Eden Relics (A Zac Woods novel #1): Author royalties for Cancer Research

by N Williams

  The Eden Relics

  by

  N. Williams

  EDEN RELICS

  Published by Artcymru Publications

  First Edition

  Copyright 2012 Nigel Williams

  ISBN 978-1-291-86738-1

  Discover other titles by Nigel Williams

  (writing as N. Williams and N.C. Williams)

  Fake Baked

  High Spirits

  Welsh Gold – (Book #1)

  Welsh Gold – (Book #2) Prodigal Son

  Welsh Gold (Books 1 & 2 in a single download)

  Coming soon: The Rod of Asclepius (Sequel to Eden Relics)

  This book edition is licensed for your enjoyment only. This book may not be re-sold or given away to other people, copied or stored in a retrieval system, without first obtaining a licence through purchase or obtaining permission from the author or publisher.

  Author’s note:

  Although this is a work of fiction, some real places and historical characters have been included to provide some sense of place and time. Whilst Adelina Patti provides the focus for the early part of the book, it must be noted that there is no evidence, or serious suggestion, that Adelina (in reality) acted as a spy, or was anything other than a supremely gifted opera soprano and a wonderfully generous human being. She remains a hero within the Swansea Valley and I sincerely hope this story will ignite further interest in, and acknowledgment of, the talents of this amazing lady.

  All other characters are entirely the product of the author’s imagination and no offence is intended to any persons living or dead.

  Acknowledgements

  For most of the historical information I am indebted to the Craig-Y-Nos Castle and the written research of occasional historical tour guide - and retired police sergeant - Len Ley. As you will see, I have taken liberties with the facts (a prerogative of writing fiction) and therefore absolve Mr Ley from any of these inaccuracies. He, after all, is a serious and respected local historian.

  I would also like to thank Mr Martin Gover for allowing me access to parts of Craig-Y-Nos castle that others cannot reach, and the additional information he provided.

  Thanks to the “early readers” of the manuscript: Denise Thorrinton, Caroline Williams, Darryl Williams, Wyn and Hywel Griffiths, Marilyn Williams and Kevin Jones, and more thanks to my many wonderful new friends at mywriterscircle.com who helped to fine-tune many of the sections within the book. Any good bits are thanks to you - the bad bits are entirely mine. Your opinions have been valuable and your encouragement has been a great help.

  I cannot forget to thank Mr Ashford Price of Dan-Yr-Ogof Show-Caves. Ashford was not only happy to encourage the writing of the book but was also a good employer for many young men and women during impressionable times.

  Finally, I dare not forget to thank my family for having the patience to endure the time I’ve spent bent over a keyboard instead of being involved in the usual household duties. Without your support and encouragement this would never have been written.

  Nigel

  In memory of my father; Russ Williams 1933 – 2005

  And my father-in-law Patrick (Gerry) Geraghty 1932-2013.

  ~~~~~~~

  Dedicated to Metropolitan Police Constable (V666) Paul Woods;

  a far better friend to me than I ever was in return.

  Cutting

  New York Times. August 27, 1897, Wednesday

  BOSTON, Mass., Aug. 26. -- Prof. D.G. Lyon of Harvard has no faith in the claim made for the relics discovered by Seton-Karr, who says they are from the original Garden of Eden. His opinion may be fairly taken, perhaps, to represent those men whom a study of anthropology and kindred topics has made more or less familiar with relics of different ages and their significance.

  Prologue

  Upper Swansea Valley 1978; Dan-yr-Ogof Cave System.

  Chris Hodges studied the sky, searching for the tell-tale signs of rain that would threaten the expedition. The forecaster’s predictions that the storm would concentrate its fury more than fifty miles from Craig-Y-Nos were encouraging, but history had taught Chris not to trust the Met’ Office when caving. Nothing could be better than the evidence of his own eyes and the smell of rain in the air.

  An ominous beetroot cloud blotted out the rays of the sun. A bright halo of light emphasised the dark rain-filled vaporous mass shadowing the sun’s gentle plunge. Less than an hour remained before the sheer and jagged limestone ridge of the u-shaped glaciated valley swallowed the last of the day.

  The previous two summers couldn’t have been in more contrast to the time a glacier irrepressibly inched south, scraping and sculpting the land from the Brecon Beacons toward the bay that would, ten thousand years later, become Swansea.

  The glorious weather of the school holidays had been agony for some. The tinder-dry hills burned black, palls of choking smoke threatening to mask out the otherwise flawless blue sky. Part-time firemen battled the flames with beaters and trickles of drought-restricted water. But by March of the following year enough rain had fallen to replenish reservoirs. Rivers and new shoots of life once more established a firm hold on the hills and slopes of the valley.

  This trip had been planned months ago, and they had all waited patiently for the weather to improve. The forecast for the next day and the rest of the week promised nothing but rain. Tonight was the only chance to explore the cave before the school holidays came to an end. The kids deserved the trip.

  At twenty-four, Chris, one of the most experienced of the guides, spent hundreds of hours below ground in ‘Danny’ – the Anglo-friendly nickname for the subterranean system known in Welsh as Dan-Yr-Ogof. Over thirteen miles of passageways lay ahead and another twenty-four miles of caves wormed their way through the Carboniferous limestone under the opposite side of the valley. No proof existed that the two caves were once a single enormous system separated by the colossal erosion of the giant glacier, but he still believed in a chance to find some link between them. Thousands of small offshoot passages and tunnels, some flooded with water, offered the brave or foolhardy the chance of speleological immortality.

  A concrete path led towards the public entrance to the cave. Four excited teens walked Armageddon style towards the rust-coloured door. All were dressed in different combinations of old clothes and sturdy boots and had thick belts around their waists from which the battery pack for the helmet lamp was suspended. Only one of the young men wore a diver’s wet suit with reinforced neoprene knee and elbow pads to soak up the pounding of crawling through the tunnels.

  Trudy Wilson, the sole female of the party, looked as if she had spent an hour adjusting the jaunty angle of the bright yellow toughened plastic helmet.

  Seventeen-year-old Hywel Jones looked ridiculous. At a little over six-foot-three, he had struggled to find a boiler suit to fit. With few options available, he had settled for a suit in which the bottoms of the trouser legs hung at half-mast between his knees and ankles.

  Just one other amongst the group had been caving before; Zac Woods. The eighteen-year-old had followed Chris on two previous trips through the cave – each time going a little further than before. Caving had begun to fascinate him enough to convince him to spend his wages as a cave tour guide on buying the wetsuit. He too was over six feet tall and thin. Trudy joked that he looked like a Bic pen in the black wetsuit and blue helmet he wore.

  This expedition wouldn’t take more than a few hours. Chris promised to let the group experience the dubious delights of the infamous Long Crawl and, if they had the time, take a short dip in the Gre
en Canal to cool down before they started the return journey. It all depended upon the weather.

  The tall and slender figure in the wetsuit flashed even white teeth as he stopped in front of Chris.

  ‘So, are we on?’

  Chris shrugged his shoulders. ‘I’m not sure, Zac. Not looking too good at the moment.’

  The smile slipped from Zac’s face as he leaned in to whisper. ‘Come on, Chris. I promised Trudy we’d take her through tonight. She’s been excited all week. God knows how grateful she’ll be to me after this,’ he winked. The broad infectious smile returned to his lean but handsome face.

  Trudy looked about to burst with excitement, bouncing on the balls of her feet as if full of something illegal – Chris knew that was extremely unlikely. Trudy was growing into a beautiful, intelligent woman. The daughter of the local doctor, she had already passed more O-levels than the rest of the group combined - a certainty to be the first student from the local school in decades to be destined for Oxbridge.

  Chris stared at the large ring of iron keys hanging from the lock in the hulking red steel cave door. ‘Okay. We go...’

  Zac punched Chris on the shoulder. ‘I owe you one.’

  ‘... but,’ Chris warned, ‘if there’s any rise in the water level we’ll turn around and come straight back out. Got it?’

  Zac nodded. ‘Of course, whatever you say, mate.’

  The group walked under the concrete canopy propped above the public entrance and through the heavy, red iron door securing the cave outside of public hours. The guided tours had finished two hours earlier, enough time for the four show-cave tour guides to don their caving gear and plan the route.

  The river-powered generator had fallen silent, and the four friends switched to helmet lamps as they made their way through the manicured paths of the section of cave open to the public.

  They arrived at the Parting of the Ways, about half a mile into the mountain. The guided tours normally followed the right-hand fork and ascended into a narrow passage containing some of the spectacular natural formations. The tunnel to their left would get them to their destination quicker, and Chris led the group along the lower fork. The cave became narrower and rose up a flight of concrete steps to a passageway winding towards the Bridge Chamber where a large concrete platform overhung the River Llynfell that had carved the system over millions of years.

  Chris waited at the barrier blocking off the steps down to the small lake. This was the furthest point of the public guided tours. The lake was actually no more than a large pool at the foot of a low waterfall beyond the sight of the visitors.

  No sign of an increase in the water level - a good indicator for the rest of the cave. After heavy rain, the Bridge Chamber was the first to flood, but during the summer the small pool would shrink to puddles as the limestone above dried out. Chris stared at the walls of the cave around the lake. A dark tidemark extended to about a foot above the current water level. Another good sign - the water had dropped again.

  Satisfied, he waited for tail-end-Hywel to join him, hopped over the barrier and descended the steps to the subterranean lake below.

  *

  Zac laughed at Trudy’s first tentative step into the lake. The frigid water took his breath away, but Trudy’s reaction was priceless and left the rest of the group laughing raucously as they clambered up the waterfall and trudged through the fast-moving stream on the other side.

  ‘You could have warned me, you bum,’ she laughed.

  The natural formations beyond the show-cave stunned Trudy and Hywel. Many of the formations here were far superior to those accessible to the public, safe from the interference of visitors. Trudy had to be dragged from brittle towers of incredibly long straw stalactites and seemed oblivious to the rigours of the trek, lost in wonder at the sights around her.

  Entry into the narrow tunnel, appropriately named the Long Crawl, was a little intimidating and the frigid puddle of water in the first few feet - known to cavers as the Horse Trough - had the effect of keeping the mind alert. Chris wriggled into the excruciatingly tight wormhole, his boots silhouetted against the glow of the light darting ahead.

  Zac was determined he would follow Trudy, and insisted Hywel should follow Chris. No one else was going to have the pleasure of staring at Trudy’s arse as it wiggled through the twisting confines of the passage.

  The narrow crawl finally opened into a chimney-shaped outlet to a larger chamber below. From there it was another strenuous trudge through spectacular formations to the Green Canal.

  The canal was nothing more than a narrow ribbon of deep water squeezed between vertical rock walls. Hywel plunged into the ice-cold water of the narrow watercourse and found himself having to tread water - something he was not too good at. Shivering as the body heat from the strain of the crawl and the long hike to the canal had finally dissipated, he quickly returned to the others and sat next to Trudy as she tucked into her packed lunch. The flask of hot coffee from Chris was quickly emptied.

  It was Zac’s turn to drop into the water and lay on his back, floating easily with the aid of the rubber wetsuit.

  As he stroked back to the others, he noticed Chris stand slowly and hold his hand up for the rest of the group to be silent.

  Zac pulled himself out of the canal and sat next to his friends, feet still dangling in the water.

  ‘It’s probably nothing... but I think it’s time we started back,’ said Chris.

  Trudy had picked up on something too. ‘What’s that noise, Chris?’

  The group froze and listened to what sounded like an approaching freight train.

  Zac watched the colour drain from Chris’s face as he grabbed Trudy by the arm and lifted her to her feet.

  ‘Get out of here! Back the way we came. Go as fast as you can and don’t stop. Don’t look back! Just stick to the main passage and you’ll be OK. Wait by the chimney to the crawl. Don’t enter the crawl until we join you. Understand?’

  Turning to Hywel, Chris ordered him to follow Trudy.

  ‘What’s going on, Chris?

  ‘I think we might be in a bit of shit. That sounds like water breaking through the limestone.’ He rattled out the words faster than a chipmunk on helium. ‘We need to get the hell out of here as fast as we can.’

  Zac looked incredulous. ‘Then what are we doing standing here?’ Zac went to leave but was pulled back by Chris.

  ‘I need someone to help me get into the safety stash on the other side of the canal. Hywel can’t swim very well, and I couldn’t ask Trudy to do it. That leaves you and me.’

  ‘What the hell’s a safety stash?’

  Chris turned and plunged into the canal. ‘Come on. I’ll tell you on the way. We don’t have time to lose.’

  Following his leader, Zac splashed more gingerly into the frigid water this time and started swimming after Chris. This was crazy. The sound was getting louder. He was convinced they were swimming towards the noise rather than away.

  ‘The safety stash is a sealed bag of stuff we’ll need if the bloody water traps us down here. I put a new one in a high crevasse just on the other side of the canal,’ he shouted over the rising roar of the water in the distance. ‘If we can get to it and back to the others before the water hits we’ll be in with a chance.’

  ‘Why don’t we just follow the others and get the hell out of here?’

  Chris pulled himself out of the canal and turned to Zac. ‘We don’t have time to get out. We’ll never make it through the crawl. Our only chance is to get the kit and into a high chamber with a pocket of air. We can sit it out for a few days if necessary, but we have to get the supplies.’

  Zac clambered up after Chris who quickly pushed himself up through a narrow crack in the wall and almost disappeared from sight. Zac could see a small orange tag had been attached to a stalactite next to the fissure and assumed this was a marker – a means to locate the emergency pack.

  It took just seconds for Chris to retrieve the pack but considerably long
er for him to shuffle back out of the wall.

  ‘Okay. Let’s get the hell out of here.’

  Almost before Chris had managed to finish talking, the noise of water had risen to a thunderous roar.

  The two men ran back to the canal and launched themselves into the narrow channel just as the furious wall of water hurtled into the canal. Before either of the young men could surface from their plunge, they were hit by the surging water and hurled through the canal at breakneck speed.

  Zac struggled to protect himself from the rock walls as he tumbled and twisted. Flashes of light from his helmet caught a fleeting glimpse of a boot dislodged by the force of the water. It wasn’t his boot. His boots were still attached to his feet - as far as he could tell. Thumping hard into the wall, the remaining breath burst from his lungs. Red and black patterns of light began exploding before his eyes, but his instinct to survive refused to give in to what must surely be the end. He began to panic. Desperate for breath, his ears were popping, and his head was about to explode. Seconds were all he had left.

  Part 1

  Cairo, Egypt. April 16th 1897.

  A warm hint of breeze danced across the plateau, flicking handfuls of sand from the top of the shallow dunes. Farouk shuffled silently towards the ancient site, thankful for the cover the dunes provided. A crisp and clear night was not the best time to be sneaking a visit but tonight would be his only chance.

  Peeking over a low mound, a puff of sand peppered the boy’s face. He rubbed the grains from his eyes as a dark lumbering form emerged from the shadow of the great Sphinx.

  The heavy Enfield rifle clattered to the sand at the guard’s feet. Checking no-one was about, he unbuttoned his trousers and sighed. Farouk sniggered at the sight of rising steam from between the man’s legs.

  Urgent task completed, the guard lit a cigarette.