by Frank Felton
“Suzie, and those other three?” I asked.
“Suzie didn’t fare as well. She managed to kill one of the coyotes. But the other two got to her. She chased them other two off after they saw what I did to their buddies. But not before she was mortally wounded. She made it halfway back to me before she fell over and died.”
I could see tears forming at the corner of his eyes.
“That was the best dog I ever had.”
Hank stood up.
“So now you know. Whether you believe it or not, I don’t really care. But there it is.”
“Hank, I believe you. I might be the only man in the world who’d believe a story like that, but I do.”
“Thanks, Mac. Now, I’m sorry but I don’t know that I really feel like talking about this anymore. Unfortunately….”
He paused.
“What?”
“Unfortunately, the reality set in, and you’ve just forced me to drag this all back up. I had this great, awesome, power. But I didn’t know how to use it. I could only use it to destroy.”
17. Aiden Benson
I tell you that, while I believe with you in the doctrine of state’s rights, the North is determined to preserve this Union. They are not a fiery, impulsive people as you are, for they live in colder climates. But when they begin to move in a given direction, they move with the steady momentum and perseverance of a mighty avalanche; and what I fear is, they will overwhelm the South – Sam Houston 1861
I was amazed at Hank’s story, but nonetheless, I was not at all surprised. When I had my encounter on that mountaintop in Germany, it was much less impressive, but the feeling of Divine power coursed through my veins. Yet the presence of evil did not appear. I stood ready. The evil which I feared, the Nazis, were all but defeated. That piece of the Jewel had only recently arrived at Eagle’s Nest.
However, the forces of darkness were in wait on the San Gabriel River that fateful day for Hank. They abided with patience for almost 150 years. Once the Jewel betrayed its hiding place, and bequeathed its power to Hank, those forces converged. Unable to match his newfound power, evil adapted to the new battlefield. It would regroup, and quickly make plans to attack him anew.
Now, I may speak of this evil as an abstract construct, but I assure it has a name. We will get to that later. To see Hank re-live that experience in a raw display of emotion reminded me that he was but a man. I think it reminded him as well. I’d never seen this man cry.
He mentioned that he was 14 or 15 years old. I could likely give him an exact date. The Jewel, while severed in twain, acted as one body. The Jewel that I found was removed from Versailles in 1942 on the same date. Hank would have been 15 years old at the time. It was on that date it awoke, in unison, from slumber.
His parents’ deaths were not accidents. They were victims of the enigma which Hank had unwittingly stumbled across. He never told another soul of this Jewel. It put the fear of God into him. I am not sentimental about his loss. I know now that the second piece of the Jewel must be near. It was finally within my reach. For the first time in almost 2,000 years, there was an opportunity for the Jewel to be reunited unto itself.
~~~
Hank summoned his strength, wiped the tears away, and continued his story.
“I was frightened. I didn’t know what to do with this thing. It nearly drove me mad. I kept it hidden away for several years, but it changed me from that day forward. After that attack, my parents were killed, then my grandfather. But it’s, it’s almost as if I had a guardian angel. Every time something bad happened, my fortunes changed. Grandpa dies and leaves me most of his land. I was rich at 17. And he left me an explanation, written out in his journal. For the first time in my life, I understood. Unfortunately, it was…”
“What was that, Hank?”
“I said, unfortunately, it was too late. I had already done something that I have regretted all of my life.”
“What was that?”
“It takes a certain understanding, a mental discipline to use these powers. I didn’t have it. It is just raw power that, left to the hands of man, can only wreak havoc.”
Hank looked at the ground. He wouldn’t make eye contact. He was deeply disturbed.
“Look, Mac, I don’t reckon I should admit this here and now. In a moment of weakness, I did something…”
The emotions weighed heavily on him. The tears were about to flow again, but he pushed them away. I wanted to comfort him. Here was a man on the verge of confessing, yet I wasn’t sure he was going too.
“I used it, for, something….it was a bad thing to do.”
Hank’s hands were shaking. He clenched his fists. There was complete silence. Slowly he stood up, and walked away.
He had let on as much as he was going to for the night.
He stumbled into the cabin, slammed the door, and went to sleep.
~~~
The next morning I awoke at the crack of dawn. Hank was already awake. He had a pot of coffee brewing over the wood stove. He had sobered up completely. The wood stove crackled as sparks from mesquite coals occasionally escaped the stove. Mesquite is one of the hotter burning coals, and is somewhat volatile when it gets roaring.
One thing about Hank, he was rarely hung over. He had a magical ability to wake up bright and early no matter how much he imbibed the night before. Seated at an old, wooden picnic table, he had a very thick old book he was reading intently.
Cattle grazed only a few feet away, as they began their daily migration across the pasture, passing by the cabin en route to the south end. Most of the path was shaded by pecan trees, and the herd was never more than a few hundred feet from water. The Gabriel ran north through the field. Occasionally the cattle would get hold of pecan leaves that hung just low enough to reach; causing a visual distraction that made it appear the wind was blowing. Pecan leaves were like dessert to these thousand pound lawnmowers.
Yet there was no wind, as the plume of smoke from the woodstove went straight up into the sky. It was a perfectly calm morning. As he sat near the fence, I could see a smile on his face as he turned a page.
“Morning,”
“Morning,” came Hanks’ reply. “Get you a cup of coffee.”
“Mesquite roasted, I see. What you reading there?”
“I got some pecan in it too. It’s a special blend, son.”
“I’ll pass. You know I can’t handle caffeine that well.”
“It’s decaf.”
“Yeah, right. If I saw you drinking decaf, I’d have to call the hospital. Cause that’d mean you done lost your mind.”
“That’s a fact. Well, then. Let’s talk about this thing we discussed last night.”
“Certainly. You remember that? You were three sheets to the wind.”
“Hell if I was.”
“I’ve seen you worse.”
“I had a wonderful dream last night. An angel appeared to me.”
“Really.”
“No shit. Actually, it was an archangel. It was the Archangel Raphael. Have you ever heard of him?”
“I have. Absolutely. What did he tell you?”
“He told me you were trustworthy. He told me I was safe to tell you. The secret, you know, of the Jewel.”
“And?”
“You don’t seem too surprised.”
“No.”
He looked at me suspiciously.
“Why not? Anyone else I told this too would think I’m bat shit crazy. Why not you?”
“Look, I’ve always believed in angels. And I know they talk to humans. So, no, I’m not all that surprised. In fact, from what you told me last night, the fact that you can communicate with angels comes as no surprise to me.”
“These dreams are not new to me, you know. They come along from time to time.”
He took another sip of coffee.
“Remember back when you first moved here, and we were getting all those jobs, and winning all the bids?”
“Yes I do.”
&nbs
p; “Well about that time, I started having the most amazing dreams. Raphael appeared to me and gave me all the advice, all the answers I needed. I wish I could say it was my own doing, but the truth is, it all came from him.”
“The Lord works in mysterious ways.”
“Mac, I’m going to trust you. I know damn well you want to know where this Jewel is. Am I right?”
I was a bit caught off guard. To be honest, I hadn’t thought of it this way, from his perspective. It was true, though. It was what I had sought all this time.
“Yes. Yes, I do.”
“OK. Then let me tell you my biggest fear. My biggest fear is that I can’t tell the good guys from the bad guys. Let’s say you were a demon masquerading as a human, siding up to me and pretending to be my friend, only so you can take the Jewel from me and use it for God knows what.”
“I wouldn’t.”
“Of course you’d say that.”
“I promise you, Hank. I am your friend.”
“Okay. Good. It’s just that…”
Hank stopped talking. An eerie silence took hold. He didn’t say anything. He just stared at me for a few seconds then turned to gaze off into the distance. He was in a trance of some sort. Suddenly, he turned his attention back to the book.
“OK. Let’s continue, shall we. This here book I’m reading is the journal passed on to me from my grandfather, Aiden Benson. It’s all in his writing, and it’s pretty bad at that. I take it he interpreted most of it from some ancient writings. You can read it, or I can just tell it to you. I’ve read this so many times, I could damn near quote it all verbatim.”
“Go ahead, Hank. I’m listening.”
~~~
After the Texans gained independence from Mexico, victory led to annexation with the United States in 1845. While conditions in Texas were still harsh, a steady influx of American settlers continued unabated. Civilization began to take hold as the threat of Indian raids subsided. The Spanish-American War would ultimately solidify the boundaries of the Lone Star state.
Born in 1846, Aiden Isaac Benson arrived in east Texas in his early teenage years when his family migrated from northern Alabama. His stay in east Texas would not be permanent. With Lincoln’s election in 1860, the Civil War began.
A divided Texas chose to secede from the Union, leading to the ouster of Governor Sam Houston who opposed it. Perhaps the governor had seen his share of bloodshed in the War of 1812 and the Texas Revolution, both in which he was wounded. In this new war, a nation would be fighting itself, in some cases, brother against brother.
Most of the major Civil War battles were fought far from the borders of Texas. Out the outbreak, Aiden was too young to fight, being barely 15 years old. Instead, he remained at home to take care of the family stock. He followed in his father’s trade, becoming an exceptionally talented carpenter and craftsman. He also took odd jobs around the area to earn money for the family.
One day Aiden was called to a job for a crotchety old gentleman. This man lived in a fine estate, and no doubt had some manner of wealth and notoriety. The job paid well and it wasn’t every day he got to work with finer materials. Cost appeared to be no object.
Young Aiden worked at the old man’s house for the better part of three weeks; fixing the roof, the outhouse, tending to horses, and doing whatever the old man required. Each day he was presented a detailed list of chores. The old man spent most of his time sitting in a rocking chair, doing what appeared to be writing, and with great interest.
Occasionally he would glance up from his writing and, if their eyes met, he would nod in the direction of young Aiden as he toiled away in the Texas sun. With a pipe in his mouth most of the time, the old man kept covered with a blanket, his mighty cough echoing about. Aiden had seen the symptoms of pneumonia before, and he knew that if this man had it, at his age, he likely was not long for the world.
The old man was dying.
On a hot July day, the old man called Aiden into the house. His face was pale, and he did not appear completely coherent; even more frail and weak than usual. He reached his hand out. Aiden shook the old man’s hand. Despite the look of frailty, his grip was strong. Young Aiden had not the first clue as to the weight of history that sat next to him.
“Son, I’ve watched you toil the last few weeks here. I chose you because your father…”
The old man stopped to clear his throat, and coughed several times before regaining his composure.
“Your father, he is a good man. But he is too old…too old for this task.”
Aiden assumed the man was speaking of the task of labor, which he had been waist deep in for the past few weeks. No doubt it was indeed more suited for a younger man.
“Thank you, sir. Yes, I must say, this heat makes it nigh untenable.”
“Make no mistake, son.”
The man pointed out into the courtyard, his arm moving back and forth three times.
“This is not the task of which I speak. What I speak of, it lies henceforth before you.”
The old man cleared his throat again. His mind was sharp, but his physical ailment exacted a heavy toll to bring his thoughts into spoken word.
“I must now pass to you, to you and through you, that which you must protect. Unfailing devotion it requires, of the highest order. It is my gift, though…”
“Sir?” replied Aiden.
“Though, it may damn well be a curse. You must prepare to guard accordingly.”
He motioned to a chest next to the fireplace. It was not very large. It appeared rugged, and worn. Two chains engrossed it, which met in the center tethered with a lock.
“What is this, sir?”
The old man summoned his strength once again. He asked for Aiden’s hand to help him stand up. Aiden held the man firmly, and brought him to his feet. The man walked feebly over to the chest.
“This, this is the treasure you seek, my son. You will find it awaits you.”
Aiden examined the chest. He doubted a great treasure would be stowed in a box that was destined for the scrap heap. Nonetheless, he did as the man said.
“You must first find the key. Then you will know. The grand Architect shall guide you in your travels.”
“Has it a key?” replied Aiden.
“It does.”
“Will you give it to me?”
“I was not so given it, nor can I so impart it. You must seek out Brother Ben Milam. Amos 3:7.”
Aiden tapped on the lock. Despite its appearance, it was solid; a miniature fortress, sealed shut with rusted iron. Aiden did not know a Ben Milam, but if the man were a brother Mason, then he would be able to track him down. Yet, it seemed an odd request. Why would he give a man he’d just met something of value, and why wouldn’t he just keep the key himself? He was intrigued.
The old man grabbed Aiden authoritatively, and stuck his finger into the boy’s chest, clearly pointing at his heart.
“Son, take the chest. Then fetch my wife. And Godspeed.”
“Yes, sir.”
As Aiden departed, the old man, whispered unto himself:
“May peace and brotherly love prevail. In the name of God, and the Holy Saints John.”
He raised his right hand to his head.
“So mote it be.”
~~~
Aiden did as the man said, and retrieved his wife. Upon his return, the man had fallen asleep. He was unable to bid the gentleman farewell.
He finished work for the day, and went home, carrying the chest with him upon his horse. It didn’t weigh that much. Whatever it carried inside, it certainly was not heavy. En route to the homestead, he stopped for grain. When he arrived he asked the storekeeper, a Mason, if he knew a fellow brother named Ben Milam.
“I have heard the name. I believe Ben Milam was a Colonel in the Texan Army” replied the man.
“What does he do now?” asked Aiden.
“Nothing. He died at the Siege of Bexar during the Texas Revolution. I believe he was buried there, in San An
tonio.”
Aiden was perplexed. He reckoned the old man must have been senile with such a request; to seek a man who had been dead for more than 25 years. Nevertheless, he couldn’t unlock the chest without this key. Over the next week, he thought off and on about the mysteriousness of the old man’s request. He couldn’t let it go, and it began to occupy his mind. The following weekend he decided to return and ask the old man what he had meant.
He made his way back to the man’s home to inquire.
18. Houston’s Gift
When Aiden arrived back at the stately home, there appeared an odd sight. A crowd of well-dressed men and women were gathered. In what seemed untimely for July, they were all clad in black. Aiden was entirely out of place, wearing the clothes of his trade; a straw hat and coveralls, shod with dusty work boots. He proceeded to investigate, and soon discovered it was a funeral.
The old man passed away during the week, likely not long after Aiden departed.
Aiden was not altogether surprised. The old man, in a severely degraded state, did not appear long for the world. The attendees to the procession appeared stately and well-to-do. Despite his appearance, Aiden was ushered into the house by one of the many.
The old man was now in the Celestial Lodge above, buried with the honors of a Master Mason. He could no longer answer the question that was consuming young Aiden. And now, he might never know what the man had meant. It might be nothing; the incoherent ramblings of a man near the end of his life.
Yet, that explanation would fail to satiate his curiosity. Aiden longed for something important to be in that chest. He wanted an adventure, a mystery; anything to add an element of action to his otherwise menial life. He vowed to figure it all out.
News of the man’s death soon spread throughout the land. He was a great man. Aiden was simply too young to know his story. After all, in those days, even famous people rarely had pictures of themselves for all to see.
