The Light Bringer's Way

by C. F. Fruzzetti

  I looked on the ground and saw the floor was solid although coated with a fine red dust. Patrick and Blair’s footprints had left a trail through the chamber the day before to where they must have exited through a large tunnel on the left. “The floor looks solid. Can you hear anything?” I asked Reid and Blair. They shook their heads no. “I’m not convinced it is safe since getting here almost killed us. I don’t think getting out is going to be any easier. We need to be careful.”

  Patrick walked into the cave. The light from his hand illuminated the entire chamber. There was not one but three tunnels. The largest was to the left, a middle one straight ahead, and a small one to the right. The chamber door behind us scraped shut. My throat tightened with the claustrophobic realization we would be going through one of them. Danger, not the spear, was in this room.

  I scanned the room and on the wall were glowing red symbols. It took me a second to understand what they were. “Reid, I think I see Egyptian hieroglyphs on the wall. Can you read them?” I pointed to the wall. The surprised look on their faces showed me that was not what they were expecting to hear. To them, the wall was blank. “Cross over into my mind.”

  Reid ran his hand over the symbols I could see on the wall in a right to left motion. The symbols were so varied and intricate, I could not make a pattern out of them. There was a half circle, an eye, a bird in flight, squiggly lines, and marks that resembled a feather, among dozens of others, and I wondered if they were hieroglyphs at all. They could have been scratches made by the chisel that put the carving there.

  I realized that was why Reid was feeling the wall. Dr. West said Reid could unlock messages and codes with his empath ability. Dr. West had given me the more modern example of Reid knowing the pin number of an ATM machine. I hoped his ability also worked in ancient foreign languages.

  “It is really hard to make out. Not all vowels are written and it seems to be expressing more of an idea than a direct message. Knowledge is a power like a flowing river. If you hold its source and bottle it as your own you will gain everlasting fame and power is what the first part says. It is also written in Latin underneath so I can understand it better,” Reid explained. He held his hand on the wall in an area that looked blank to me. I walked closer to see what he was doing. “The stone for the second stanza has been removed. I can feel what it said. Knowledge is the tool but wisdom is the craft. They cannot be separated to gain the sharp edge of enlightenment.” The hair on my arm tingled. The spear. We would need the books to help us get to the spear.

  Reid held his hand on the wall and his face furrowed with concentration. “The last part is confusing. The first symbol is almost the same except the first is in the masculine tense and the second is in the feminine tense. I think it says, HIS-story is closed. HER-story is open. Then it has a list of what it calls predictions. But some of these sound like they have already happened. Here’s the first one: Royalty will become headless by a block and a blade freeing an enslaved populace. A blaze in 1666 will kill many of the same sect and will burn for three days. An evil man will seduce a great troop with his tongue and his fame will increase toward the east causing cries and tears for a chosen people…”

  “Nostradamus. These are similar to the quatrains of some of his most famous predictions. You know, the guy who called the French Revolution, the great fire of London, Hitler?” Blair asked, nodding her head and leading us to agree. Reid gave her a blank look and she asked him in disbelief, “Reid, do you live under a rock? How could you have never heard of him?”

  “I have,” Patrick piped up. “But only because he was an apothecary. He is credited with distributing a rose-colored pill that helped lessen the impact of the bubonic plague in France. Biochemical researchers are trying to figure out what was in his antidote that had such remarkable healing properties against the black death.”

  “The pill was red? Duh. Maybe it was cinnabar,” Blair said, pointing to the red dust on the ground and the red walls. “Maybe he came here and this is where he got his prophecies from and the knowledge about the plague. Plus, he was also an astronomer and he would have fit right in with the Dogon.”

  “It’s a good hypothesis. Timbuktu reached its apex during the years of the worst plague outbreak in history. It seems this region was spared for some reason,” I said.

  Reid nodded. “It could be the underground water supply. The rivers of this region flow through the rock and ore of cinnabar. It would fortify their water with cinnabar and no one would know it.”

  “And that might explain the rise in albinism here. Biochemists know that exposing developing fish eggs to heavy metals like mercury causes a high incidence in albino fish,” Patrick added.

  “Something does smell fishy in here to me but we are talking about cinnabar, not mercury,” Blair clarified. She sniffed with her nose. Her eyes looked around to try to find the source of the smell. I couldn’t smell anything at all.

  Patrick smiled and explained, “Mercury is extracted from cinnabar. It is the main source of mercury. Quicksilver, or liquid mercury, is crushed cinnabar ore melted in a furnace. It forms when mercury turns into a vapor.”

  I had a foreboding feeling about the melting red rock I had seen beneath our feet to get into the chamber. My flight instinct was rising and my chest started to feel tight. I wanted to get out of the chamber but first we needed the manuscripts.

  Despite my impulse, my intuition signaled caution. Others had been in the chamber long enough to learn the prophecies and spread them to the world but the books remained. It suggested to me that picking them up and walking away was not the answer. Red dust coated the floor around the books and I looked above the manuscripts to what caused it. In the ceiling I saw a hole cut out in a square: a murder hole. I had seen them before in medieval castles and fortifications. They were used to pour harmful substances like boiling oil or tar on invaders. Quicksilver or lava also seemed like a potential contender for the list of deadly substances. There was something about the opening that was deadly.

  “Patrick, shine your light up above us. I think I see something up there.” I strained my eyes to see further but whatever it was was not coming into view.

  The light of the flame in Patrick’s hand brought to light the murder hole I suspected and a spiked mud ball that hung from a trip wire release. That explained why the books had been left untouched for centuries.

  “What the?” Patrick said as he looked at the massive and lethal ball. It was designed to swing across the entire portion of the room and was impossible to judge its clearance off the floor. My head started to throb. I pressed through the pain and made myself think. We had to get the books and get out of the chamber.

  “That’s where the smell is coming from,” Blair said. “It’s some kind of poisonous gas. It’s not the scent of carbon monoxide. I’ve never smelled it before and that is where the location of the fishy and sulphurous odor is from. Trust me, my family are Cloccan air sentinels. We’ve got to get out of here. Our air supply will soon be completely toxic,” she urged. She pulled her shirt up over her nose. I knew she had a four-pack of hospital-grade facemasks in her bag and was cursing the fact we had left them at the base of the cliff.

  My hands were now trembling. My rapid heart rate from my flight instinct was poisoning me faster than everyone else. Reid’s heart rate was dramatically lower than mine and it was another way we were complete opposites. Thinking of the difference between us sparked the answer to our escape.

  A man could not remove the ancient manuscripts because a woman wrote them. What we needed was HER story, but a man picking up the manuscripts was what would trigger the trap. I knew what I had to do and this was the moment. I focused my eyes on the manuscripts and ran into the red dust.

  Chapter Fifteen: A Rightful End

  As soon as my feet hit the dust, a reddish smokescreen kicked up behind me and a metallic burn filled my lungs. Disturbing the fine cinnabar powder on the ground further contaminated our limited air supply and made finding the boo
k that was HER story urgent.

  The stacks of books were piled up in the far end of the chamber. The first book I picked up was covered in gold and red rubies and the one beside it shimmered with silver and sparkled with thousands of diamonds. They were heavy in my hands and yet felt empty. I set them back down.

  The next book I hefted up was a large text bound in emeralds of a radiant green and its pages were gilded in gold. They were staggeringly beautiful but seemed to be missing something intangible. The books reminded me of the ostentatious mansions vying for attention along the Potomac because they were attractive shells but hollow inside. That was it, I thought to myself. HER story would be a story of life, and its worth would be on the inside not on the outside.

  Time, like the air around us, was growing thin. Blair and Patrick were coughing and I heard Reid furiously gasping my name as he tried to find me. I blocked it from my mind and ears and tried to ignore that my hands were trembling from the noxious fumes.

  I pushed through the heavy pile of manuscripts and grabbed the next book. It was encrusted with deep blue sapphires and pink pearls. I dropped it to the ground and retrieved another book of purple amethyst and golden yellow topaz. Angry, I seethed to myself that I didn’t want a book full of jewels but I needed a book of life. I closed my eyes and grabbed where my intuition led me. Finally, I pulled up a large, thin book. It had a plain leather cover and its spine was made from a tusk of ivory: a book of life and sacrifice.

  The cloud of red dust began to clear and Reid’s eyes met mine. Immediately, he started running toward me at full speed with Blair and Patrick right behind him across the chamber. The second they touched the cinnabar dust on the ground, I heard the rope that held the giant spiked ball creak. I watched, riveted, hoping that they would make it across the dust. I pressed the book tightly against me. It was all I could manage.

  Reid plowed through the distance toward me. My sight blurred. I could not figure out how to move toward the tunnel and my muscles felt frozen. A sluggish thought crawled through my mind that I had been standing in the concentrated toxic fumes of the crushed cinnabar for too long. My will to see Reid, Blair, and Patrick safely out of the chamber was strong and I had to give them the book. I held the precious volume as securely as possible in my arms and I hoped Reid would take it as he ran past me.

  Reid’s hands compressed down like two iron vices on my shoulders as he picked me up and raced both of us into the middle tunnel. Patrick and Blair pushed into us as we all escaped through the entryway. A great blast of wind blew by the opening as the spiked ball hurtled through the chamber and slammed a heavy wood door shut with a bang.

  Behind the door, it was pitch-black. I was not sure if I had been overtaken by the darkness in my mind until I heard Reid’s angry voice. “Whitney, do NOT do that again! You make it impossible to work as a team when you are off doing your own stunts! Will you at least tell us next time before you…” The rest of his actual words became muffled through the pounding thick sludge in my head. He set me firmly down on the ground and I clutched the large book to my chest to try to steady myself in the darkness. I hoped Reid would stop yelling long enough to realize I was unable to respond. My legs started to buckle and I coaxed myself to breathe in and then breathe out. If I didn’t remind myself, I felt like I might forget.

  “Patrick, a light please. Something is wrong with Whitney,” Reid requested as he lifted me back up. Relieved, I let my head lull against his chest and told myself to just keep breathing. It was my only hope for cleaning out the toxicity in my body.

  In the darkness, I could hear Patrick rubbing his hands together to produce a small flame. I saw a flash of light and then Reid knelt to the ground. I was disoriented and confused. Next to us, Blair was in the same position but holding Patrick down as well. Patrick looked as bewildered as I felt. Our confusion was interrupted by a flurry of noise over our heads and loud thunks that pierced the cave walls on either side.

  My eyes followed the rush of sound and I saw hundreds of darts quivering into the rock on either side of us. Any person who had remained standing would have been killed. Reid’s arms were tense because I started to shake with chills. I didn’t know if it was from the near miss or from the poisonous fumes but the shaking was uncontrollable. Reid was taking my vital signs and I could feel the rapid pace of his heartbeat. It was not good news.

  Reid pressed me closer to him and everyone stood up. Blair crossed herself and exhaled. “I’ve never been so glad to see a Cloccan sacred elephant in my life. The elephants in here saved our lives,” Blair said to Reid as she rummaged through the backpack on Patrick and pulled out a bottle of water. “That was taking the Code of Albion a bit too seriously for my taste.”

  Blair brought the water bottle over to me and frowned as she saw my face. I must look pretty awful, I thought through the growing haze in my mind. She undid the cap and helped me take a drink. It was unlike Blair to coddle me at all and this made me comprehend I did not look awful…I must look critically ill.

  Her eyes scanned over me and her brow knit into a knot of worry. The fear of failure lurked behind her face as she realized there was not much she could do to help me. Her green eyes saw the edge of the book pressed against me. I weakly tried to show it to her but did not have the strength to fully lift it or say anything.

  Blair saw the book and crossed herself again. I was glad she was impressed I had not left the chamber empty-handed. I didn’t want her to think I created the smokescreen for nothing. She tucked the book back against me. The shaking subsided.

  “Are you going to be OK, Whitney?” Patrick asked as he adjusted the pack with one hand.

  “She will be fine. Let her rest,” Blair advised. The book felt like a warm blanket across my chest and my breathing became more regular as the cold ebbed away. The air I inhaled now felt good going into my lungs.

  Patrick nervously laughed and the flame in his hand flickered with anxiety as we walked down a ramp deeper into the cave. Patrick’s voice was shaky as he said, “I had no idea why you were pulling me down, Blair, but thank God you did. And what the heck is the Code of Albion?”

  Reid answered, “Do you remember at Dr. West’s funeral when the priest read the Peace Prayer of Saint Frances? You know…Make me an instrument of your peace. Where there is hatred, let me sow love; where there is injury, pardon; where there is doubt, faith; where there is despair, hope; where there is darkness, light…”

  I had not realized Patrick had attended Dr. West’s funeral, I thought as Reid solemnly recited the prayer. I recalled how I thought it was a prayer that captured the best of humanity. It was a call to ask the best of yourself and to look for ways to turn a negative into a positive.

  “Yeah, I know it. I think my mom has it taped to our fridge,” Patrick answered as we descended into an expansive cavern. Along the walls were meticulous white chalk drawings of elephants. Each animal was different and had a particular expression in the eyes or along the mouth that conveyed a sense of intelligence. Even the headdresses of real gems were custom made and seemed special to the elephant that wore it. That’s when it occurred to me these were not drawings at all. They were portraits.

  “Then you know Saint Francis was the patron saint of animals. The Code of Albion is virtually identical to the Peace Prayer, and Sunrise decided it was more prudent and conventional to use the religious version in public. It is a way of recognizing and greeting the Cloccan tribe. The Code of Albion is linked to three divine animals. As you may have guessed from our surroundings, the white elephant is one of them,” Reid explained as we reached the bottom of the ramp. Ahead of us was a life-size replica of a kneeling white elephant made of a milky-white stone. The statue wore a headdress made of diamonds and pearls and exuded a regal air of strength and power. The elephant’s eyes were closed and her long eyelashes caught my attention.

  “The white elephant is the Cloccan’s connection to ancient wisdom,” Reid continued. “It is the symbolic remover of obstacles and barriers. Be
fore the razor darts almost popped us like balloons, I was actually relieved to see them. This is a hall I have heard about through Cloccan legend and was built by my Cloccan ancestors. The elephant statue at the altar is made of a rare white jade, a stone imbued with the ability to protect, aid, and heal. She is called Lucie and modeled after a blind white elephant who was known for her ability to help find hidden paths.”

  The warmth from the book was spreading throughout my body. My lungs could take deep breaths and my muscles did not ache. We needed to get to the Lucie replica and I felt like I was burdening Reid. “Reid, put me down. I can walk,” I rasped. Reid answered by tightening his grip and refusing to look at me.

  I gave Blair an imploring look of frustration at my captivity. She shook her head no and gave Reid a worried glance. I took that to mean I still looked as awful as I sounded and she was not going to defend my request. I was feeling well enough that I kindled the emotion of frustration, and Reid felt it.

  “Not yet, Whit. This room was meant for Cloccans. One of the hallmarks of the elephant is that they walk noiselessly and with exceptional grace and rhythm regardless of what they carry. It’s best for me to carry you across.” Reid tried to joke even though he didn’t smile. Every breath I took with the book on my chest made me stronger. It was acting as a respirator and pain reliever.

  It was an amazing book and I wanted to show it to him. I reached up and touched his face to get his attention. Reluctantly, he looked down into my face and he could not hide his sadness. He did not want to look at me because unlike Blair he could not hide his despair or the fact that he thought I was dying.

  I wrenched the book free. It did not belong to me. HER story had to get out of the cave and I needed to tell him to get it out of here, even if I did not leave. It was too important.