Unspeakable Secrets of the Aro Valley

by Danyl McLauchlan

  My mother was sick, and needed to go to hospital for operation. Her husband left before I was born, and her father was long dead in industrial accident. My grandmother was only person left alive to take care of her. My grandmother took me in, and my mother went away to hospital and did not return.

  I was very happy living with my grandmother. But she did not like to speak of past. She would not talk about her own parents, and for many years she told me nothing of the Austrian and his box wrapped in oilskin, or her gifts of healing, or the story of Koschei the Deathless and the cruel priests at the beginning of history.

  All of this changed when the starets—the wise man—came to my village. I have told you this story, how he sought me out and taught me to use my gift wisely. But he did not do this merely from kindness. The starets had secrets of his own.

  He asked me many questions about my grandmother and her mysterious past. What happened to her parents? Did she ever speak of her childhood? Did she ever mention a government agent who disappeared while travelling near her village when she was a young girl? Or even, perhaps, another traveller, an Austrian, who would have been carrying a large package in the shape of a box which he kept concealed but always by his side?

  He urged me to question my grandmother, but he cautioned me not to mention him. ‘She is old,’ he said, ‘and suspicious. She will not understand my purpose.’ This was hard for me, because my grandmother and I were so close. But I obeyed the starets, and drew her out.

  She had never spoken to me of these things, but as I tugged at the threads of her childhood, her hesitation unravelled and the stories tumbled out. She told me of the Austrian, the fire, the box, and the true story of Koschei the Deathless.

  The next day I repeated everything to the starets. We met in an abandoned chapel, near my home, and the starets listened to my grandmother’s story with mounting amazement. When I finished speaking he revealed his true purpose in coming to my village and seeking me out.

  ‘I am following the movements of an Austrian occultist called Wolfgang Bludkraft,’ he explained. ‘Early in the year 1914 he entered this country carrying a terrible weapon, which he kept hidden inside a box—a weapon known as the Priest’s Soul. Bludkraft disappeared near this village and was never seen again.’

  The starets was searching for Bludkraft’s final resting place so he could recover the Priest’s Soul and destroy it, for it was too dangerous, too evil to exist. I owed everything to the starets, and when I heard this I wept at his nobility and pledged to help him in any way I could.

  But my grandmother—suspicious about my sudden flurry of questions—had followed me that morning, and spied on us as we spoke. She saw my tears, and thought the starets was trying to turn me against her. She stole away, then hurried to the village and told the soldiers stationed there that the starets—this wise man, who sought only to do good in this world—was a criminal. That night they seized him and took him to prison. I never saw him again.

  Stasia’s face was grave. She sat beside Danyl, her warm body and the song of her voice filling him with a sense of calm. ‘This was a difficult time in my life,’ she continued, her eyes distant and sombre. ‘I loved my grandmother, but I also knew that the starets’ quest for the Priest’s Soul was the most important thing. So then—’ She broke off, put her finger to her blood-coloured lips and listened, then whispered, ‘There is someone inside Wellness Centre. We are under attack.’

  Part III

  30

  Stasia’s secret quest

  Danyl heard noises too. Footsteps. Voices murmuring. A door creaking in the distance. Stasia floated across the room: a deadly red wraith; she turned to him and hissed, ‘Be quiet. Stay.’ She slipped through the door.

  Danyl stayed. Not because he was ordered to, he assured himself—merely because he couldn’t walk. He bent his leg and prodded the red, puffy tissue around his ankle.

  It looked bad. Real bad.

  But how could that be? It was the same sprain he’d had two days ago, the injury Stasia supposedly healed. How could a sprained ankle vanish and then return? Did Stasia arrange it somehow, so that he could retrieve her box and then she could effortlessly take it from him? Impossible, yes—but the fluctuating state of his ankle was also impossible. Were impossible explanations now plausible?

  He had the same problem with her story. Ancient priests. Tsarist agents. A magical box. Again, impossible—but what if it were true? Or—his eyes narrowed—what if it were irrelevant? A distraction from the real questions. Why had she come to the Aro Valley? Why were her red ninja outfits in the closet of the High Hierophant of the SSS? What was her relationship to Campbell’s cult?

  And that was the test, Danyl decided. Stasia didn’t know that he knew that she was probably the High Hierophant. He would hear out the rest of her story. If she explained her links to the SSS then he would trust her. A little. If not . . .

  If not, what? He was immobilised: totally in her power. And she was inhumanly strong. She had thrown those SSS cultists around as if they were sacks of meat. He would have to outwit her. But how?

  A scream rent the air, distracting him from his plotting; it was a man’s cry, filled with terrible pain, followed by a loud thud. The building shuddered.

  A minute passed, then the door opened and Stasia entered. ‘The SSS,’ she said. ‘They seek my letter.’

  ‘Did they find it?’

  ‘They find only pain. Letter is hidden. Safe. And I hear everything in Wellness Centre. They cannot take by stealth. No one can.’

  ‘I went through a lot to retrieve that letter.’

  ‘Yes.’ She smiled. ‘I very grateful.’

  ‘Grateful? Then tell me what it is, and why the SSS want it back.’

  Stasia crossed the room and sat on the far side of the bed, facing him. She arranged her limbs back into the lotus posture, her hands resting palm-up on her knees, and said, ‘I will tell. When I spoke of these things the other night I promised to tell you the full truth. And so I did—but I did not tell you all of full truth. You will hear it now.’

  I have told you how the starets wrote to me from prison, and how I received his message the day my grandmother died. In this letter he told me that the Austrian occultist Wolfgang Bludkraft had survived the fire that killed my ancestors, and then fled my country, taking the Priest’s Soul with him. He travelled to a faraway island, and in a valley on this island he hid the Priest’s Soul and set guardians in place to protect it, and he called these guardians the Order of Thrice-Wise Hermes.

  Contained in this letter was a photograph. It showed a young girl standing beside Wolfgang Bludkraft. The address on the back of the photo revealed the location of the hidden valley that was his final destination. The letter was written by the girl and sent to her sweetheart, a soldier fighting in a great war—and hidden in the letter were clues to the location of the Priest’s Soul.

  The starets warned me to keep this letter safe, never to show it to another living person, never to copy or write down its contents, lest some unsuspecting, simple person stumble across the information and find this terrible artefact. I will never forget the closing lines of the starets’ letter. He forgave me for what happened with my grandmother, for the loss of his freedom and destruction of his reputation, but his forgiveness came at a cost. I was to take up his cause and search for the Priest’s Soul.

  The next day was funeral of my grandmother. Afterwards I leave cemetery and walk to train station to begin my great journey. I leave my village and my country, everything I love, to come here to Aro Valley.

  I arrive one year ago. All I have is letter on back of photograph describing room of house in which Bludkraft concealed Priest’s Soul, hiding it either beneath floorboards or behind walls. So I spend my days and nights walking the streets of valley, searching for this place. But there are thousands of old homes, and I have no way to know which contains the room that I
seek. I have no friends and little money, and I feel great sadness that I will fail in quest starets entrusted to me.

  I told you about this dark time in my life, and about my meeting with the Campbell Walker. Now I will tell you the secret of my union with Campbell, how we searched for the Priest’s Soul, and how we came to be enemies.

  You remember how I found Campbell alone on a path, lost and broken and crying, how I healed him and he pledged his love to me. How I saw him with old man, whispering together in darkness, and how the next night he cut open his hand and forced me to listen to his story.

  I do not know who this old man was, or where he came from, but he told Campbell of the Priest’s Soul. He knew that it was hidden somewhere in the valley, and he told Campbell that my gifts of healing would lead him to its location.

  So Campbell formed a plan. He learned everything he could about Wolfgang Bludkraft, and he founded his group and called it Sapiens Sapiens Sapiens in honour of the Order of Thrice-Wise Hermes. He bought for me the EZ Wellness Heal U Centre, and people in the valley who were sick or injured came to me for healing. I won their trust and visited them in their homes, and gave them my gift, and then, afterwards, when they were deep in their post-gift sleep I searched their house. If it contained a room like the one I sought then I called Campbell, and he descended upon the house with his SSS disciples and their tools. They tore up the walls and floor of the room, searching for hidden box containing Priest’s Soul.

  To live this false and destructive life caused me great pain in my heart. But Campbell convinced me that this was the only way. If we told people we were looking for something valuable then there would be treasure hunt; people would ransack their own homes. Someone else would find Priest’s Soul. So for the past year I search many houses, and so far twenty rooms fit clues given in the letter sent to me by starets. Campbell Walker and his SSS tear each of them apart, but find nothing.

  During this time things become more difficult between Campbell and me. He tells me he loves me. He makes me so-called High Hierophant of his Order as proof of his passion, and he cleans an apartment for me in his horrible tower, and fills it with medium-quality furniture and closets stocked with my clothes. He begs me to join him so we can turn the SSS into a great power and crush his enemies. When I hear Campbell speak like this I know that his heart is filled with confusion. He is still lost in abyss. I fear that when we find the Priest’s Soul he will not destroy it but will use it for his own dark purposes.

  So I refuse his offers, and we fight. We fight about his love for me, my place in the SSS, who just seem like group of nerds, and about the Priest’s Soul and the doom that encompasses it, which Campbell is too blind to see. He demands I show him the letter on back of photo so he can see clues leading to secret hiding place, but I refuse, and he becomes even angrier. But even though we fight we still need each other. He does not know where to look, and I need his followers to search rooms where box might lie. So we continue on together, partners and enemies, clinging to each other as we stumble through moral and spiritual void.

  And now everything is changed. Campbell stole letter. Even though you retrieve it, he has read clues. He can find hiding place of Priest’s Soul. I know him. He will hatch a plot, some evil new scheme, to get into houses and find this room. We must join together and stop him. What do you say, crippled Danyl? Will you help me?

  Danyl leaned forward and clasped Stasia’s hand in his own. He said, ‘I’m going to lay something on you.‘

  She looked wary. ‘You want to lay on me?’

  ‘It’s just an expression. Although . . . never mind. What I mean is, I’m going to tell you something shocking. The Priest’s Soul is not where you think it is. It doesn’t matter that Campbell’s read your secret letter and deciphered its clues—because the Priest’s Soul isn’t hidden behind a wall or floorboard. It’s buried underground somewhere.’

  Stasia shook her head. ‘Soul is concealed in room. Clues on back of photograph are very clear.’

  ‘Can I read the letter?’

  ‘Not possible.’ Her voice was stern. ‘I make vow to starets never to show to other person. But you know this. Why do you ask me these questions? Why say Priest’s Soul is underground?’

  ‘Because—’ Now it was Danyl’s turn to pause for dramatic effect. ‘There is a second photograph, with a second letter on the back.’

  Stasia looked confused. ‘Second letter?’

  ‘A second letter sent to the same soldier, also containing clues to the location of the Priest’s Soul. That’s why you haven’t found it yet.’

  But Stasia shook her head, clearly troubled. ‘No,’ she insisted. ‘This is wrong. The starets said there was one letter that would lead to secret hiding place.’

  Danyl smiled. ‘Maybe your wise man isn’t as wise as you think.’

  ‘What did second letter say?’

  ‘It said the Priest’s Soul is underground.’

  ‘What else?’

  ‘I can’t remember.’

  ‘And where is letter now?’

  ‘It’s hidden. Safe. If you show me your letter I’ll tell you where to find it.’

  Stasia looked indecisive and sexy. She pushed out her lips and furrowed her brow, then shook her head again. ‘This cannot be. I took vow never to show letter. And I cannot leave Wellness Centre. I must stay here and guard against SSS. You must go and retrieve letter. Bring it to me and I will decide the truth of what you say.’

  ‘Aren’t you forgetting something?’ Danyl gestured at his leg. ‘I can’t leave the Wellness Centre either. I can’t even leave this room.’

  Stasia waved his objection away. ‘This is not problem. I will heal sprain again.’ Her eyes gleamed as she prepared to lay her hands upon him. She was so confident, so convinced of her powers. Who was she? Was any of her story true? Danyl smiled sourly. He knew she couldn’t heal him—he didn’t believe in her gift and he wasn’t going to drink any more ‘celestial water’. Let her try, he thought as her warm fingertips brushed his bruised, swollen skin. Let her try and fail, and then perhaps I’ll see the real Stasia.

  31

  Danyl vs poet

  What was real?

  Danyl jogged along the secret path to his home, pondering this annoying little question, which nagged at him as he ran. He had studied some philosophy at university, and learned about logic and ethics and theories of justice, but they never taught him how to figure out what was real and what wasn’t. Which was, in hindsight, a huge oversight. Now he struggled with that very problem and all his formal training was useless.

  Consider his ankle. Stasia had healed it again, the same as last time: a laying on of hands; heat, then pain. Nipples. Darkness. Sleep, then waking to a state of . . . well, wellness. He could stand and walk and run. Which was impossible, but real. So where did that leave him?

  First point. It proved that Stasia’s powers were real. Therefore, the Priest’s Soul—a mysterious artefact, possibly ancient, possibly possessing possibly terrible powers—was probably real and probably hidden somewhere in the Aro Valley.

  Second point. If impossible things were real, how was he supposed to make rational decisions? How could he act rationally and realistically with irrational, unrealistic factors involved? What should he do now? Where was he going? Actually, where was he going?

  He stopped running. He had promised Stasia he would retrieve his secret letter and then return it to her. But was that wise? He still didn’t know if he could trust her. He needed to stop and think things through, and he needed to do it away from her presence. Stasia’s erotic physique, bewitching voice, mystical powers and capacity for terrible violence all conspired to cloud his judgement.

  He leaned against a tree and caught his breath. So, where was he going? He had headed home by default, following his instincts. But what if Campbell and the SSS lay in wait for him there? Which they probably were—it wa
s the logical thing for them to do. But, Danyl brooded, pacing the width of the trail, what if Campbell wasn’t staking out his house, for some impossible but real reason? That was the crux of the problem. If Campbell wasn’t there then it was safe for him to retrieve the letter. And eat lunch—he hadn’t eaten in twelve hours. He could also change into a new outfit. Stasia had loaned him a backless hospital gown, which was better than nothing, but lacked dignity, somehow.

  He squatted down and massaged his temples. The case for returning home was a strong one. He would approach with stealth, he decided. Inspect his perimeter. If it looked good he’d get in fast: boil some corn, find some clothes, maybe have a shower, get the secret letter and get out again. The perfect plan. He stood up and strode along the path towards his home.

  Colin.

  Danyl lay on a bed of pine needles, surveying his garden through a gap in the fence. Most of the yard was lit by the high afternoon sun but the trees cast complex shadows along the back of the property, and, hidden deep within those shadows, just visible from Danyl’s vantage point, were a set of legs and feet. Danyl waited, watched, and they shifted slightly, the figure’s torso came into view, and he saw a book clasped in one hand: Ezra Pound’s Pisan Cantos.

  It had to be Colin, the SSS poet. Only he would read modernist poetry on a stakeout.

  So the cultists were watching his home. There would be more of them, Danyl predicted. A carload watching the street. Possibly even guards inside his house. He ground his teeth: he couldn’t get to his kitchen or change out of his hospital gown. He couldn’t even get to the pile of broken furniture where he had concealed the Bludkraft biography and the secret letter. The poet in the garden would see him the instant he entered his yard.