“In her day, yes,” Mr. Perrot said as he gazed out the window. “She was a very complex woman. On the one hand, she had a great compassion for the plight of people, particularly women. She would go on and on about how women needed to be heard and how they needed to rise up and take some of the male leaders of the world to task.” Mr. Perrot smiled, turning back to the album. “I found her passion and her commitment to the women’s rights movement admirable for a time.”
“She sounds inspiring,” Logan said.
“She was. But then another side of her would emerge,” Mr. Perrot continued, “a much darker, more malcontent side. She was willing to do whatever was necessary to regain the lifestyle she’d enjoyed prior to the Great Disruption.” Mr. Perrot shook his head. “Over time, Fendral and Andrea became less supportive of the Council’s mission and more concerned with interpreting and controlling the message of the Chronicles. They came to believe that the doctrines put forth by the Chronicles needed to be revealed to people gradually and that they needed to be the ones to reveal them.”
Logan looked again at the picture of Fendral, Simon, and Andrea.
“A rift formed within the Council,” Mr. Perrot continued. “Once-civil discussions turned into heated arguments. Almost every meeting became contentious. I spoke to Andrea privately, pleading with her not to let Fendral’s obsession with control overshadow the good that everyone was doing. But Andrea sided with Fendral.”
“What about the other Council members?” Logan asked. “Camden, Cassandra, Madu—couldn’t they all band together and outvote Fendral and Andrea?”
“At first, that is exactly what took place,” Mr. Perrot answered. “But then strange things started happening to the members who sided against Fendral. Deya Sarin, who found the River Set, returned to India after her husband crashed his automobile because of supposedly faulty brakes. During the inspection of the car, they found a black rose on the floor of the backseat. And Madu, the finder of the Pyramid Set, was mugged and almost killed, but nothing was stolen from him. He woke up in the hospital the next day and found a black rose placed at his bedside. He returned to Egypt, where he donated his copy of the Chronicles to the Cairo Museum. Your parents and I came to believe that there was more to Fendral and Andrea than met the eye, something sinister.”
“So did Fendral and Andrea gain control of the Council?” Logan asked.
“By all accounts, they should have, but for some reason, they didn’t.” Mr. Perrot was pensive for a moment. “To this day, I don’t know why Fendral and Andrea abruptly returned to Switzerland. I suspect Camden Ford knew, but he was very evasive whenever anyone questioned him about it.”
“So that’s why the Council had to start over,” Logan said. “They skipped this part in history class.”
Mr. Perrot gave a weak smile and nodded. “After Fendral, Simon, and Andrea departed, Camden turned the reins over to Cynthia. His confidence in her proved to be correct. She recruited a new group of members, and they restored the Council to its original strength and purpose. In fact, it was Cynthia who completed the Freedom Day and Liberty Moment project. It was she who led the Council through much of the Rising.”
Logan nodded, taking it all in. “And now you think that Fendral and Andrea had something to do with her death?”
“No, not Fendral,” Mr. Perrot corrected. “Fendral died six years ago. As far as I know, he left everything to his son, Simon. But news has been scarce; ever since they left the Council, they’ve stayed hidden. Not even Andrea made any public appearances—until now, that is. I have a feeling she is up to something, and Simon, too. I think Simon inherited more than his father’s estate. Even though he was only thirteen back then.” Mr. Perrot pointed to the grinning young boy in the picture. “He already exhibited his father’s cunning. The events of the last twenty-four hours are related, I know it.”
“It does sound like they have something to hide,” Logan said. “But there was nothing illegal about the auction last night. And if they had something to do with the murders of the Council members or the robbery in Cairo, well, maybe we should just let the police handle it.”
Mr. Perrot raised an eyebrow. “You mean the same way they handled your parents’ murder?”
“My parents?” Logan said, his tone more serious. “What do you mean?”
Mr. Perrot paused, uncomfortable with Logan staring at him. “I don’t think your parents’ killing was just a random act of violence as the authorities concluded.”
“What are you saying?” Logan demanded. He stood up. “Are you saying their murders were premeditated?”
“The way your parents were killed has always bothered me. It was so brutal, as if the assailant wanted something from them.” Logan began to pace, not knowing how to react to what Mr. Perrot was insinuating. “Your parents had Camden and Cassandra’s copy of the Chronicles. I believe that Simon and Andrea somehow found out and that they wanted those books for themselves.”
Logan ran his hand through his hair, as he always did when he was ill at ease. He’d spent two years trying to remove the image of his slain parents from his mind, and now it came to him all anew, as if the horrific tragedy had occurred just the day before. “Are you saying that the Hitchlords and Andrea killed my parents because they wanted the books? The very books Andrea purchased last night?”
“I know this may be hard to hear, and I know I don’t have any proof,” Mr. Perrot began. “But just look at the basic facts. Soon after your parents were killed, Deya Sarin died in a boating accident. Her copy of the Chronicles has never been found. Last night, Andrea bought your set of the Chronicles at the auction, and the Pyramid Set was stolen from the museum in Cairo. Not to mention that three Satraya Council members were murdered while the bidding for the books was taking place.” Mr. Perrot paused. “Coincidence?”
Logan stopped pacing and shook his head. “Why would they want all of the sets? Simon already inherited his father’s. Why would he need the others? And how did he know that Camden had given his set of books to my parents?”
“All good questions for which I have no answers,” Mr. Perrot said with a frustrated sigh. “Did your father ever mention anything else that Camden may have given to him, other than the Chronicles?” Mr. Perrot asked. “A blue journal, perhaps?”
“No,” Logan responded after a moment’s thought. “I never saw anything like that, nor did my father ever mention it. The only things in the Destiny Box my parents’ left me were the books. Why, what was in the blue journal?”
“Camden Ford was known to carry one around from time to time. But what was in it, I cannot say.” Mr. Perrot rose and walked to the window with a worried look. “I may not have all the answers at the moment, but the questions I have are troubling. Do you think all of these events are unrelated? Do you think the police were thorough in investigating your parents’ murders? And do you still think this is all a coincidence?”
Logan gave no answer.
8
Do you really know who is standing before you?
Can you say for certain that they are this or that?
Perhaps the person you despise the most is the one who will teach you the greatest lessons.
For if you can learn to love them, whom can you not love?
—THE CHRONICLES OF SATRAYA
ISLE OF MAN, 2:00 P.M. LOCAL TIME, 5 DAYS UNTIL FREEDOM DAY
A twenty-five-meter, tri-electric-drive hydrofoil yacht glided into the private harbor at Peel Castle. The craft, named Everlasting, was guided skillfully by the captain to the midpoint of the long landing dock. Boat hands secured the mooring lines and tied them down. The yacht’s only passenger rose to his feet. “We have arrived, Master Sebastian,” the captain said as she shut down the engines and then radioed to the castle that they had arrived.
“Thank you, Christina,” Sebastian said. “A fine trip, as usual.”
“Will you need the boat again tonight, sir?” she asked, taking off her white captain’s hat and letting down her shoulder-
length auburn hair.
“No,” Sebastian Quinn replied. “But keep her ready for tomorrow. I wouldn’t be surprised if we will need to go out again soon.”
“Very good, sir,” Christina said, putting her cap back on and tipping it in farewell.
Sebastian disembarked and stepped onto the dock. Carrying a small travel bag, he walked toward the stone entryway to the castle’s courtyard. He had been away from home for a few weeks, and it felt good to walk on the dock, to smell the sea air and see the round overlook tower again. It had been a gorgeous summer day, but now the winds were picking up, and dark clouds were rolling in. A storm was brewing. Sebastian stopped and looked at the ominous sky, which mirrored the unsettled feeling growing inside him. He was reminded of a phrase he had read in a book long ago: “As within, so it is without.” A light rain started falling as he turned and resumed his walk to the courtyard.
Sebastian’s mother and father had purchased the castle in 2034 from the Manx National Heritage Foundation. After the Great Disruption, visitors stopped coming to the castle, and the grounds were left un-tended for many years. The Heritage Foundation had been more than happy to sell it but would only do so on the condition that the site remain largely untouched and the name remain the same. It was also stipulated that any new structures on the site be built apart from existing buildings and ruins. Sebastian’s parents had honored that agreement. The only major addition to the grounds had been the large house, which Sebastian had helped his parents design and construct. Situated at the northwest corner of the courtyard, its tall tower provided a panoramic view of the ocean and the rest of the Isle of Man. The house had been built in the same style as the other buildings, and apart from its modern plumbing and electrical wiring, it blended into its surroundings. Sebastian knew every nook and cranny of it, every secret passage. There were only two ways to enter and exit Peel Castle; one was by the harborside dock, the other by gated West Quay Drive, which was now mostly used as a service entrance. Peel Castle had very few guests these days, and they usually arrived by boat or helicopter.
As Sebastian approached the house’s dramatic stone staircase, which led up to the front entrance, he was greeted by his most trusted assistant and longtime family butler, Lawrence. “Welcome home, Master Sebastian,” Lawrence said. It was a greeting Sebastian had heard many times in his life.
“Hello, Lawrence. Those words bring me a sense of peace that has eluded me for these past forty-eight hours.”
“I’m sorry, sir. I take it that things are not in order.”
“No, much is unsettled. Foes from the past have come forward, and they are wasting little time in reasserting themselves. Their presence has already been felt.”
“Yes, we were sorry to hear the sad news of Ms. Brown’s passing,” Lawrence said.
“Send the money we promised for the purchase of the Chronicles,” Sebastian instructed. “Even though the Council did not secure the books, I’m sure they could use it at this difficult time.”
“Very good, sir,” Lawrence said. “And what about the young man? Has he finished the restoration work? Is he safe?”
“No, he hasn’t yet completed his work on the painting. And no, I do not think he is safe,” Sebastian answered. “Let us pray that he unravels the mystery of the Michelangelo and the mystery of his own life.”
“Take to hope, Master Sebastian,” Lawrence said. “I am not sure what your parents would have said to you in a moment like this, but I am sure they would have advised you not to lose hope.” With a kind smile on his face, Lawrence took Sebastian’s hat and travel bag.
“You’re back!” a young woman cried, running down the curved marble staircase carrying an exquisitely crafted violin in her left hand and its bow in her right. “I’ve been devouring all those books you told me to read, and I have many questions,” she said, getting right to her point.
Sebastian greeted her with a kiss on the cheek.
“Your questions will have to wait,” Lawrence said, provoking a dissatisfied look from the girl, whose name was Anita. “Master Sebastian requires a respite after his long trip. Dinner will be served promptly at six-thirty. Sara is planning a wonderful meal.”
“Fine, I’ll wait until dinner, then,” Anita said with a touch of disappointment in her voice. She turned and ran back up the stairs, calling over her shoulder, “It’s nice to have you back, Mr. Quinn.”
“I have prepared the Tapestry Room for you, sir,” Lawrence went on. “A glass of wine awaits you there.”
“Thank you, my friend. You know what comforts me. And after dinner I will make use of the Arcis Chamber.”
“Very good, sir, I’ll see that it is prepared.”
Sebastian entered the Tapestry Room through a set of tall, hand-carved double doors. At the center of the room, a single high-backed leather chair and an old cherrywood table rested on an exquisite blue and gold Kashmir rug. The chair faced the picture windows on the north wall, which provided a view of the ocean and the eternal crashing of the incoming waves. The walls of the large room were adorned with artwork from the past, portraits of kings and queens, fragments of ancient wall paintings that depicted pharaohs and gods, religious icons, and paintings of battles and hard-fought victories. The west wall of the room was shelved with great books, both new and old. A grand fireplace sat idle in the southwest corner, a seasoned cord of wood neatly stacked next to it. The ceiling featured a great stained-glass dome, depicting six angels observing from the heavens and a seventh angel who seemed indifferent. It was called the Tapestry Room because it was said to contain the threads that linked a person to his past, not only to Sebastian’s own family history but to the history of mankind.
Sebastian walked to the center of the room and slowly lowered himself into the high-backed armchair. On the side table was a silver goblet, its interior lined with leafed gold. He picked up the goblet and read the familiar words engraved on it: “Destiny is a choice.”
Lawrence always seems to pick the right goblet for every occasion, Sebastian thought as he inhaled the wine’s bouquet. He lifted the goblet to his lips and drank its contents in one swift motion. Then he set the empty goblet back on the table, leaned back in his chair, and took up his smoking pipe, which had already been prepared for him. Looking out the windows, he could see that the darkest clouds were almost upon the island. The recent events in Cairo, New Chicago, and Washington, D.C., did not surprise him. Men have been battling men since the dawn of time, he mused. His mother and father had been in the middle of many such battles.
How can I do this myself? Sebastian thought as he looked at the portraits of his mother and father hanging on the wall. Sebastian’s mother, Maria, had passed away fourteen years ago, and his father, Felix, died three years after that. Sebastian was alone, the last of his clan.
He reached over and picked up an old manuscript that Lawrence had placed there for him. It was titled Enuntiatio de Tutela, “Manifesto of the Guardians.” Passed down from generation to generation, its author and date of origin were unknown. Sebastian remembered his mother reading the sacred words to him in her gentle, calming voice. There was one particular passage he would always repeat after she’d finished reading it. Sebastian closed his eyes for a moment, remembering.
You who have chosen this path and promised to follow the
Enuntiatio de Tutela
will be taught great philosophies and precepts. Service to mankind must be done without condition and without expectation. Love and sincerity will be your only allies on this journey.
You must believe that those you teach will one day become your inspiration.
For when the initiate learns more as a teacher than he did as a student,
Then and only then
Can he be called
Master.
Sebastian’s deep contemplation was interrupted by the opening of one of the doors. The quick tapping of feet on the marble floor was followed by the loving kiss of Bukya, the German shepherd who had been with Sebastian si
nce he was a puppy and enjoyed the run of the house. “I wondered where you were hiding,” Sebastian said as he set aside the ancient document and rubbed Bukya’s ears. “We have work to do, my friend. The world is in trouble, and it doesn’t realize it yet.”
9
Your technology has made you unaware of what is inside you. Beware of whatever stops you from understanding your natural ability. Beware of the artificial, for it is only a temporal thing.
—THE CHRONICLES OF SATRAYA
CHTEAU DUGAN, SWISS ALPS, 3:30 P.M. LOCAL TIME,
5 DAYS UNTIL FREEDOM DAY
Château Dugan was a large residence for one man. It was the only home Simon Hitchlords had ever known. Servants moved busily through the eighty rooms and countless hallways each day, working to keep the Château looking as regal as it had for centuries. The servants took great care to see that the Château was always ready for the next social or political reception—and for the next woman in Simon’s life.
Simon strived to maintain the high standards that his father had maintained, for it had been Fendral who had overseen the business of running Château Dugan. Simon’s mother hadn’t cared to involve herself in the day-to-day matters of running a home or in any of her husband’s and her son’s activities. Even after the Great Disruption, she had spent most of her time traveling abroad, trying to recreate the glittering social life that she and her privileged friends had once enjoyed. But the days of the old socialites had come to an end. So many of their peers had lost everything in the Great Disruption or to the governmental policies that had been instituted to stem the chaos.
Simon had always been close to his more practical-minded father. Fendral knew that the great families’ ascent back to the top would require a calculated strategy. He knew that a man could not just declare himself king; first, he had to create a common enemy and show the people that he had just conquered that enemy on their behalf. Even though Simon was young when he and his father served on the Council of Satraya, he’d learned a great deal about politics and how to fight a war without anyone knowing the battle had been joined. His father had referred to the strategy as the Peacemaker’s Bluff. “Don’t fight your battles directly,” he would say. “Find someone who hates your enemy more than you and manipulate them into confrontation. When the carnage is over, become the peacemaker. During the peace process, the opposing sides will welcome your leadership and all will be yours. Remember this, Simon.”
Journey Into the Flame: Book One of the Rising World Trilogy Page 8
