observation of matter. Men will hunch their backs over their studies of objects and have completely forgotten the mystical universe above. So they will lose their magic completely, their abilities to commune with the Divine. They will not mourn though, Tat, as I see you mourning now. For they will believe themselves Masters. Masters of the Universe they will claim as their title. And we cannot blame them, for they will, through science, achieve power over nature. Tat. Stand this very instant. Do not let fear overcome you. Our work will still be done.

  Yes, nature will succumb to the Scientists. The Scientists will get so good at building towers and physical technology, that they will brush aside beauty, blot out nature, cover their eyes against the Heavens. They will actually believe they are in an age of enlightenment. In truth they will be in darkness. And where there is darkness, evil arises.

  Yes. In a year called 2014, above a glittering city called Redemption a Giant Beauty will rise under the moon. She will be the newest object of the people’s adoration. She will be
the gateway. The gateway to the darkest times our earth will ever see. Men living in secret, very powerful and very sinister, will be in control of this city even before this Giant Beauty appears. These men will be part of a Night’s Council. She will be their design. She will be a mechanism of suppression and a weapon against the people. They will hypnotize Redemption with her. ‘Be like me,’ that young woman will taunt. ‘Be young, rich and shamelessly beautiful.’ This is the only thing that will be valued in not only Redemption, but in the entire world.

  And in that time of the Giant Beauty under the moon the Council is going to steal children from the streets, outlaw history books, hypnotize the citizens, and eventually rid that sleepy city of every kitchen table, because of all the things in the world the Night’s Council will hate this the most. For the family, the family BEING TOGETHER, it will keep their powers at bay. Without their kitchen tables the last of the citizens will fall under the Giant Beauty’s spell. Beset under her powerful trance, the Dark Council will be free to worship the Darkness in the open. All of the worst crimes throughout history will be repeated and this time there will be no one strong enough to stop them.

  But fear not Tat. For our writings, although locked away, will still be remembered by some. And before the Night’s Council will be able to take over they will be aware of this prophecy I now tell. So, beware, I say to you, whoever pure hearted that hears this now—for the Dark Ones have heard it too. They will know as you are about to know that the only way to end the Coming of the Night in the city of Redemption is to find the Crown of Final Sight. A most Holy and ancient crown forged before even I, the Thrice Great, was born. It is inlaid with the first stones of creation and it must go back to Babylon and return to the mighty summit—the Tower of Babel—and be placed upon the head of the One—the Great Ancient of Days, who will come down out of Heaven, and Heaven and Earth will become one.

  I say to you now, a girl from the slums, a Daughter of Shinar, must find this crown. My only hope is that she finds it and when she does she will know which way to run.

  If she does not, Tat, the Night’s Council will find it. They will place it upon the head of a dead man and he will rule out in the open. The NEW LAWS will be enforced for good and the final age of darkness will descend. Like a moon being eclipsed permanently Man will not return to Eden. Man will know enslavement, suffering and famine, until the last day comes.