Andrea looked at Logan long and hard while Lucius kept his gun pointed at him. “Go on,” she said to Logan.
“You think I’ll tell you where the books are without getting something in return?”
Annoyance flashed in Andrea’s eyes, but she smiled sweetly. “Very well, I’ll play your game a bit longer. What do you want?”
“First, let Valerie go.”
“What are you doing?” Valerie gave him a stern look.
“If I let her go, what guarantees do I have that the books are going to be where you say they are?” Andrea asked.
“What guarantees do I have that you will let her go?” Logan retorted.
“Enough of this!” Lucius said angrily. He pulled out a small pen knife from his pocket and stabbed Valerie in the thigh.
Valerie screamed. Logan jumped out of his chair to help her, but a mercenary grabbed him in a head lock and pushed him down. He saw Valerie grimacing in pain as blood flowed down her leg.
“If you don’t tell us where the books are in five seconds, we’re gonna slice her,” Lucius said, holding the bloody penknife in front of Logan’s face. Logan watched helplessly as a mercenary drew the large hunting knife that was strapped to his thigh and pressed the blade to Valerie’s throat.
“Stop!” Logan shouted, still struggling to free himself.
“Don’t tell them anything!” Valerie said, pain clear in her voice. “They’ll kill us anyway if you do.”
Logan looked at Lucius, who seemed to be enjoying this morbid game of cat and mouse. He turned then to Andrea, attempting to mask his fright with calm resolve. “Kill us both if you have to. You’ll never get your hands on those books.”
Andrea, who had stepped back, allowing the drama to unfold, clapped her hands loudly. “Yes, exactly like your father! He, too, would never have given up the books for anyone. Maybe that’s why he’s dead.” She looked from Logan to Valerie, then back to Logan. “Actually, I have a much better plan for the two of you. Lucius, have our men transport them to G-LAB first thing in the morning. Dr. Malikei can extract the information we need.”
A smile came to Lucius’s face as he put the knife back in his pocket. “Mother, that is an excellent idea!”
As Logan looked at Valerie, who was in great pain and still holding her leg, he experienced a welter of emotions, from fury at Lucius and Andrea to concern for Valerie and himself. What is G-LAB? he wondered. And who is Dr. Malikei?
32
You are new warriors who have joined an ancient battle.
—THE CHRONICLES OF SATRAYA
SOMEWHERE OVER THE ATLANTIC OCEAN,
4:00 A.M. GMT, 3 DAYS UNTIL FREEDOM DAY
Mr. Perrot would have welcomed a few hours of sleep on the twelve-hour nonstop flight to India, but he was beset by too many concerns to rest. His eyes were closed, but his mind was racing. First we need to go to Deya’s house and search the garden. But what if the books aren’t there? What if Deya moved or the garden has been dug up? He ordered himself to stop. He knew he needed to remain calm and focused on his goal: finding Deya’s books before Simon did. It was foolish to dwell on the dire consequences of Simon’s getting his hands on them first.
He opened his eyes and looked over at Jogi, who was seated next to him, engrossed in a documentary about the days preceding the Great Disruption. Mr. Perrot realized how he could put this time to better use. He undocked the entertainment display from the seat in front of him. Each seat was equipped with a mini HoloPad device that allowed passengers access to just about any kind of data they wanted. Mr. Perrot used his device to navigate to the literature section. Many works, both popular and scholarly, had been written about The Chronicles of Satraya, but he was interested in only those that dealt with the discovery of the original sets. After a little searching, he found an old article from a newspaper in Deya’s hometown of Banaras that told her story.
June 21, 2034. Deya Sarin stood waist-deep in the slow-moving river. The many ancient ghats provided a colorful and mystical backdrop to her daily routine. There was a sad, empty look on her face this morning, because she knew that very soon she would be leaving her son and her husband for good.
As they had done for thousands of years, people went to the great Ganges River to pray and to greet the rising sun. This day started out no differently for Deya. Each morning, the young mother would swiftly make her way through the busy streets, walking for a half-hour from her home in Banaras to the Ganges. It is said that the meek shall inherit the earth; that statement could not have been truer than in our city of Banaras. For after the Great Disruption, when most people around the world suffered from its devastation, those who had nothing to lose lost nothing, and their lives quickly adjusted to the new reality. While electricity and other conveniences were lost, most of the rural people of our great land simply continued to do what they had always done: they lived off what the gods provided.
The water of the Ganges was warm that morning. Deya unwrapped an old scarf from around her neck and ran her fingers over the long surgical scar on her neck. It reminded her each day of her imminent death. The doctors had been unsuccessful in removing all of the cancer from her throat. Only a few more months of life, only a few more sunrises to witness. She could see the fires of the cremation ghats along the river, their smoke rising high into the sky, another reminder of what was coming for her. As the glow of morning was coming over the eastern horizon, Deya stood motionless, her eyes closed, her head slightly bowed, her hands pressed together in prayer. No sound could be heard from her lips as she recited an ancient Sanskrit mantra. Even if she’d wanted to recite the words aloud, no one would hear her, for the cancer had taken her voice, the musical voice that had once sung lullabies to her son. The sun was beginning to break over the horizon, its light illuminating the faces of all the greeters as they also stood in the river. “Please, God, take care of my son when I am gone. Please, God, take care of my husband after I pass.” Deya’s mantra was simple and sincere. Over and over she repeated these words, her lips forming them as tears flowed down her face, falling into the timeless flow of the river.
The heavily populated cites of Delhi, Mumbai, and Bangalore had suffered inconceivable destruction. Many had died in those cities, and the few survivors scattered to the countryside looking for food and water. Many stood in the river that day praying for salvation, praying for deliverance from the devastation and tragedy they’d endured during the last three years of their lives. What had they done to bring such karma upon them? Where were the gods of Brahma, Shiva, and Vishnu? Why had they abandoned the world?
As Deya stood in the river, something struck her right leg. She bowed slightly in response, thinking perhaps it was a passerby walking deeper into the river. But something kept nudging at her. Reluctantly, not wanting to break her concentration, she opened her eyes a bit. A small wooden box had floated up to her and was bobbing up and down against her leg. Her scarf had snagged on one of its rough edges. She opened her eyes further, letting them adjust to the light of the sun, which had now fully risen over the horizon. Deya reached down and lifted the small box from the water. There were no markings on the outside, only a simple latch that secured the lid. She carefully lifted the latch and found three leather-bound books inside.
A little homeless girl, who was standing close to Deya in the river, waded over to her, wanting to see what was in the box. Deya looked down at her with a smile and handed the little girl the box to hold as she removed the first book. The book was titled The Chronicles of Satraya. When Deya opened it, a small blue orb of light emerged from the pages. Even amid the full glory of the sun, the blue light was startling. People began to gather around it. People standing on the shore waded into the river, and soon a great circle formed around Deya, as the orb hovered like a hummingbird in front of her face. The warmth of the blue light filled Deya with hope, something she had not felt since the cancer had been diagnosed. Holding the book in her left hand, she placed the palm of her right hand under the orb. People
in the gathering crowd jostled to get a clearer view. Even those in the nearby pilgrim houses of Manikarnika Ghat crowded at the windows to witness the blue light. The little girl tried to reach up and touch the orb, but it was too high for her to reach. Something that could only be described as a thread of blue energy emerged from the orb, the tip of which penetrated Deya’s throat. Deya began to cough; her right hand let go of the orb. She was grasping her neck, trying somehow to ease her discomfort. She coughed more violently, almost losing her balance in the water, but the little girl, who was still holding the box, quickly slipped an arm around Deya’s waist, steadying her. All in the crowd were amazed by what they were witnessing. A moment later, the thread of light retracted from Deya’s throat back into the orb. Then, just as mysteriously as the orb had appeared, it settled back into the pages of the book.
Deya looked at the little girl by her side and the large crowd that had gathered around her. Her lips automatically formed the words, “What happened?” She was surprised when people standing close to her answered her question. Even the little girl had a few tidbits to share. “You can hear me?” Deya asked. Stunned, she rubbed her throat, but she felt no scar. The constant pain that had troubled her since the surgery was gone. She could speak! Her voice had been miraculously restored to her. Some of the people in the crowd who knew of Deya’s plight shouted, “A miracle! A miracle! Deya has been cured! The gods have returned!”
Mr. Perrot docked the terminal back into the seat in front of him. The newspaper story was very close to what Deya had told him and Camden many years ago.
“What were you reading?” Jogi asked.
Mr. Perrot told him about the article. “I was hoping that learning more about Deya’s discovery of the Chronicles would prove helpful in our quest.”
“Maybe I can find some information about her in the WCF database,” Jogi suggested. He took his PCD and connected it to the interface on the seat in front of him. He brought up a display and started to search for anything related to Deya Sarin. The top story, which was dated only a few days ago, captured their attention immediately.
Banaras, India, June 16, 2069. Lokesh Sarin, the son of the late Deya Sarin, who discovered an original set of The Chronicles of Satraya, was reported missing today. Authorities are baffled by the disappearance of the forty-five-year-old father of two from his place of work in the city of Banaras. Mr. Sarin, a mechanical engineer who graduated from the University of Banaras, was last seen walking outside during his lunch break. Authorities suspect foul play.
Mr. Perrot sat back in his seat; he didn’t bother to finish the article. “I fear we are a bit behind in this game of kings and pawns,” he said.
33
What makes a warrior great is not his ability to master a weapon but his ability to know when to wield it.
—THE CHRONICLES OF SATRAYA
ALEXANDRIA, VIRGINIA, 11:10 P.M. LOCAL TIME,
3 DAYS UNTIL FREEDOM DAY
Logan assisted Valerie as they were escorted to a bedroom on the second floor of the plantation house.
“This is for your girlfriend.” The guard accompanying them threw some gauze and tape on the floor. “We wouldn’t want her to bleed out before you see the doctor.” He slammed the door shut and locked it.
Logan helped Valerie to the bed. He looked around and grabbed a pillow. He yanked the pillowcase off and used it to wipe away the blood from Valerie’s wound.
“I’ll be all right,” she insisted. “Stop fussing.”
“Hold still.” He carefully worked two of his fingers through the bloodied hole in her right trouser leg and ripped it open. He wiped away some more blood to get a better look at the wound. “It’s not as bad as it looks.”
“Tell that to my leg,” Valerie said, as she watched him use the gauze and tape to stop the bleeding and wrap her leg.
“This should hold for a bit,” he said.
“That feels better, thanks.” She glanced around, examining the large bedroom: the heavy mahogany furniture, including a chiffonier, the heavy drapes on the windows, the tattered wallpaper whose pattern could barely be distinguished.
Logan used another pillowcase to wipe the blood from his hands and walked to the foot of the old-fashioned four-poster bed, looking at the large fireplace in the corner and the old chair in front of it. “There’s something about this place,” he murmured. “It seems familiar to me.”
“Well, I don’t want to get any more familiar with it than I have to,” Valerie said, as she struggled to rise from the bed. Logan came over and helped her up. “Let’s look for anything that can help us get out of here,” she said, still grimacing in pain. “That G-LAB place doesn’t sound very pleasant.”
Logan walked over to the fireplace. Valerie went to the elegant dark blue brocade drapes and pulled them open, revealing two closed windows that had been fitted with iron bars. “I guess Andrea wants her guests to feel safe,” she said drily. She opened the windows to let some air into the warm room, but there was no breeze to speak of.
“Wait. The iron bars!” Logan said, in sudden awe. Valerie put her finger to her lips. “I knew this place seemed familiar,” he said, more softly now, as he realized a guard might be standing in the hallway. “This is the room I saw in my candle vision.” He walked over to the wall adjacent to the windows. “Check out the peeling wallpaper, the huge fireplace in the corner. And look at the dark wood floor with the pale blue rug on it. That’s the same bed. This is the same room. I’m certain of it.”
Valerie looked around skeptically. “Assuming this is the same room, was there anything in your vision that might help us get out of here?” She looked out the window and saw people leaving the house and a guard carrying luggage over to a black SUV parked on the circular driveway. “Looks like our captors are leaving.”
Logan joined her at the window and watched as Andrea spoke to one of the mercenaries, seated now behind the wheel of a black van. After a brief conversation, she joined Lucius and Monique, who had entered the black SUV parked on the other side of the driveway. After a moment, it drove away.
“So is there anything else you remember about this place?” Valerie asked again.
Logan sat on the bed and closed his eyes, trying to recall more details of his candle vision. “Not much,” he said. “At the time, it just seemed like an old-fashioned bedroom. I never thought I would be trying to escape from it.”
As Valerie continued her inspection of the room, she opened a tall wardrobe cabinet that yielded nothing of consequence except for a couple of folded towels, a bar of scented soap, and a brass candle holder. “Could you go back to that room you saw in your vision?” she asked, as she picked up the candleholder containing a short, stubby candle. “I know it’s not the blue candle you found in the box your father hid, but it is a candle.”
Logan looked at the candle for a moment. “I don’t know . . . I don’t see why not. If my father was right, the candle is only a tool. It all comes down to mastering your thoughts,” he said, trying to sound confident. “That’s the theory, anyway.”
Valerie handed him the candle and a box of matches. “You get set up however you get set up, and I’ll turn off the lights when you’re ready.”
Logan grabbed a pillow from the bed and tossed it onto the floor. He stacked a couple of books in front of it, placed the candleholder on top of them, and lit the candle.
“You ready?” Valerie asked, as she stood by the light switch.
He got into position and nodded. He took a few deep breaths and attempted to replicate what he had done in Valerie’s apartment only a couple days earlier.
While he sat on the floor perfectly still, Valerie sat in a chair near the barred windows. The room was dark except for the light of the candle and a hint of hallway light coming from underneath the door. Time passed as Valerie watched the coming and going of armed guards on the driveway below. The stars were bright in the night sky, and she could see the blinking lights of an airplane flying silently by above. She thoug
ht of her father, who was on his way to India. How much time did they all have to stop Simon and Andrea? What was going to happen to her and Logan if they couldn’t escape? Her anxiety was mounting as Logan focused on the flickering flame.
Suddenly, he broke his stillness. “It’s not working,” he said. “No ringing, no sound, nothing.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean it’s not working.”
“Maybe you just need to give it more time. My father told me it didn’t happen instantaneously when you did it in my apartment.”
Logan shook his head. “I’m doing everything the same way.” He leaned back against the bed, punching the side of the mattress with his fist. “It just sort of worked last time. I don’t know how, but everything just worked like it was supposed to.” He shook his head again. “Maybe I need the blue candle; maybe there is something special about it. I don’t know.” He moved forward to blow out the candle.
“Wait!” Valerie said.
He stopped himself and looked up at her.
“Why is the flame flickering? There’s no breeze coming through the windows, and these old homes don’t have any air conditioning.” Valerie closed the brocade drapes to be sure; the flame still fluttered.
“Probably from under the door,” Logan suggested.
Valerie grabbed the candle and bent down as best she could, placing the candle near the door. Seeing the flame stand still, she shook her head. She stood and returned to where Logan sat. “See, there’s more of a breeze over here.”
“Give me the candle for a minute,” he said. She handed it to him; he put it back on top of the books. After studying the flickering flame a moment, he pointed straight ahead at the chiffonier. “It’s coming from over there,” he said. He crawled over to the large piece of furniture, whose lowest drawer was about thirty-six centimeters above the floor. It was high enough for him to crawl underneath it. “Hey, the wallpaper down here is peeling,” he said. “Turn on the lights!”
Journey Into the Flame: Book One of the Rising World Trilogy Page 22
