The Immortals I_Lucas

by Cynthia Breeding

  “I’m impressed,” Lucas said.

  For a moment she thought he was being sarcastic. Men often were when she

  started talking about the real strength of women, but Lucas looked serious, his amber eyes studying hers.

  “Go on,” he urged.

  “There are also rumors and speculation,” she said. “That a vault lies beneath the chapel that can not be accessed…that it contains everything from Solomon’s treasure to a manuscript written by Jesus himself. And what it has to say may not be in keeping with Christianity as we know it.”

  Lucas smiled. “I think you’ve been reading too many recent bestsellers.”

  “Maybe. I said it was speculation. I’m sure it’s good for tourism at any rate.” She let her eyes slide to the envelope. “But there is another rumor about the Holy Grail being embedded in the Apprentice Pillar.”

  “I wish it were so simple,” Lucas answered with a sigh. “Then we wouldn’t have to worry about the wrong people getting a hold of it. William didn’t complete the chapel. His son, Oliver, did and set sail to Nova Scotia to bring back whatever had been taken there earlier. Perhaps it was the treasure. They wanted the vault to hide something. But the Hallows are no longer there.”

  “How can you be so sure?”

  “Do you know what happened in 1590?”

  “That really isn’t my area of expertise,” she said and then thought. “Wait. Wasn’t there another witch hunt started? This time in Scotland?”

  “Aye, lass. Your knowledge of history is good. There is nothing like mass hysteria to launch a feeding frenzy. Evil reigned. Women were burned because their husbands found themselves impotent. Children were stoned because they might have eyes of different colors. There was no reasoning with the zealous priests who made a mockery of their own church. Anything of real value--like the Hallows--was moved to a place of safety.”

  “Nova Scotia?”

  “I don’t think so. Or, at least not all of them.” Lucas motioned toward the papers lying on the desk. “It seems they were to be separated, hidden in different parts of the New World. That way, if a Hallow were found, the power would not be compounded four-fold. The document basically rambles on about exploration in the New World. And it ends with the words. “Fait accompli. Whatever it was, the mission had been successful.”

  “So does the paper offer any clues?”

  “Several, but one important one from what I can tell.” He reached over to the desk and picked up his notes. “On every page, there was a line that didn’t quite fit in with the rest of a paragraph. I took them out and put them together.” He handed her the paper.

  “Where roses climb to heaven,

  Lugh’s lance will wait,

  Near to the Druid’s tree,

  Enter dawn’s gate.”

  “Does this mean anything to you?” Sara asked.

  “Only that it refers to the Spear, obviously.”

  Voices sounded in the hall. Sara jumped up and grabbed the envelope. She stuffed it behind the closest book just as the door opened.

  “There you are!” Mr. Smith said cheerfully. “I was wondering where the two of you had gone off to. It’s lunchtime!”

  Beside him, Al Caldwell was frowning. Sara took a step away from the bookcase and backed solidly into Lucas.

  “Steady there,” he said as he put a hand on her shoulder to balance her. With his other arm he reached around her to return a book she hadn’t noticed he taken. For a moment she was engulfed in his embrace and she breathed in the scent of him. His warm breath teased the nape of her neck as leaned into her to give the book a push.

  “Stubborn book,” he murmured against her ear, whetting her appetite for something other than lunch.

  Both Mr. Smith and Mr. Caldwell were openly watching them, the visitor with narrowed eyes. Her boss was smirking.

  Sara reluctantly stepped away from Lucas. “Perhaps we can finish this discussion…” She looked wildly at the title of the book, Le Morte D’Arthur, that he had just shelved. Pick a character. Quick! “…about, uh, Lancelot later.”

  Lucas’ eyebrow arched. “Lancelot? By all means. I think I may know a few stories you haven’t heard.”

  It wasn’t until later that she wondered what he’d meant by that.

  * * * *

  Baylor picked up the phone in his expensive Dallas hotel suite. He’d been waiting all day for this phone call and he didn’t like waiting. Not at all. “Yes?”

  “The tracking device is in her purse,” Caldwell said.

  “Good. Any problems?”

  “Nah. I just was really clumsy and overturned it—“

  “I meant, have you been able to locate the document?” Sometimes even his best men seemed daft. Baylor hated not being able to get directly involved himself, but with his eye patch he was too memorable in case of trouble.

  “Oh.” Caldwell hesitated. “I haven’t seen it. But Ramsey is here and he spent the entire morning with the girl in the library.”

  Baylor growled in frustration. That damn Templar had been a thorn in his side for centuries, fouling up some of his best evil intentions. He often wondered just what gods had created another immortal. In his time, Ramsey had not been on Avalon.

  “Do you suppose,” he asked sarcastically, “that they may have been reading the manuscript in there?”

  “No doubt,” Caldwell replied somewhat defensively, “but my host—who’s crazy as a loon if you ask me—stayed with me the whole morning, jabbering on about his stupid swords. I had to actually take notes.”

  “Don’t underestimate Mr. Smith,” Baylor said softly. “He’s a wealthy man and didn’t get there by being stupid.”

  “No, Sir.” Caldwell said promptly. “I did try to get in the library after lunch, but it was locked. I didn’t think it would be good to pick it.”

  Baylor sighed. “And why not? It’s one of the things you do, isn’t it?”

  “True. But there’s a copy of the document that may be available.”

  “Oh?” Baylor reached for his brandy snifter and swirled the contents and sniffed. “Where is it?”

  “Some old professor named MacDonald has it. I heard the girl mention it when she cut off Smith. I’ll just put a tail on her when she goes to get it.”

  “You do that,” Baylor said, “and soon. If the Templar has already read it, that puts him ahead of us in this race.”

  “No problem.”

  “And one more thing. Make sure the tail cleans up. I hate messes.”

  “Understood.”

  Baylor hung up the phone and poured another brandy. “This time, I will win, Templar. I will win.”

  * * * *

  It was near mid-afternoon by the time Sara turned into Professor MacDonald’s driveway. Robert met her at the door.

  “He’s in the library, waiting for you.”

  The professor’s faded blue eyes were almost glowing. “Sit, dear!” he said excitedly. “I can’t tell you how much I’ve enjoyed reading this document. It really is a confirmation of hope. If I never read another important thing, this will have been enough.”

  Sara sat down on the sofa near his wheelchair. “So what can you tell me?”

  “Well, much of it is written like a travel diary,” the professor began, “but I got the feeling that somehow the writer was trying to encrypt some other message.”

  Sara told him about the verse that Lucas had dug out of it. The old man nodded.

  “Yes, I noticed that too. But there’s more, I think.”

  “More?” She hadn’t had a chance to talk to Lucas alone after lunch since Mr. Smith had decided to monopolize both of his guests’ time. It had, at least, given her the opportunity to return the manuscript to the safe. “Tell me!”

  He patted her hand. “If the Hallows are to be found, there is an order in which to do it. There were other references about “first” seeing something and then “proceeding” on and “lastly” finding the holy grail.”

  She perked up. “It says
the “Holy Grail”? Lucas hadn’t mentioned that.”

  The professor shook his head. “The writer says that he came across a pool in so beautiful a setting it was like finding the holy grail of inner peace.” His eyes took on a far-away look. “Odd, that choice of words. Pool. Not “lake”. Not “pond”. The only body of water that I’ve heard called by that name was Dozmary Pool in Cornwall.”

  “The pool that Bedwyr threw Excalibur into? What does King Arthur have to do with this? Or England? I thought the Hallows had been brought to America.”

  The old man leaned back and plucked at his cardigan, a sure sign he was about to tell a story. Sara always enjoyed listening to him when he did. She sat back and relaxed.

  “The Hallows have traveled far. It’s not so strange that Arthur, or at least one of his knights, would be involved in this. We are talking about the Holy Grail, you know.”

  “Well, yes,” Sara said. “We all know that Galahad was the only knight pure enough in heart to receive it.”

  “And Galahad went to Sarras after Camlann and from there to Jerusalem. But I get ahead of myself.”

  “Go on.”

  “Well, as you know, Arthur owned the Sword of Justice. Galahad’s father, Lancelot—or the Lancer—wasn’t called that for nothing. He owned the lance, the Spear of Truth. The cup, of course, was mystically hidden to protect it from unwanted hands.”

  “And what about the Dish?”

  “Ah, that. It was actually a round plate, more of a platter, you know. It came with the first Scotti settlers from Tara to Pictland. When Arthur defeated Fergus Mor, he brought the dish to Britain and established the Round Table.”

  “So all four Hallows were in Arthur’s possession?”

  Professor Macdonald nodded. “It was what made him so successful for so many years. Until Mordred came along.”

  “The evil that men do lives after them,” Sara quoted from Shakespeare.

  “Ah, yes. And the true Evil One is still among us, I fear. But Mordred was not able to get his hands on any of the Hallows. Galahad took them all to Jerusalem.”

  Sara shivered, even though it was not cold. “Jerusalem. Solomon’s Temple. So is that what the Templars were really searching for?”

  “Who can say? What matters is that they found the Hallows, took them to France, then escaped to Scotland. And, with the Inquisition, to the United States.”

  They were both silent for a long time, thinking about it. Finally, the old man handed Sara a piece of paper.

  “From what I can tell, using the “first” and “then” and “last” sentences, you have another riddle to solve. Or at least an order to do it in.

  Sara looked down at the paper.

  “Seek first the Spear

  And then, the Sword

  Third, the Dish

  And the Grail will appear.”

  The professor suppressed a yawn. “I believe I’m ready for a nap. Not as young

  as I used to be.” He reached over and squeezed Sara’s hand. “If you trust your young man, share this with him.”

  She felt herself blush. “He’s not “my” man.” She chided herself as the unbid memory arose of being enclosed in his arms, his mouth close to her ear, tickling her senses. Heat pooled in her lower belly and she stood quickly. “I’d better be going.”

  She let herself out. Robert was nowhere in sight, but she had heard water running earlier and figured he was probably drawing a bath for Professor MacDonald.

  As she drove down the driveway, she smiled to herself. Lucas. Her man. What would it be like, having him? How would he take her? Fast and hard? Easy and slow? He was definitely all alpha, sheer animal magnetism about him, but he had a gentle touch. How she’d like to find out just what he’d do. The thought sent fever and chills to every nerve ending. Her whole body tingled.

  She didn’t even notice the black car that waited just down the street.

  Chapter Four

  Sara was still pondering the possible meanings of the verses that Lucas and Professor MacDonald had put together as she sprinkled rose petals into the tub late in the afternoon. Soaking in the bath, clearing her thoughts, and breathing in the fragrance of Venus’ flower, prepared her for ritual ahead.

  Not exactly the way most single women would spend a Friday night, she thought as she dressed in the green robe that was associated with both Venus, the goddess of love and the new growth of spring. She smiled. The real fertility ritual wasn’t until Beltane, still weeks away. That night, in ancient times, when men and women abandoned their inhibitions and coupled beneath the stars. Her thoughts turned to Lucas suddenly.

  She could see him, bare-chested, his skin bronzed by the light of the need-fire, his tawny hair blown back by the night breeze as he stood, splay-legged, high on a rugged Scottish moor. Those intriguing amber eyes glowed in the soft light and he reached out and drew her to him, his mouth slanting over hers in a deep, demanding kiss…

  Stop this! I’m not a schoolgirl! But what was it about him that made it seem so natural to put him into such a medieval setting? He seemed to belong there. And she, independent, self-sufficient twenty-first century woman that she was, had an overwhelming desire to submit—submit!—to him and let him have his way with her. Let him take her any way he wished, as often as he wanted. Goddess, I must stop this! Maybe Michael can talk some sense into me.

  She was more than glad to see that he was already waiting near the shore of the lake in the county park that the Sisterhood met in. He was the only male allowed to attend for he would counter-balance the feminine powers when needed. Tonight he was dressed in Druid’s white.

  “Hi,” she said as she hugged him. “How’s everything going with the agency?”

  “Good,” he said. “All twenty of your clients had full-time jobs this week. No complaints other than I don’t get to see you enough.”

  She picked up just the hint of flirtation. She and Michael went back a long way. They had met in college, in a course called Comparative Religious Thought. He had played the Devil’s Advocate through much of the heated debates that arose; he had a dry sense of humor, and seemed unusually aligned with her thoughts. But it wasn’t until one evening, when she’d arrived at class tired and stressed-out from trying to get her business started, that he had touched her and she felt the energy vibrating from him. “Warlock?” her mind had asked and his dark eyes had flashed mischievously.

  Since then, every year on Beltane, he had asked her to perform the Hieros Gamos, the old rite of Sacred Marriage that united a king to his land through sex with a priestess of the Goddess. Sara knew, that even today, such a ritual would draw in powerful energy, but World Peace would have to wait until she had the courage to be naked and in the throes of climax in front of eleven other women. An image of Lucas standing in front of the fire in those rugged Highlands flashed through her mind. What kind of an energy charge would they ignite if Lucas thrust hard, swollen manhood into her willing, wet core? She was suddenly glad that Nim was confined—for some unknown magical reason—to her home and workplace. The faerie would have a field day with her fantasy.

  Her thoughts were cut off as three cars approached bringing the other women who were dressed in robes of light blue, the color for spiritual truth. She took notice that Morgan, their youngest and newest member, looked at her in envy. Whether it was because Sara, as the officiating priestess, was the only one who could wear Venus’ color or whether it was because she was standing beside Michael, she wasn’t sure. Morgan had made no efforts to hide her interest in the dark-haired, dark-eyed warlock.

  Sara greeted her best friend, Brianna, who was the real Seer for the group and into anything New Age. They complimented each other well for Sara’s love of history lent itself to bringing back the Celtic goddess while Brianna wanted to move forward into the age of self-enlightenment and establish the real Age of Aquarius.

  Sara handed the rest of the sisterhood small, blue glass globes, each of which held a white candle. They assembled into their circle
, plain silver diadems on their heads. She placed her own coronet on, its three moonstones dangling on her forehead. Then she nodded toward Michael.

  He stepped inside the circle and faced south. Sara gave him a startled look. Calling the quarters was always done facing east first, where dawn and Time began. But Michael had closed his eyes and lifted his arms.

  “Tanio, God of Fire, I call you to join us.”

  The candles in the women’s hands flamed to life. Inside Sara’s flame a salamander took shape, a good sign that the elementals were attending the ritual.

  Michael turned toward the west. “Llyr, Master of Water, be with us.”

  Behind them, the water stirred and waves rippled toward shore. Small, green-haired asrai-faeries splashed near the surface, their webbed feet keeping them afloat.

  Pivoting north, the warlock proclaimed, “Pridd, Lord of Earth, I summon you.”

  A rack of antlers appeared in the ethers above Michael’s head and a small gnome skittered behind the nearby trees.

  Then Michael faced east. “And mighty Awyr, Commander of Air, come forth!” All around them, tree leaves rustled and a gust of wind nearly blew out the

  candles. Sylphs, their butterfly wings shimmering, hovered in the air.

  Sara was amazed. Never had all the elementals heeded the call to Quarters before. Michael had broken tradition by calling the eastern quarter last instead of first. Sara widened her eyes. East. Sunrise. Lugh. God of the Sun. The Light-bearer. Keeper of the Spear. The hallow that they were searching for. She glanced at Michael to find him watching her with a knowing smile. She hadn’t even told him about the manuscript yet!

  She bent to pick up the silver goblet she had set at her feet and moved toward the lake. The other women did the same. It was still dusk, the perfect “between Time” and the moon was just rising, casting its illumination across the now still water. She knelt to dip the goblet in and then rose to watch as the golden sphere slowly rose in the sky and turned to silver.

  They reformed the circle and she took her place in the middle of it. Holding the goblet with both hands she raised her arms. “As the moon lights the sky, and guides our path this night, we each seek enlightenment. We ask to receive for the good of all, with harm toward none.”