Babu looked back from where he had come. “Ah, it seems Baté has disappeared once again. He is strange folk, to be sure.”
“Did you say Baté?” Logan asked, stunned.
“Yes. His name is Baté Sisán,” Babu said. “He has always had a strange way of coming and going. Deya was very fond of him.”
Logan shook his head and smiled; he wasn’t so stunned now. “I should have known. It is so obvious.”
“Known what?” Valerie asked. “What’s so obvious?”
“Baté Sisán and Sebastian are the same person,” Logan said. “ ‘Baté Sisán’ is an anagram for ‘Sebastian.’ He has been the unseen hand in all of this since the beginning.”
“Baté wanted me to tell you something,” Babu said. “He wanted me to tell you that you have the key to the box. Deya had it, your father had it, and now you have it.”
Logan asked, “How can I have the key?”
“Think for a moment,” Valerie said, as she readjusted her ponytail. “Is there anything that your father passed along that might have been Deya’s?”
Logan watched as she fiddled with her brown hair clip. “You have to be kidding me,” he said. Logan unzipped this backpack and rummaged through it. Finally, he pulled out the tin box that he and Mr. Perrot had found beneath the floor of the basement of the Council of Satraya building. Logan took from it the little plastic bag that contained the lock of hair. “What are the chances that this belonged to Deya?”
“There is only one way to find out,” Mr. Perrot said.
Logan placed the hair on the metal pad of the Destiny Box. As if a magical wand had been waved and a spell had been lifted, the latch on the box suddenly disengaged, and the lid popped slightly open. Logan looked at Valerie and then at Mr. Perrot, before he raised the lid and reached into the box. Each of the three volumes of the Chronicles was carefully wrapped in a beautiful blue silk cloth. Logan unwrapped them and placed them on the table.
“It looks as though you found my wife’s missing books,” Babu said.
“They’re yours, sir,” Logan said to Babu. “Deya’s books most certainly are yours.”
Babu pressed his hands together and gave Logan a bow. “No, my life with them is finished,” he said kindly. “They were my wife’s passion, yes, but now they appear to have chosen you.”
Logan thanked him with a nod.
“Looks like there are a few other items in the box,” Mr. Perrot said. He reached in and pulled out a half-burned blue candle and a small mirror.
“Is that all?” Logan asked, sounding disappointed. “I was hoping maybe my father gave Deya his journal for safekeeping.”
“Sorry, my boy, the box contains nothing else. But it does look like your journey is going to continue,” Mr. Perrot said, as he set the blue candle and the mirror on the table beside the books.
Logan shook his head.
“What’s wrong?” Valerie asked.
“Nothing, really,” Logan answered. “I was hoping that my father’s journal might explain what Simon meant when he said that love might have gotten my parents killed.”
After a pause, while everyone remained silent, Logan inspected the blue candle. It was similar to the one his father had possessed.
“I suppose there are a few tricks to this thing, too,” he said in a lighter tone, as he picked up the mirror and gazed into it. Suddenly, he jerked back and blinked his eyes. He could have sworn he had seen someone in it. A reflection that wasn’t his.
“You all right?” Valerie asked, placing her hand on Logan’s shoulder.
He didn’t answer right away. “Yeah,” he said, with a weak shake of his head. “Yeah. Everything is fine.”
Just then, Valerie’s PCD rang. It was the WCF in Washington. She stepped away from the table with Sylvia to take the call.
Meanwhile, Mr. Perrot picked up the third volume of Deya’s set of The Chronicles of Satraya. He turned to the first of the blank pages at the end and handed the open book to Logan. “See anything?” he asked.
Logan took a couple of deep breaths and focused on the blank page. He pictured a burning candle flickering on the page. The noises of the crowds visiting Manikarnika Ghat were drowned out by the ever-familiar ringing. Logan rubbed his eyes. “I’m seeing some strange grayish-blue distortion,” he said. “Kind of like clouds . . .”
He continued to stare at the page, as Mr. Perrot and Babu watched patiently.
“Oh, look at that,” Logan said. “It’s really there.”
EPILOGUE
Remember always, you are loved.
—THE CHRONICLES OF SATRAYA
NEW CHICAGO, ILLINOIS, 6:00 P.M. LOCAL TIME, AUGUST 4, 2069
Logan once again stood in front of the painting that had been both an albatross and a revelation to him. Although The Creation of Adam had presented many challenges, in the end, it had provided him with the key to unlock the secrets of Simon Hitchlords’s plot against humanity. As promised, upon his return to New Chicago, he’d finished the restoration work, and now the painting would be unveiled tonight at the museum’s gala dinner. Colors and hues that had baffled Logan prior to his worldly adventure became obvious to him during his final days of work. He understood precisely how the plaster would absorb the pigment of the paint he applied, and he understood more purely the meaning of the original fresco painted by Michelangelo.
Wearing a black suit, a crisp white shirt, and no tie, Logan stood alone backstage admiring the grand reproduction of Michelangelo’s masterpiece. It was perfectly lit by clusters of lights at its corners. He could hear the sounds of guests arriving and Mr. Rampart’s voice directing staff members, but he remained focused on the painting. The Creation of Adam would be his last restoration assignment for the museum. He had used some of the money from the sale of his parents’ set of the Chronicles to purchase a large art studio in the heart of New Chicago, which, in memory of his parents, he’d named the Camden and Cassandra Ford Studio of Art.
“I wonder if Adam ever figured it out,” a familiar voice said behind him.
“Mr. Quinn,” Logan said, turning around. “Or should I say Baté Sisán?” Sebastian gave Logan a slight smile as Logan walked over and embraced him. “Mr. Rampart said he wasn’t sure if you would be able to attend.”
“The moment is always filled with possibilities,” Sebastian said.
“That I have come to know very well,” Logan said. “The world owes you so much.”
“No, I am the one who owes it,” Sebastian humbly replied. He smiled and pointed to the painting. “So I ask again, do you think that Adam ever figured it out?”
Logan looked at Adam and God for a few moments, pondering Sebastian’s question. He ran his hand through his hair. “I think everyone will figure it out eventually. I think that the hand of God endeavors to reach everyone, in every moment of every day of their lives.”
“Yes, that is a wonderful notion,” Sebastian said, as he gazed at Logan. “Most people believe that God lives outside them. They believe that they must pray with vigor to garner God’s attention and favor. But that is a fallacy. God is with all, equally and constantly. The Satraya Flame illuminates this truth. It is a simple way to see and experience what has always been within you—as you have certainly now experienced for yourself.”
Logan nodded. “I saw a symbol on the first blank page of Deya’s books,” he said after a moment, cautiously broaching the subject. Sebastian only smiled back. “Over the last couple of weeks, the symbol has become clearer. But other pages remain blank.”
“It is a progression,” Sebastian said. “The symbol that you see is called the A-Tee-Na. It is the first symbol that will reveal itself in the books that once belonged to Deya.”
“What does it mean?”
“Seeing the symbol is only the first step,” Sebastian said. “The next step is to experience it. Then you will have the wisdom of its meaning.”
The conversation was interrupted by Logan’s daughter, Jamie, who ran onto the stage, desperatel
y holding on to a large dog by its collar. “Daddy! Daddy! Look what we found!” she cried. “Can we keep it?”
“No, honey,” Logan replied. “That dog belongs to my friend here. But maybe we’ll get one of our own.” After Logan’s ex-wife had received the child-support payments she was owed, she’d agreed to give Logan primary custody of the children.
Jamie let go of the collar and grabbed Logan around the waist. Bukya walked to Sebastian and took his place beside him. “He says he likes you,” Sebastian told Jamie.
“You can talk to him?” Jamie asked, amazed.
“Yes, everyone can talk to animals,” Sebastian said, as he bent down and beckoned Jamie to come over. “Just put your hand here.” He took Jamie’s right hand and placed it on Bukya’s forehead. “Now, close your eyes, and, using your inner voice, ask him anything you want.”
“What’s an inner voice?” Jamie asked, keeping her eyes closed.
“It is the voice that talks to you when no one else is around,” Sebastian explained. “The one that tells you to go run into a puddle. Or help a little bird back into its nest.”
“Oh,” the girl said, opening her eyes in excitement. “You mean the one that tells me to look through Jordan’s closet when he’s not home.”
“Yes, that’s the one.” Sebastian gave a slight laugh and indicated that Jamie should close her eyes again. “And it comes from right here.” He gently rubbed Jamie’s forehead with the thumb of his right hand. She did as he instructed and asked her question. “Now, just wait for him to answer.”
“He answered! He answered!” Jamie shouted as she opened her eyes and looked back at her father. “I asked him if he liked to swim, and he said yes!”
“That is indeed true. Bukya and I live near the ocean, and he enjoys the water very much, like his mother and father did a long time ago.”
“Could they talk like Bukya?” Jamie asked.
“Yes,” Sebastian answered. “Balin and Nila spoke just like him.”
“Daddy, can we get a talking dog?”
Just then, Mr. Perrot, Valerie, and Logan’s son, Jordan, came backstage. Jordan joined his sister, who was now asking Bukya many more questions.
Sebastian greeted Valerie with a bow. “My name is Sebastian Quinn. I am a friend of Logan Ford and, thus, your friend if you allow it.”
Valerie didn’t say anything. She just looked into Sebastian’s dark eyes, and he gazed back at her for a few moments.
He turned to Mr. Perrot, placed his hands together, and bowed to him. “My name is Sebastian Quinn. I am a friend of Camden and Cassandra Ford and, thus, your friend if you allow it.”
Mr. Perrot cordially returned the bow.
“Your dog has made quite an impression on the children,” Valerie said.
“Yes, children love Bukya, and he loves them. Recently, five little ones from an Indian village near Banaras came into my care. Bukya has been quite busy these last weeks.”
Logan and Valerie looked at each other.
“So it was you,” Valerie said. “You rescued the children from the village.”
Sebastian only smiled.
“That’s one question that scientists haven’t been able to answer yet,” Logan said. “Why weren’t any children affected by the frequency pulse?”
“Your scientists are looking for the answer in the wrong place,” Sebastian answered. “It is important to note that children do not try to rationalize and make sense of the world the way adults do. The little ones use different parts of the brain to interact with the environment around them. Rationalization, self-contemplation, introspection—they all come later, when children mature and social constructs are taught. The pulse could not take away from them what they did not yet have.”
Logan nodded reflectively. “How long will you be staying?” he asked.
“Until I leave,” Sebastian said with a grin.
“I feel I have to tell you something,” Valerie said to Sebastian. “We never found the other three sets of the Chronicles that Simon possessed. We searched the dungeon at Château Dugan, where Simon said he kept them. Strangely, the door to the safe was open, and it was empty. We searched all over the Château without any success.”
“I am hiding Deya’s copy of the Chronicles,” Logan said. “But we don’t know how much Simon was able to unveil in the books he already possessed. Or if he deciphered the fragmented symbol of immortality.”
“Immortality?” Sebastian repeated. “No, the fragmented symbol is not about immortality. It is about something far more profound and powerful. Immortality is only a side effect of the thirteenth mark.” Both Logan and Mr. Perrot looked at him with new curiosity. “Still, you are wise to keep Deya’s books in a secure place,” he added.
“I will give them to you if you want,” Logan said.
“No,” Sebastian said. “I can think of no better place for the books than in the care of one who understands their presence. Remember, they chose you, Logan.” He smiled again and turned his dark gaze to Valerie. “There is no saying where young Hitchlords’s books have gone or who might possess them now. But that is all right. It simply means the books have more to do before their time here has ended.”
Everyone stood in silence for a moment, taking in Sebastian’s cryptic words. Valerie raised her eyebrows; the thought of more people like Simon getting their hands on the books and being able to wield a supernatural power was not exactly comforting. Mr. Perrot could only nod; he knew that there was both hope and warning in what Sebastian had just said. As for Logan, he simply smiled, for the books had indeed chosen him.
“The world should know the truth about what happened,” Valerie said with a frustrated shake of her head. “Everyone thinks that the tragedy in Washington was caused by a solar disruption and the malfunction of the Akasha Vault satellites. People should know that we are still walking around with those DNA collars inside us. They should know what happened to those who were affected by the frequency pulse and that they’re being sent to the Calhoun Medical Center for so-called DNA recalibration. They should know what really happened to Logan’s parents, and they should know the full extent of what happened to Cynthia and the other Council members. They should know that Simon and Andrea were not working alone, that Victor Ramplet, the head of the WSA, was helping them until he was shot dead while attempting to flee the NAF. People should know that Simon and his father plotted with a man named Dario. And what role, if any, Randolph Fenquist played in all this, is anyone’s guess. This conspiracy could be greater than we realize even now.” Valerie had been promoted to assistant director of the WCF, which, at the newly elected president’s direction, had absorbed the responsibilities of the WSA. But even so, she was dissatisfied with the government’s cover-up. “It shouldn’t be this way.”
“It has been this way for eons,” Sebastian said. “The kings of old held tightly the truth of their worldly dealings, for they believed it was best for the people to concern themselves solely with their daily toils. Today your politicians are no different. They view truth more as a guideline than as a requirement.” Sebastian put his hands together. “Leave the kings and politicians to play their endless, tiring games. Let not their folly overshadow your grace.”
Mr. Rampart’s voice could be heard over the intercom system announcing the start of the evening.
“I take my leave of you now,” Sebastian said, as he bowed to the group. Then he turned to Logan. “Many people will see the wonderful manifestation of your talents. Six months standing in the shoes of greatness is time well spent.” Sebastian raised his hand and pointed toward the fresco. “This work that Michelangelo bravely brought to the world more than five hundred years ago must not be forgotten. After it fell from the vault of the chapel during one of the earthquakes of the Great Disruption, no one thought it could ever come back to life.” Sebastian turned and looked at the painting for a moment. “Now we know that they were mistaken.”
And with that remark, he left the backstage area, followed by his
ever-faithful partner. Logan, Mr. Perrot, and Valerie watched as he walked away.
“Wait!” Logan burst out. He looked at the fresco and then at Valerie and Mr. Perrot, who were as surprised as he was. “Did he just imply that this is the original painting that was on the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel?”
“I think he did more than just imply that,” Valerie said with an astonished smile. “I’d like to hear the story of how he came into possession of it.”
Mr. Perrot shook his head in amazement. “I wonder if we will ever see him again.”
Logan nodded. “I don’t know for sure,” he said. “But I do know where to find him. He is only a candle flame away.”
“Hey, Dad, what’s that near your feet?” Jordan asked, as he picked up a folded piece of paper lying on the ground. He handed it to his father. Logan unfolded it, and a smile came to his face as he read it.
“It’s the answer to the question I first took into the Manas Mantr candle and left in the study,” he told Mr. Perrot.
“What question was that?” Valerie asked.
“ ‘Will you help us like you helped my father?’ ” Logan replied.
“Well, let’s hear the answer,” Valerie said.
“Yes, yes,” Mr. Perrot prodded. “Let’s hear how he answered, even if we already know of his involvement over the last few weeks.”
The note was written with exquisite penmanship, in regal blue ink. Logan read it aloud.
“Salutations.
“The timeless and never-changing answer to your query is yes.
“No one is so special as to be alone or abandoned; that is impossible in the universe in which we exist. We are all connected in a great tapestry that was woven at the dawn of time. Pluck a string at one end of the tapestry and it will quiver at the other. A willful wave garners the attention of the many who are listening.
“All are loved without condition, and when they are ready, they will seek out truth and wisdom. And if there be only one of you left upon the earth, rest assured that there will also be one of us for you to call upon.
Journey Into the Flame: Book One of the Rising World Trilogy Page 41
