Ancient Echoes

by Joanne Pence

  To his astonishment, despite the ancient Egyptian letters on the pillars, he was not in Hermes’ World of the Pharaohs, but in a separate world build on Gerard’s own experience—a world familiar to him. Fool that he was, to think the Dark Power of Alchemy would allow otherwise!

  Wearing the Philosopher’s Stone, ingesting bits of the vast quantities of gold he created and stored away, and using the knowledge of alchemy he gained in his travels, he divined for himself the state of immortality.

  He exulted in it, and lived happily for a while. But then, he found it took a great deal of work to prepare food and shelter for the long winter.

  Several more Tukudeka had crossed over to rescue their brethren and became stuck in this world. Generally, he hid from them but one day, he set a trap and captured one. He soon realized, however, that a Human was both too intelligent and too wily to be trusted. He had learned that transformations were possible in alchemy, and not only of base metal to gold.

  With his alchemical powers, he practiced on captives, creating them into confused but docile creatures, some mixed with birds, some with coyotes, some with bears, all with a variety of talents in hunting, fishing, and hauling that Gerard could use.

  Finally, he enjoyed life. His creations provided companionship and would do his bidding. But slowly, they changed. They realized their own strength, and instead of loving and serving him for granting them Eternal life, they came to hate him. They wanted freedom and to be changed back, but he knew not how.

  He had to run from them. To hide. To spend his days constantly moving. Even in Winter, he would starve and freeze, but he would not die.

  In time, this Immortality became repugnant to him. His years of training as a man of God seeped back upon him, and he realized he was being punished for having abandoned his God, and for turning instead to Evil. Creating this place, destroying and transforming the bodies of the Tukudeka, was surely Evil.

  Man, he learned, was too small and too ignorant to tamper with nature. We lacked sufficient knowledge of the interconnection and balance of all things. Even with the best of intentions, man most often harms Nature, seldom can he mend it, and never can he perfect it. The man who attempts to usurp the creative power of his Maker, will create a monster in its place. And that was his legacy.

  In despair and sorrow, he gave up running from the Creatures trapped here with him. He allowed them to capture him, and faced their Judgment. He told us he expected to die from all they subjected him to, but he did not. He remained alive and suffering.

  Crying to Heaven now, he proclaimed that he welcomed Death. He only prayed to be spared the Fires of Hell for his dreadful deeds, and that someday he might serve his Penance and kneel at the feet of his Beloved, Jesus Christ, and plead for his Divine Mercy and Forgiveness. He said his last act would be to destroy the Stone.

  At this, Orril Munroe cried, “No! Never!” He grabbed the stone, wrenching it from the Abbé’s neck. Why, he asked, should a sick old man deny him gold and eternal life? With it, Orril raged, he would find a way to escape to the real World, take the abbot’s gold with him, and use the Stone to create more.

  As Mr. Munroe held it, the magnificent stone glowed with shifting colors amidst subtle transformations in shape. The Stone became a living agent of Change, and I sensed it had Intellect.

  I could feel myself being drawn to its Unnatural power. All that made me Francis Masterson seemed to fly from my mind, my body, even my Soul, and I came to Desire the Stone beyond all Reason. I looked upon Orril and the Abbé with hatred, and knew I would willingly kill to possess the beautiful red object.

  And as I felt, so did the others. We were near to blows, or worse, when Captain Crouch turned to the abbot and demanded he create five more Stones.

  The abbot said that would take many months, and the faster, easier route would be to divide the one we had into six pieces, for each would be as strong as the whole. Even as I rejoiced at this news, it crossed my troubled mind that we contemplated blasphemy, that we were creating an Idol that was Sacrilege itself.

  With little heed to the Priest, we immediately took out his tools and used them to chisel the Stone into six equal parts. When we finished, however, the Stone lost the strange aura it had possessed, and seemed no more than a common red rock. Seeing that, all six of us pelted the frail abbot, for he had Tricked us into believing him, and caused us to destroy that which we most coveted.

  We demanded he create another Stone. The abbot refused to yield, but called up his God to give him Fortitude to withstand our fury, and offered his suffering as Penance for having once believed that he, a decrepit excuse for a man, sought to elevate himself to the level of God.

  Desire for a Philosopher’s Stone drove us beyond the Realm of Madness. We believed that the Stone was our only means to leave this Unnatural Land that Sorcery had created, yet that was but a small part of our Desire.

  With it, we would have Gold and Power. Also, as we had seen with our own Eyes, with the Stone’s magic we would not die.

  The torture the abbot suffered at our Hands was worse than that of the Tukudeka, but no matter the cruelty we bestowed on him, he would not yield. If we came to fully command the Stone, if we unleashed it on an unsuspecting World, he believed the Harm would be Irreparable. Once he managed to escape, but we tracked him and caught him near the Great River that runs through this area. The effort cost him, and finally, the Power of the Stone he once wore dissipated. At our hands, the abbot died.

  We hurled his body into the fast and treacherous River.

  Guilt filled my soul, and with it came a quiet, desperate Madness. He was a Holy Man who had lost his way, but who, I believe, had found Repentance.

  As for our pitiful but murderous Expedition, we had destroyed the Philosopher’s Stone. Thus, we were doomed to remain here, and here, we would die.

  The tale horrified Charlotte, and left her sick at heart. If true, if the very creator of this blasphemy could not leave it, how in heaven’s name could they? Were they all doomed here? The students, Michael, Jake…

  “May I borrow this?” she asked Will. “I’d like my companions to read it, to understand.”

  Will covered the manuscript with sheepskin and handed it to her. Soon, she and Rachel returned to the community house.

  When they retired for the night, Charlotte couldn’t sleep.

  Eventually she gave up and snuck out of the community house and quietly crept to the stable, careful to stay in the shadows. Jake must have heard her footstep, or the opening of the stable door because he stood up as she entered.

  Her bleak expression and the wildness of her eyes alarmed him. “Are you all right?” Large, strong hands brushed the hair that had fallen to her face, touched her cheek, her jaw. “They didn’t hurt you, did they?”

  “I’m all right, but you must read this.” She handed him the papers, her voice tremulous. “It’s beyond belief, yet has the ring of truth.”

  He took the papers. “You’re shaking.”

  She tried to pull herself together, to hold her chin up. “It seems so hopeless, Jake.”

  He put down the papers, and put his arms around her. “As long as we have breaths to take,” he said, his voice strong, “we have hope.”

  She saw his determination and fortitude, and placed her hands on his shoulders. Her gaze drifted from eyes that were the deep green of pines, to strong sun-burnished cheekbones, a straight nose, and sensitive mouth. How had she ever thought him cold and heartless?

  As she looked at him, his eyes darkened, and neither could look away.

  “Who’s there?” Lionel cried. “What’s going on?”

  He woke the others with his shout. Charlotte fled back to the community house while Jake tried to quiet Lionel.

  Chapter 44

  New York City

  JIANJUN AWOKE FEELING as if he had spent the night in Dracula’s castle. The massive bed’s wooden headboard reached nearly to the ceiling, its ornately carved panels reminiscent of gothic architectur
e. Dusty purple velvet drapery hung over the windows, blocking all sunlight. Flocked green, gray, and purple floral wallpaper covered every wall.

  A six-foot wide, eight-foot tall dark mahogany wardrobe dominated one side of the room. Jianjun was afraid to look inside. Anything could be hiding in there. He drew open the drapes. A gray, drizzly overcast sky only added to the eeriness. Moments later, the housekeeper wheeled in a lavish breakfast of eggs, sausage, kippers, waffles, cold cereal, orange juice, coffee, and tea. A few minutes after he finished eating, she delivered over a dozen books on alchemy in Egypt and China, as well as discussion papers on Nicholas Flamel and Hermes Trismegistus.

  Her timing made him feel spied upon. He rubbed his arms to ward off an eerie chill.

  Instead of reading, he went looking for Phaylor or his nurse, but failed to find anyone, not even the seemingly omnipresent housekeeper. He discovered that the elevator would not stop for him on the house’s third floor, but only on the first with its entryway and garages, the second or main floor, the fourth with his guest bedroom, and the roof garden. When he took the stairs, he found a locked door blocked access to the third floor as well.

  He knocked on it, but no one answered.

  Finally, he gave up and returned to his bedroom to spend the day trying to understand the basic tenants of a confusing mishmash of ideas about turning base metals into gold, and humans into immortal beings. No wonder sane people considered alchemy crazy.

  In the evening, he sat alone in the dining room, eating a feast of grilled red snapper, roast beef, coq au vin, vegetables, one hot and one cold soup, and several salads. Everything about the meal seemed both elaborate and wasteful. He had eaten his fill when the door to the dining room opened. Calvin Phaylor entered, wheeled by his nurse. Jianjun jumped to his feet.

  “I hope you enjoyed the meal,” Phaylor said. “Please sit.”

  Phaylor’s nurse brought out a decanter of cognac and two crystal glasses, and poured them each a drink. “I’ll be fine for now, Bob,” Phaylor said.

  The nurse left, shutting the door behind him.

  “Michael Rempart’s adventures in Mongolia were quite fascinating,” Phaylor said. “Dr. Rempart managed to do what no one else has. Find a Han tomb outside of China, and find someone who successfully practiced Chinese alchemy. Did your boss ever learn where or how Lady Hsieh’s body disappeared?”

  Jianjun was stunned. “How did you learn about all that?”

  Phaylor grinned, shrunken gums making his teeth appear overly large and wide-spaced in his skeletal face. “As you saw by the books I sent you, my interest in alchemy is deep and has existed for many years. Some years ago, I traveled to China.”

  Jianjun nodded and said nothing.

  “Recently, certain acquaintances there, men who work with Director Zhao from the Ministry of Culture, informed me of the loss of Lady Hsieh’s body. It was most unfortunate. She would have provided science with indisputable proof that alchemy works.”

  “Or that the early Chinese knew a scientific means to preserve the body,” Jianjun said, ever practical. He remembered Director Zhao’s comment that wealthy, influential people, if not the US government itself, engineered the theft of the tomb contents. He now knew Phaylor was one of those people.

  “If anyone could have learned alchemy’s secret, it would be Michael Rempart,” Phaylor said. “I’m absolutely certain Michael Rempart’s fame is what caused Jennifer Vandenburg to choose his brother Lionel to find The Book of Abraham the Jew. I’m sure she expected Michael to step in and help his brother.”

  Jianjun couldn’t comment right away because he was too busy mulling over Phaylor’s mention of Vandenburg “choosing” Lionel Rempart. “Jennifer Vandenburg?” He tried to sound surprised. “Is she involved?”

  Phaylor chuckled. “Don’t pretend you don’t know about her already. If there is anything to alchemy, who could better benefit than a pharmaceutical company? Vandenburg could give the alchemical formulas to her company, and perform wonders in droves. Creating gold would be well and good, of course, but imagine the rest of it. What if alchemy truly can lead to a life that continues so long a person feels immortal? And what if PLP distributed the means to provide that immortality? How valuable would such a ‘medical discovery’ be?”

  Jianjun wanted to kick himself for not putting that together sooner, but at the same time, as the implications of it struck, he looked at Phaylor with growing horror. “It would be priceless,” he murmured. “Absolutely priceless.”

  Phaylor gave him a wide, ugly smile. “Exactly.”

  Chapter 45

  LIONEL SAT ON THE floor of the barn, his back resting against a wall. He was alone except for Vince. Somebody or something had awoken him. His brother, the Sheriff and that spooky-looking Simon Quade left the barn to go outside and talk. He wondered what they were up to, and why he wasn’t included.

  He also wondered why the villagers allowed the women to stay warm and comfortable while they treated him no better than a farm animal. He couldn’t help but suspect the women offered the villagers all sorts of favors.

  He notice the way Thaddeus Kohler ogled Melisse. He wouldn’t put it past her to take advantage of Kohler’s interest. Enough coeds had played such little games with him. They knew what it took to raise their grades, that was for sure.

  Even that sniveling idiot Brandi Vinsome had come to his office after hours a couple of times and practically threw herself at him to convince him to take her on this field trip. She had hinted without subtlety that she would provide him a most pleasurable trip. What else would have convinced him to select her over capable applicants?

  Once on the field trip however, she ignored him. So much for her promises and gratitude. Little bitch!

  He sighed heavily. He couldn't think about women now.

  Vince’s loud snores interrupted his thoughts.

  The boy had been abnormally quiet ever since his fright the other night when he ran caterwauling back to camp. Rempart didn’t even want to think about Devlin and the possibility of another dead student. He rubbed his throbbing temples. Already he feared being forced to kiss his career good-bye after this abominable disaster. He would never live it down.

  Tenure provided his only comfort. If they tried to fire him, he’d sue. How could he have known any of this would happen?

  He felt sick to his stomach. He lay back down and covered himself with more smelly animal hides. All in all, he was glad the villagers took them in, even if he did have to sleep in a barn. The villagers suggested they not attempt to leave the village walls. Dangers lay beyond them. In the pens beside the stable were wild boars and sows, ducks and wild turkey whose wings had been clipped so they could no longer fly, and surprisingly tame big horn sheep and mountain goats. Lionel felt like one of the animals…but at least he was safe.

  If only he better understood what he encountered here, he might feel less nervous about the place.

  The sheriff had told them the men here had disappeared thirteen years ago; he said he recognized their names from official reports on their disappearance. Lionel found that hard to believe considering how young some of them looked. Or, maybe, this place was the Fountain of Youth, too!

  One thing he did know. The ancient tools, utensils and such all around here had to have been left by the secret expedition that followed Lewis and Clark.

  Many months ago, when he first read the journal of Francis Masterson at the Smithsonian with all its talk about people disappearing into the pillars, he assumed Masterson had gone mad. But now, he learned the tale was true. The expedition's men must have built these log huts and the community house, trying to make this forlorn land habitable.

  He wondered what had happened to them. Did they find their way out, or did they die here? He shivered. And what about the strange creatures all around them? Where had they come from? His thoughts returned to rumors of bones of odd creatures found in this part of Central Idaho. Maybe he should have investigated further, although any rational man wou
ld have expected they were a hoax. But if bones of those creatures from this side were found in the real world, there had to be a way to go back, a way to go home. A kernel of hope built inside him.

  Getting back...back to his home…his studies…his coeds…

  Happy thoughts lulled him back to sleep.

  Chapter 46

  EARLY THE NEXT morning, before dawn, all six of the village men entered the community house, their faces grim.

  They awoke Charlotte, Melisse, Rachel and Brandi and ordered them to dress and come down to the gathering room.

  After a long silence, Kohler spoke, his voice deep and troubled. “We have tarried long enough.” He cast cold eyes on Melisse. “You have done wrong.”

  “She didn't mean any harm,” Rachel said in a high and quivery tone.

  Kohler glared at her. “She stole our food and supplies; she is a thief. Are you saying you are as well?”

  Rachel shook her head, then meekly stepped back into the shadows, too afraid to stand up bravely, and too embarrassed and ashamed by her fear to look at anyone.

  Charlotte glanced at Melisse, who shook her head waving Charlotte off.

  “Bring the criminal forward,” Kohler commanded.

  Melisse glared at Kohler as Sam Black and Arnie Tieg each grabbed one arm. She easily pulled herself free of them and marched on her own to stand in front of Kohler, her chin high and defiant.

  “You are bold,” he said, a hint of approval in his voice.

  She made no reply.

  Kohler slowly marched around Melisse eying her as she stood alone. “I've given this great thought. It is not right to flog a woman as I would have done to one of my men. Nor is it manly to use a woman in a conjugal way as punishment—much as that would have pleased several in this room.” He gave a studied, distasteful glance at Black and Tieg.