Ancient Echoes

by Joanne Pence

  “Not exactly.”

  “I have a good idea.” Quade muttered, then stared at Kohler without expression.

  Kohler stared back. The tension in the room grew.

  “Do you know where the shooters are now?” Michael asked as he put his shirt and jacket back on.

  Kohler’s gaze broke, and he faced Michael. “They are watching our village. We thought their presence had to do with you, but obviously not, since they were quite willing to kill you. The only surprise, therefore, is that they didn’t kill you sooner.”

  “So it seems,” Michael said calmly. “They're well-armed, but you only have bows and arrows. That diminishes our chance for success.”

  “We aren’t worried,” Kohler said. “Once their bullets are gone, they will be no more dangerous than children. Our arrows fly true, and we have a great store of them.”

  “Why? Who or what were you fighting before we came?” Michael asked. “Was it those strange creatures that lurk about, or something else?”

  “Those creatures are not like any you have known,” Kohler said, “for they have cunning and trickery such that is almost human. They resent our living here, and if we did not look out constantly, they would attack and take all that we have.”

  “And kill you?” Quade asked.

  “Without mercy,” Kohler responded.

  “Interesting.”

  “Dangerous is a more apt description,” Kohler said with a scowl.

  Just then a ruckus sounded at the door. It burst open. “Michael! It’s really you!” Lionel Rempart hurried toward his brother. Jake followed, as did the dark-haired, pale and sickly young man Michael knew must be Vince Norton.

  Lionel stopped a few feet before Michael and went no further, as if unsure of how to greet him.

  “Good to see you alive,” Michael said. “You had me worried.” He got to his feet, equally self-conscious. Too many years had passed without them meeting face to face. Too many years of Michael deciding it best to have nothing to do with his family. Lionel's wild eyes, his gaunt features, and quivering hands stunned and alarmed him. He forced a smile. “I came to get you out of here, but I seem to have made a mess of it.”

  “You came through the pillars?” Lionel asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Did you try to go back through them?”

  Michael nodded. “It didn’t work.”

  “And lights,” Lionel said, his eyes wide and unfocused, “in front of the mound with the pillars…did you see any such thing?”

  The question surprised Michael, but he decided against revealing too much. “I saw something out there. I’m not sure what.”

  “Then I’m not crazy!” Lionel cried, relieved.

  Kohler’s gaze fiercely zeroed in on Lionel. “What lights are you talking about?”

  Lionel grew nervous. “Well, I…I saw lights around the mound that holds the pillars, and on the ground before it. They were there just an instant. The students didn’t see them, but Michael did! Thank God!”

  “I’m not sure—” Michael began.

  “Can you describe them?” Kohler interrupted.

  “Just some strange lines in complex configurations,” Lionel said. "They quickly vanished, but I know what I saw.”

  “And you?” Kohler faced Michael.

  Michael wondered about Kohler’s reaction. “I never saw anything like that.”

  “It’s a sign!” Ben Olgerbee pointed at Lionel. His gray hair stood wildly out from his head, and his eyes bulged. “He is the one! He sees what we know must be there, but we cannot see. God has sent him to us! He will lead the way.”

  “Enough! There will be time to talk later,” Kohler said, as he looked from one brother to the other. “Now, it’s time to eat.” Kohler led the newcomers to the community house for breakfast.

  Chapter 43

  AFTER BREAKFAST, OUTSIDE the community house Charlotte and Rachel ground what appeared to be a primitive corn or maize into meal. Rachel looked around to see if anyone watched them, then held a forefinger to her lips in a sign of “quiet” and motioned for Charlotte to follow her.

  “You've got to talk with Will Durham,” Rachel whispered.

  She led Charlotte to a cabin and opened the door without knocking. “Will?”

  “Come in,” he said. The lit fireplace warmed the air. Rachel and Charlotte sat side-by-side on the bed while Will took the chair.

  “Rachel tells me I can trust you,” Charlotte said.

  “We aren't bad men. It's just a matter of strange things that have happened.” He looked sheepish, knowing how weak the confession sounded.

  “Charlotte has a theory about this place,” Rachel said. “That's why I wanted you to meet her. You've been here for years. Maybe with her theory and your practical experience you two can come up with a way to get us out of here.”

  “You have a theory?” Will asked. “Based on what?”

  “There's a scientific explanation,” Charlotte said, then admitted, “of a sort. It sounds crazy, however. I'd rather hear what you've experienced.”

  “I haven't experienced anything beyond not being able to leave. You say your explanation sounds crazy, but I say there's nothing that would surprise me. Not after what I've been through. If you can help, please...”

  “You need to understand,” Charlotte began, “that I was a student of ancient cultures in the near and middle east. That’s where we find the earliest records of...of alchemy.”

  “What?” Rachel said.

  Charlotte found Will's lack of surprise both interesting and alarming.

  “An ancient alchemical symbol was found in this area. There is talk that Lewis and Clark may have been looking for it—”

  Will jumped to his feet, his face white. “No. Not Lewis and Clark. It was a secret expedition...a secret expedition sent to follow them.”

  “How do you know that?” Charlotte asked.

  He opened a drawer from the wooden desk and from it pulled some thin sheets of bark with writing on them. “I found this here,” he said. “A member of the expedition named Francis Masterson wrote it. His words are horrible. Horrible to contemplate or to believe. Yet, I do believe them.”

  Charlotte looked at the bark sheets. The writing was awkward and the ink splotchy.

  “I've had years to decipher it,” Will said. “It is lengthy, but explains much. If you'd like, I'll read it to you. I've read it so often over the years I almost know it by heart.”

  “Please,” Charlotte said.

  Will moved closer to the fire. As he read, Charlotte could all but envision Francis Masterson himself sitting in this very cabin so long ago, writing this strange account...

  I, Francis Masterson, once turned my back on God. Now, I live with His back turned on me.

  Madness or even Death would be welcome over all that has transpired, but I am too weak, too cowardly, and too afraid to face my Maker by my Own hand.

  I have previously penned an arrogant discourse on our Secret albeit Failed Expedition under our beloved President Thomas Jefferson, in which our small collection of scholars and occultists foolishly braved this Vast and Unknown Land. If that discourse is ever found and read it will truly be a Miracle, and this one, doubly so.

  But I am a writer, and as long as the last, small shard of the miserable Soul once known as Francis Masterson remains, I will record what has happened.

  Lest anyone unfortunate enough to stumble upon this Discourse be tempted to dismiss it as Fiction or the child of a fevered, tortured mind, let me assure you on the grave of my own sweet Mother that every word is True. I call you Unfortunate because, if you are reading this, you, too, may be trapped here. If so, I pray with all my heart that you have more success than I and my ill-fated companions at freeing yourself before Despair and Derangement overtake you.

  It began when Captain Crouch and I crossed between the pillars to flee the Tukudeka who were fast upon us with their spears and poisoned arrows. When we crossed, we found ourselves to be in the same p
lace as we'd been previously…except that the Tukudeka were no longer threatening, and the thunder and lightning had ceased.

  Our companions, Orril and Asa Munroe, Noah Handy, and Reuben Hale, stood before us like ghosts. The four had not dared move, so frightened and so astonished were they as Captain Crouch and I walked between the pillars and appeared before them as if by magic.

  Fear overtook us all. If this place held safety from the Tukudeka, what else did it hold? The Rational mind could not explain it. Mr. Hale called it Infernal, and that word took hold of our thoughts and refused to leave. Dread of this unknown Region had so crippled our bones that they turned weak and we fell to the ground.

  We huddled together and considered going back through the pillars, but if we did, we must again face the Tukudeka. That way lay certain Death, and here, an uncertain Future.

  We ran away from the pillars. As we traveled, Mr. Handy noticed smoke rising in the distance. At first we feared another fire, and our instinct was to flee as fast and as far in the opposite direction as we could. We were despondent, hopelessly lost, but then Captain Crouch saw that the smoke wasn't moving. It remained a single white plume wafting high into the sky.

  Had we found some means of help?

  We approached cautiously. Three watched our flank while Ezra Crouch, Noah Handy, and I went forward to scout the reason for the smoke.

  As we neared we heard the most unearthly screams. The thought of them even now sends shivers down my spine and chills my soul.

  Inching closer, we heard a drum and deep, guttural chants, not the song of the Aboriginal, but fiercer, more primitive, even, dare I say, animal-like. It inspired such all-consuming terror within me that my very skin prickled. But through it all, even worse, were the screams, sobs, and a litany of pleadings in an unintelligible, mumbled rush. Only as we neared could I comprehend the word, Dieu, cried over and over.

  We concluded that a French trapper had been captured and was being cruelly tortured. Oft times the most one can do in such circumstances is to pray that Death comes quickly.

  I believed we would run as far from this wretched place as possible, when Captain Crouch appealed to our qualities as Honorable men.

  I shall confess that I have never worried about my portion of manly Virtue. Yet, it is an expression of man's essential weakness and insecurity that when another challenges his Manhood, he immediately puffs and primps himself up like a peacock and declares that he is willing to confront the World if need be. Captain Crouch led us closer. Using his spyglass, we soon reached a point where we could see what was occurring.

  A white man had been stripped of his clothing and tied spread eagle on the ground. He was being ruthlessly jabbed with knives or burning sticks, not to kill, but to provoke so much Agony that his eyes had rolled back in his head and his mouth frothed. He emitted such bone-chilling shrieks that I could not reckon how anyone without a heart of stone could do anything but end the poor man’s suffering.

  Captain Crouch bravely crawled closer while Mr. Handy and I separated. I hid in a thicket, my back to a pine trunk so no one could sneak up behind me, which was my fear. I'll admit that as I held my rifle, my hands shook.

  The Captain shouted to the Heathens to free their captive. They surely were Tukudeka, but—as God is my witness—they had covered themselves, head to toe so completely and expertly in animal skins and feathers that they truly looked like unknown monsters, even more frightening than the Heathens we had escaped.

  To our surprise, at the Captain’s order, the warriors ran. We had no doubt that as soon as they realized how small our numbers were, they would return.

  Captain Crouch cut the ropes that bound the victim, then pulled the pitiful Soul to his feet and wrapped him in a nearby blanket of hides.

  The Frenchman was weak and dazed. I moved forward then, making myself frighteningly Visible as I wrapped my left arm around the fellow's waist and held him close to help him flee this area. Captain Crouch took up the man’s sack of belongings while keeping his muzzle aimed at the thicket through which the Heathens had fled.

  We feared that they would pursue us, especially when we heard the forest fill with the most Eerie and Mournful shrieking and inhuman howling imaginable.

  With the help of the Munroe brothers and Reuben Hale, we were able to craft a sling to carry the Frenchman, which was a blessing since his body was so slippery from blood it was nearly impossible to hold onto him.

  We found a location upon which we could secure our safety, and there dressed the Frenchman's many cuts and burns as best we could. Some areas of his body required sutures, which I found myself unable to watch administered, and am loathe to describe in any detail here for fear of the Nightmares it will bring back to mind. There were many times I thought the poor Victim would be in better state if he simply had died.

  He insisted on dressing himself. Among his belongings we saw a remarkable red stone, a pendant, on a long gold chain. He quickly hid it from our view.

  The next day he developed a fever, and became quite delirious with it. Only a few times could he speak with any degree of rationality. Strangely, what he said when he was supposedly rational often sounded more of Bedlam and Madness than when gripped by fever.

  In his lucid times, we learned, to our amazement, that he was a holy man, a French abbot named Gerard Rombert de Fontainebleau. He said that at the time the French revolution ravaged his nation, Anti-clerical sentiment abounded amidst the rabble and their leaders. To save himself, Abbé Gerard escaped to Spain. Among his treasures was a book passed to him by his father, a book of Great value about Alchemy, called The Book of Abraham the Jew.

  Dame Rumor soon whispered about the curious book, causing others to covet it. Gerard fled to Egypt. There, he discovered the Land of Pharaohs where Hermes was said to have explained alchemy to the world in his Emerald Tablets. Gerard learned the true meaning and value of the book he carried with him. As long as he could remember, he had Intuition and Sensibilities that others did not possess. Because of it, he had turned to the Church, thinking he was saintly. Instead, in Egypt, he learned he was quite the opposite. There, he gained a sense of the potential power of his new calling.

  He continued East, eventually reaching Cathay where he gained the trust of Taoist priests who taught him the Dao Zan which brought an understanding of his precious book beyond his wildest imagination.

  His associations with so many Ungodly persons caused the Jesuits in Cathay to harbor suspicion, and the Mandarins to do the same. Once again, the abbot found himself in danger, and took flight. He traveled by ship across the Pacific to the New World.

  Supplied with the various tools of Alchemical Arts, he joined a group of fur trappers traveling inland. One night as they slept, he headed into the mountains. Alone, he almost died of starvation that first Winter, despite a store of gathered food. The Winter was cold beyond belief. He oft longed for his beloved Paris.

  Throughout this time, his studies of his Miraculous Book continued. Using the vast store of information and explanation he had gleaned from his days in Egypt and Cathay, he created a Philosopher’s Stone, the stone he now wore.

  With that stone, he told us with a sly wink and a smile, the world of alchemy opened to him as a flower’s petals to the sun. I must admit to a sense of unease at his demeanor.

  He stopped his story there, although we knew his tale was far from over.

  Quickly, his strength returned. He showed us which plants were edible in this land, and at times prepared most delicious stews for us. We were, for a time, content to be alive and free of the Tukudeka. But eventually, a natural longing for home overtook us one and all, and despite the ease of life with the Abbé, we grew unhappy and angry, and demanded to find a way to leave.

  Now that we wished to leave this place, he told us we must hear the remainder of his story.

  In Egypt, he had learned of Hermes Trismegistus’ greatest achievement. The great Hermes had created a portal between the mortal world and the Land where Phara
ohs live for all eternity. The abbot proclaimed that he had become consumed with the desire to enter that portal, to live with the gods. He saw that as his Destiny, the reason for all the travel, trials and tribulation that befell him. To open that portal, to enter it, would allow him to live forever.

  I stared at him, scarcely believing the words I heard. Immortality! It was too Unnatural to contemplate, and I shrank back from the abbot in horror. Something in his eyes chilled my blood, and made me wonder if we had erred in saving this man’s life.

  He relayed that he had built an altar, and then continued for three more years using his Stone, his Book, and his studies. To survive, he created gold and occasionally traveled to trading posts to purchase supplies. He killed any Trapper who attempted to follow him to steal his gold, and soon word got out that he and his gold were Evil. He relished that, and built upon it. As a Sign of Evil to ward off thieves and Heathens, he used the alchemical symbol of immortality with triangles, a circle and vees. To my Horror, I knew that symbol and that gold caused our Good Expedition to venture to this Wretched place.

  He continued with his attempts to contact the Portal of Hermes.

  And one day, he succeeded. The Earth shook. Lightning filled the Sky over his altar and Thunder crashed. The Tukudeka ran to him to see what was happening, as the ground swelled into a perfectly shaped pyramid, and two magnificent pillars, inscribed with letters from the Gods themselves, dropped from the Sky onto its flattened top.

  All stared in Wonder and Awe. But three Tukudeka warriors, swaggering and brave, climbed to the top of the pyramid. They inspected the pillars, but when they stepped between them, one by one, they vanished.

  Their women and children lamented for them, and amidst wailings and affirmations to find them and pull them back to safety, crossed the threshold of the pillars and also disappeared.

  The Tukudeka were furious, and told Gerard that if he did not return their brethren, he would be killed by being roasted alive, one small portion of him at a time. The Abbé tried, but could find no way to retrieve the lost warriors. He cared little about them in any case, and desiring nothing more than to join the Pharaohs and Hermes the Great, he gathered up his Alchemical tools and his marvelous book and flung himself between the pillars.