The House of Grey- Volume 4

by Earl, Collin

  “Flash fist.”

  Grayson leaned forward as if to hear him better. “What was that, Grey?”

  “It was just like Casey’s flash fist. I am, or was, the only one who could see it. It was the same with the bridge. The rest of the people couldn’t see the chakra. All that stuff had to have been chakra.”

  “Chakra, as in the Seven Pathways of the Chakra?”

  Monson waved away the question. “I have no idea what that is. I’m talking about chakra, as in martial arts. Casey uses chakra to fight. He expels energy from his body and then collects it in a move that he calls the flash fist.”

  “Whoa…” Grayson rubbed at his chin. “Wicked.”

  “I know, right,” Monson agreed. “But back to the bridge thing. So you’re saying the bridge was destroyed by some sort of magic?”

  “Yes, it had to have been Kei manipulation, though that alone seems impossible.”

  Monson frowned in confusion, his head hanging low and wobbling back and forth.

  Grayson surveyed him affectionately. “I’ll explain. Magic is called Kei, at least that’s what it sounded like when Grandfather told us. There are two kinds of magic usage, or the manipulation of Kei: AOI and Scripting.”

  Monson’s eyebrow shot up. “AOI and Scripting, huh? Why two names?"

  “Because they have different forms, functions, and possibilities.”

  “Cool.”

  Grayson chuckled. “As far as we can tell, Kei, or magic as you call it, is inside everyone, everything, all creations; if it has substance, it has magic.”

  “How on earth is that possible?”

  “Hold on Monson,” said Grayson, reverting back to his southern drawl. “I’m a-gettin’ there. As far as we know, which is miniscule compared with how much we would like to know, there isn’t anyone who can see internal Kei. This is the power that permeates our bodies like an internal delivery system, much like that of our blood vessels. Kei travels through this system connecting the spiritual to the physical. Think of it as blood vessels for the soul. The manipulation of this system is what produces magical effects. Now, notice I said that no one can see internal Kei, meaning people can’t see the ‘magic’ in a dormant state, but when people release and manipulate it, that’s a different story.”

  Again, Casey flashed through Monson’s mind. He kept quiet, however.

  “Now don’t get me wrong. Most people can’t see external Kei even if it’s being released, but there are a few who can. We call these people ‘Power Sensitive’ or Sentinel for short. People who are identified as Power Sensitive are taken and trained.”

  Grayson’s pause for breath allowed Monson a question. “How do you know who is Power Sensitive?”

  Grayson smirked. “Excellent question. There are a variety of ways, but the most consistent and reliable one is a device that my grandfather designed and my father built called a Counter. It can detect anyone’s Kei levels, allowing us to zero in on Sentinels. Most people don’t know much about their talents so they may unknowingly release Kei. But some get to the point where they can deliberately manipulate it. The Counter finds these people.”

  Monson nodded his understanding.

  Grayson continued, “Those identified as Sentinels are then taken and trained to become operatives of H.U.M.A.N.E, or Human Users of Magic and Necromantic Exploration. The people who drew these pictures are all H.U.M.A.N.E agents; they were able to see what was really happening on that bridge, rewarding our efforts in following you.”

  “Which brings me to my next two questions,” said Monson impatiently. “Why were you following me and why did you draw pictures? Why didn’t you just use a camera or something?”

  “The latter question is an easy one; magic does freaky stuff to electronics or non-Kei technology.”

  “You didn’t have Kei technology on the bridge?”

  “Another excellent observation. We did, but whatever was on that bridge overloaded it. Overloaded everything Kei, mechanical or electronic.”

  Monson nodded. It made sense.

  “The first question is a bit tougher to explain. Let’s just say that we made contact at the Horum Vir competition. We had a couple of our agents there, and by pure chance, one of them witnessed a Scripting of Kei.”

  Monson started to rub at his temples. “I feel like I’m taking a language test with vocabulary that I’ve never heard before.”

  Grayson refilled his teacup, adding an extra bag as he did. “Let me back up and explain the gap. It might help. The easiest way to manipulate Kei is through your hands; it’s not the only way, but one of the easiest. The most basic mode of supernatural manipulation is through this process. You release your Kei from your hands, saturating your surroundings, and then anything that comes in contact with that power can also be manipulated. For example….”

  Grayson straightened out his hand, pointing it towards one of the towers of books. Nothing happened for several seconds, until a single book slid out from the shelf and landed with a thud on the floor.

  Monson raised his eyebrow at Grayson. “Whoa,” he said, impressed.

  “Whoa indeed,” agreed Grayson.

  “This style is of magic is called ‘the area of influence,’ or the AOI. Kei functions a great deal like any other type of energy in that its effectiveness will diminish with time and distance. Again, take me as an example. My area of influence is only about twelve feet, and that is for very minor manipulations.”

  Grayson paused, opening the sketchbook again. “The second type of magic manipulation is vastly more difficult but much more effective, at least in theory.”

  “In theory?” asked Monson, watching as Grayson flipped the pages.

  “Yes, in theory. The second type is called Scripting. Little is known about the process but most of our researchers believe that Scripting requires three key elements: the heart, the hand, and the word. The heart’s power, the hand’s path, and the word’s grip.”

  Monson interrupted. “Umm…so what’s the difference between Scripting and AOI?”

  “It’s difficult to explain without totally confusing you.” Grayson rubbed at his face, thinking. “Let me try this. Think of electricity. What can electricity do?”

  Monson played along. “A lot. Everything is powered by electricity. I mean, everything from appliances to video games.”

  “Exactly!” Grayson beamed. “Electricity is the source of power that enables technology to function. Computers, microwaves, projectors, everything; basically without electricity we would be in the Stone Age. Kei manipulation, or AOI, is like trying to get electricity to actually do everything that all those machines can do. It doesn’t work that way. Why? Because electricity isn’t supposed to be able to do everything the machine can do, only power it. Electricity is a source of energy that allows the other parts—a circuit in a computer, the plasma in a television, or the navigation system of a satellite—to operate. AOI manipulation of Kei uses the same concept. That is why it’s so limited. Scripting, on the other hand, takes the Kei and converts it to a form that can do a much greater array of things. Just like technology. I can’t explain the details because I don’t fully understand, but it has to do with those three elements I mentioned.”

  Monson interrupted Grayson again. “That seems simple enough, but why do you consider it a theory?”

  “Because we haven’t had a successful Scripting yet in the organization. There isn’t an agent in H.U.M.A.N.E who can Script. Grandfather wrote about it and we’ve been researching it ever since. We’ve made progress, we feel like we’re getting close. We just aren’t there yet. That’s why, when the man at the Horum Vir competition saw Scripting, it was so unbelievable. Our agents did not quite know what to make of it.”

  Monson sat back in his chair. He wanted to ask more questions about it, but there didn’t seem to be much point at this time. “Let’s leave Kei and Scripting for a minute. You keep talking about your organization’s theories and scientists. Why don’t you tell me about this H.U.M.A.N
.E organization and how you have all this information.”

  Grayson nodded. “As you wish, but I warn you, it’s a long story.”

  “We’ve got time.”

  “Then I’ll explain as much as I can.”

  He sat back in his chair stirring his tea, a thoughtful look on his face. “More than sixty-five years ago, right around the end of the Second World War, Germany was in a bind. The wars on both the Eastern and Western fronts were going badly. They were searching desperately for anything that might change what seemed to be a forgone conclusion.”

  “Wait, don’t tell me.” Monson stirred his tea absentmindedly. “I think I’ve heard this one. The scientists were searching for legendary power, found it, and ended up dying in the process.”

  “What?” asked Grayson, his voice laced with surprise.

  “I think I’ve seen at least one movie with this exact plotline. Are you just making this up as you go along? If I see this on some sort of gag reality TV show, I’m going to be pissed.”

  “You would certainly bring in the ratings. Now shut up or we’ll be here all night.”

  He resettled himself. “You’re correct that Hitler was looking for power in any conceivable form, whether it was natural, demonic or divine. He had his people research every folk tale, ghost story, and myth in the hopes that he could find something to turn the tides. What they found was this.”

  Grayson picked up a large leather-bound book with a huge rune on its cover. The book seemed quite old but it hardly appeared to contain the mysteries of the world. Monson, though he tried not to look it, felt more than a little dissatisfied.

  “A book? What were they going to do to the Allies, paper-cut them to death?”

  “Oh ye of little faith. Just look.”

  Monson pulled the thick book closer to him, studying the massive rune on the cover and then letting his gaze drop to the word ‘Journal’ right below it.

  The rune was of a curious nature, almost alien, a structure or rendition that he could not even begin to describe. It reminded him of a combination of all those old rune-based languages ancient Egyptian jumping out to the forefront. Fascinated, Monson flipped open the volume to reveal, as far as he could tell, an old but scrapbook like journal. Written mostly in German, it contained all kinds of drawings and photographs, spammed together and marked with indiscernible text and symbols. He examined the book with enthusiasm until he came to a drawing of what appeared to be a chain mail glove. Next to this rather detailed drawing, he saw a glossy photograph of the exact same glove. The glove looked normal enough, though Monson could tell the artisanship was excellent. Its most prominent feature was a strong metal plate attached to the top over the back of the hand. Almost like a guard, the plate appeared to be something that could be used to block a blow from a sword or other weapon. There was an indention or void on the plate like there some sort of decoration missing.

  “What I am looking at?” He ran an unsure finger over the picture of the glove.

  “That book is the record of one of the information officers from a specialty unit of the German Army based out of The Ahnenerbe Institute,” answered Grayson. “My grandfather’s, actually both the unit and the journal. The unit was charged with several missions under orders from Heinrich Himmler to discover archeological relics that could turn the tide of the war.”

  “OK, what about the weird gibberish writing and the glove?”

  “Again, we don’t know for sure. There is some indication that it was some kind of weapon.” Grayson reached over, fingering some of the pages. “This journal documents an exhibition in the Alps where some researchers at the Institute heard a tale of some kind of ancient reception hall deep within the mountain range. This hall supposedly contained everything from the Fountain of Youth to a legion of archangels. They aren’t really even sure of the path they took, but after a series of weird events, they somehow found the entrance to the cave, and with a lot of sacrifice, made their way to this.”

  Grayson turned to one of the very last pages of the book. It was a drawing of a massive hall, one Monson would expect to see in some made-up world, complete with enormous, oddly carved pillars dozens of meters in diameter. Ascertaining much more information than that was unlikely, as the drawing was of limited dimension. But it did make one thing clear from the way the room was constructed. This large underground cutout had a purpose and that purpose seemed to lie at the end of a hallway. Before Monson could ask any questions, Grayson flipped the page. Monson studied the next picture, recognizing that it was a continuation of the previous drawing.

  In the very center of the hall loomed a mountain-sized building looking structure, which was covered with a mosaic of symbols and drawings. There was no way of knowing its true dimensions but Monson’s gut told him this thing was incredibly large and equally important. Continuing to flip pages, Grayson showed Monson a half-dozen other drawings of various mystical looking items most of which Monson didn’t recognize. Monson turned the page only to find a sort of master guide.

  “This page gives details about everything I just showed you,” said Grayson, pointing at various numbers and their corresponding scripts of description. He translated the German text: “Columns many feet in diameter hold up massive archways that seem to rise to the very top of the mountain. Strikingly elaborate, the central chamber is a truly magnificent edifice with fountains of sweet-smelling waters, troves of exotic weaponry and cultural icons, and though I can’t say for sure, it seems that there are remains from every major military power from the last ten thousand years. The room is like a time capsule for human history.”

  “Remains?” interrupted Monson in shock. “Like, as in bodies?”

  “More or less.” Grayson glanced up from the book. “Bodies, weapons, records; thousands of years of history stored in almost perfect condition. I don’t think you get it, Grey. Maps of an unnamed supercontinent, detailed accounts of other humanoids that spanned thousands of years of history, in-depth dissertations on magic usage and rules —seriously, you name it, this place had it. Perfectly categorized and organized by who knows, and that’s not even getting into the more mystical aspects of the central chamber. It was truly one of the greatest historic finds of all time. My grandfather speculates that it could have held the mysteries of creation and that the hall was probably one of the oldest structures in existence.”

  “So what happened?” Monson could not believe that such a structure would be ignored. “Why haven’t I heard about it? A discovery like that would be world-renowned.”

  “That’s just the thing. We really don’t know exactly what happened, but I’ll get to that. The unit started exploring the central chamber and offshoots, only to find room after room after room of treasures, art, books, everything I just mentioned. It should have been the discovery of lifetimes to come.”

  “So why wasn’t it reported?”

  Grayson answer was so sullen it caught Monson off-guard. “Because my grandfather realized that it must remain hidden; that the fate of the world might depend on it.”

  Grayson threw up the roadblock fully anticipating Monson’s next question. “I’ll explain but you need to hear the rest first.”

  He wheeled over to the refrigerator. He touched a button on his chair before he reached the appliance and then waited patiently until the refrigerator door retracted. He snagged two water bottles and tossed one to Monson.

  Grayson twisted off the top of his water. “This next part of the story gets dicey. My grandfather was adamant, almost obsessive about his need to explore the large central structure with the mosaic that he labeled the “Tower.” Grandfather was convinced that something of great importance lay within this Tower, like there was something that had to be found and understood. This is the reason that the Tower drawings are so detailed. He obstinately felt that someone, somewhere had to of come into contact with this hall and structure, and perhaps they could relay the importance of it to him.”

  Monson frowned. “I’m assuming that th
ings didn’t go well.”

  Grayson let out an ironic chuckle. “No, no they didn’t. Grandfather looked, but couldn’t find anything that would help him to get into the inner chambers of the Tower, if there was an inner chamber at all, for that matter. Not that they didn’t find anything helpful, but I’ll get to that in a minute. After a couple of weeks of being staked out in the place, supplies started to run low and strange things began happening.”

  “Back up a second,” Monson almost pleaded. “Why was your grandfather so convinced that there was something beyond or within this Tower?”

  “From one of the murals at the base of its lowest levels.” Grayson found the corresponding illustration and showed Monson.

  It depicted a landscape of a huge mountain, with a path that meandered along a sparkling river and out of sight. Monson studied the reproduction. He sensed that the painting was important; it gave off a surreal, even mystical quality, but if there was a message in there, it was lost on him. “Yeah…I have no idea what that is supposed to mean.”

  “I don’t either,” said Grayson bitterly. “And I’m a genius. We think that there is something fundamental missing in Grandfather’s description of it. The only notes we have on it are these:”

  Grayson showed him a circled phrase - Path to Power.’ Under this an additional rather hastily scribbled note read: ‘Skyward—the truth lies within...’

  “The truth lies within? Within what?”

  “I’ve no idea. I’ve considered every angle. Grandfather thought it meant in the Tower itself. Like it was some sort of clue or calling card.”

  “Crazy.”

  “Tell me about it.”