Gold dust began to fall from the ceiling, a light coat clinging to his glistening skin, sticking to the residue of fermentation and distillation. It coated his head, his upturned face, neck, shoulders, arms and hands. It fell like a blissful spring rain. He even smelled flowers and fresh mountain air. The scent of jasmine floated by, and he thought of Lydia, then he smelled the bay back home in Sodus, and the trace of old books permeating his little bedroom.
When it stopped, all too soon, Caleb opened his eyes. Standing, afraid to move too quickly and shake free any dust, he took the one remaining step to the door. The snakes had returned to their rightful posts, looking on with passive interest.
Caleb reached out with fingers of glittering gold and touched the staff, then flattened his palm. In the haze of the shadow-play it seemed he had reached into the limestone and actually grasped a three-dimensional staff.
He tightened his grip. And pushed. The door opened, grinding, both halves separating, welcoming him inside. “Your turn, sis,” he called to Phoebe as he turned and jogged back for her.
“Not on your life!”
Over her protests, he lifted her up and carried her.
“You’re filthy,” she said, putting her arms around his neck. “And now it’s all over me.”
“Deal with it,” he said with a laugh. “I’m not letting you miss out on this.”
He took her over the inscribed blocks, through the open doors into the next high-walled chamber, and made for the flight of stairs leading down. Phoebe took one hand away from his neck and used it to wield the flashlight.
They descended slowly, carefully. He stopped once to set her down and catch his breath.
“Wimp,” she giggled, then screeched as he swept her up and threw her over his shoulder. He trotted the rest of the way down and placed her gently on the floor, where she propped herself up on her side. She scooted away from a groove on the red-stained floor.
Caleb held up a finger to his lips and she nodded, trying to stifle her giggles and calm her breathing. Lowering his head, Caleb closed his eyes and directed his thoughts to this room, to its shape, its smell, its feel. And he asked to be shown a date long ago. To be shown Sostratus opening the door.
After two minutes passed, he started to worry.
Nothing happened. No images, no flashes of light, no trembling of the veil.
Another minute and he seriously thought of just trying it, saying “Isis” and seeing what happened. But then Phoebe gasped.
Caleb jumped and spun the flashlight to her. Then aimed it away. Her eyes had rolled back, and she was trembling, lying on her side. He had seen her do this only a few times before, in the grip of powerful visions. She had accessed the talent now, not Caleb.
“I see them,” she whispered. “Don’t speak. Don’t say the name.”
“Why?” he asked, dry-mouthed and chilled.
“Sostratus… he’s brought someone else.”
“Who? Demetrius?”
She shook her head, eyes still closed. “No. A woman.”
“What?”
“A woman in a blue robe. Head covered with a hood. Hands at her side. She’s facing the door, and Sostratus is waiting, head bowed.”
Could it be, Caleb wondered, that the inflection had to be the right tone, had to be in the feminine voice? Yin and Yang. Male and female. Was this one last test? A final nod to the powers of the feminine, of intellect, feeling, compassion? The ultimate lesson? That true wisdom and power only comes from balance? Man and woman together before the great vault. Was this why Metreisse didn’t open the door that first time?
Phoebe blinked and sat up. She smiled. “Did you bring me here for this purpose?” Caleb shook his head. “Then it’s fate.” She motioned him aside and crawled closer to the door. Closing her eyes, she took a breath and spoke the name, just as she had heard it. And the door opened, not with a grinding, grating sound, or any kind of fanfare. It merely whisked open as if someone had been waiting patiently, ages, for them to come.
Inside, they saw only darkness at first. Caleb started to aim his flashlight beam, but then a flickering light caught his eye.
“Put it out,” Phoebe said, and he wondered if she still saw the past.
He switched off the beam, and watched as the room beyond started to glow. Four tiny lights about ten feet off the ground sprang to life. Small flames set in multi-prismed glass bulbs hung on the walls. He peered closer and could see narrow tubes attached to each, filling with oil from unseen reservoirs. They must have been triggered by the opening of the door, he thought. He started forward, then stopped and turned to retrieve his sister.
“Go on,” she said, tears in her eyes, her lips quivering. “I can see from here… so beautiful.”
And it was. A rounded ceiling, painted with vibrant colors, a mural of the heavens, the zodiac, the planets, lines of orbit crisscrossing with comets and nebulae and the overarching Milky Way. A golden border separated the heavenly loft from the four levels of alcoves, each stocked with scrolls and edged with gold and silver trim. A single desk, made of smooth black obsidian, occupied the center of a scarlet marble floor, and a lone chair, simple and plain, rested beside it.
Without any awareness of motion, Caleb walked forward and down the three steps into the chamber. The scent of jasmine and oil mixed with the ancient aroma of papyrus, preserved in this perfectly dry, moisture-free vault, evoked sweet memories of Lydia. Everything was in the same condition as when it had been brought here, over two thousand years ago.
He turned, making a complete visual sweep of the chamber and thousands of scrolls blurred in his sight, each of them nestled carefully, sleeping safely in their alcoves.
Sometime during the next minute or so, he remembered to breathe. He heard Phoebe laughing and sniffling. “We did it.”
Caleb couldn’t stop smiling. He went to alcove after alcove and peered into the deep recesses to see even more scrolls packed away beyond those in front. He gently touched one, then pulled his hand away, afraid to damage it.
It’s all here. All…
And then he saw it. On the desk. Sparkling. Emerald on black. The Tablet of Thoth, right there on the smooth surface, beckoning. It was thin, but proportional; flat yet somehow multidimensional. The writing went deep, and when he looked at the tablet from different angles, other layers became visible, with more writing, and even more beyond that. His mind swam, as if just seeing the cascading emerald layers was already affecting his consciousness.
There was something beside the tablet, something that shouldn’t be there.
A tape recorder. And a piece of white paper torn from a notebook with Hilton Hotel letterhead.
How can this be?
As he approached and saw the familiar handwriting, he knew. Caleb pulled up the chair, sat heavily, and took the paper in his trembling hands. He glanced at the clunky old tape recorder. He knew the batteries would be dead, but it didn’t matter. He had already guessed what was on the tape: just one word, a woman speaking the name of Isis.
Choking back a sob, Caleb held the paper up to the light, saw the date, and realized it had been during the last trip his father had taken alone to work on his research just a year before his enlistment in the Gulf War.
Barely able to control the trembling in his fingers, Caleb read the words in his father’s handwriting:
This is yours now, son. All I ask is for your pledge to guard this secret with your life.
7
The other divers’ gear was still on the stairs, providing a convenient means of escape from the subterranean chambers. Caleb told Phoebe to practice breathing slowly through one of the mouthpieces while he fitted her with a suit, mask and vest.
They exited through the vent and ascended through the water gracefully, sharing one tank between them. Phoebe clung to Caleb’s neck and he held her with one arm while passing the regulator back and forth. He let more air into the vest at a grudgingly slow pace, careful to ascend very slowly.
They stared
at each other through their masks. They looked down now and then at the distant entrance port, at the breakwater stones and the hundreds of limestone blocks, the fallen reminders of the once-great Pharos. Here and there they saw a marble statue, limbs broken off, eyes dreaming as colorful fish darted about.
They rose together through the water into the rays of sunlight. The light seemed to gather and then scatter the bubbles before their ascent. Two feet from the surface, Caleb slowed and waited, not wanting this glorious feeling to end. But then a wave came along and nudged them upward and they were through, their vests fully inflated, and bobbed at the surface. He had purposely swum around to the other side of the fort to the beach for an easier exit. He kicked and swam and let the tide pull them in. About fifty feet from the shore, he became concerned.
“Who are they?” Phoebe asked in his ear.
Six white jeeps had pulled up onto the beach. They were arranged in a semicircle. The rest of the beach was nearly empty, and those few people that remained were being told to move away by men in gray suits.
“CIA?” Phoebe whispered. “How-?”
“Not CIA,” Caleb answered, seeing more men and women emerge from the jeeps, a few of them with binoculars to their eyes.
“Then who?”
Caleb spit out a mouthful of water. He found his footing. A few more steps in the rocky sand and he could stand, wobbling, holding Phoebe in his tired arms.
Seventeen men and women stood patiently. Some with dark glasses, others shielding their eyes.
“I think,” Caleb said, “this is going to be a reunion.”
“After nearly five hundred years, we are joined again.” The man who spoke was in his late thirties, strong and imposing, with broad shoulders, blond hair, blue eyes and thick, tanned skin.
Caleb held Phoebe in two feet of water, feeling the surf caress his calves. He scanned the crowd of faces. “Keepers,” Caleb said, and bowed his head in greeting.
Someone made a motion and another man stepped through, wheeling an empty wheelchair. “We thought you might need this,” he said, “after we realized you weren’t coming out the way you went in.”
Caleb put Phoebe down and got her positioned in the chair. “Thanks, I was getting a little tired there.”
“Congratulations,” said the first man as the others crowded around. “Are we to assume, due to your apparent health, that you have succeeded?”
Caleb stared at him. “Maybe we gave up.”
The man shook his head. “After the first door is bypassed, I don’t believe giving up is an option. The trap would have sprung, as it did with your mother.”
“Then there’s no point denying it.”
“Good. Again, congratulations. You have succeeded where we have failed for more than fifteen centuries. But now we are together again. The Keepers are reunited.”
“What are you planning to do?” Phoebe asked, looking at all the excited faces. She eyed Caleb carefully, to see if he showed any sign of flight.
The Keeper smiled. “We would like to show you something. Assuming of course, that you wish to join us.”
“We’ll see,” Phoebe said, crossing her arms.
“The seal is still open?” the man asked. “From the instructions we were given, if you succeeded, there is no reset program. You have to manually close the doors to reset the traps.”
“We didn’t close the doors,” Caleb said. “Wouldn’t want to go through all those trials again when we go back for the books.”
“So you didn’t take any?”
Caleb shook his head, feeling the dryness in his throat and trying to calm his pounding heart, hoping they would believe him. “Didn’t think to bring any waterproof containers on this trip, plus there are so many scrolls down there.”
“Good. We will bring them up.” He nodded to a woman next to him, who turned and left, taking a dozen of the group. They stepped into four jeeps and drove off toward the causeway, where a large black truck was waiting.
Two jeeps remained, and Caleb only now noticed someone sitting in the passenger seat of the closest one. A shadowy figure, watching them.
The Keeper who had first spoken noticed Caleb’s attention. He stepped forward, into his line of sight. “I understand you were with my father when he died.”
Caleb lowered his eyes. “Your… father? Nolan Gregory? Yes I was with him. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be,” the Keeper said. “It was his time.” He reached out his hand. “You are my brother-in-law. My name is Robert Gregory.”
Caleb numbly shook his hand, still eyeing the figure in the car.
“In my family’s case,” Robert continued, “my father couldn’t decide between his two children, so he shared the secret with both of us.”
Caleb continued staring at the silhouette.
“She wants to see you,” Robert said. “But we needed to talk first, before your reaction might have spoiled things.”
“She?” A lump formed in Caleb’s throat. He couldn’t breathe.
The jeep’s door opened.
Phoebe gasped.
And Caleb’s breath fled in a rush as Lydia strode toward him.
She stopped and took her brother’s place as he stepped away. Her hands were folded before her waist. Her green eyes were radiant, her golden hair whipping about in the winds. Caleb smelled jasmine, strong, intoxicating.
“Caleb. I knew you would do it.” He reached out his hand and she took it, squeezing it tight. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.
“I know,” Caleb said. “I think I’ve always known, somehow. As much as I admired your sacrifice, I secretly hoped you had tricked me. In the darkness you dove into the pit, then scrambled out the vent shaft.”
“Where I had stashed an air tank and regulator the night before. You were stubborn, Caleb. You were trapped in a place that held you back.”
“But we could have worked at it. Why the rush, why not give me more time?”
She glanced back at Phoebe, then her eyes met Caleb’s again. “There was another reason. Someone else was going to come into your life, someone who would have sidetracked your true mission.”
“Who?”
Phoebe gasped, fingers to her lips. “My dream… where Lydia was suffocating you. I heard-”
“A baby?” he asked.
And Lydia, with her eyes welling with tears, nodded. “You have a son.”
Phoebe and Caleb sat in the back seat with Lydia as they drove to the new library. They had brought a change of clothes, thinking of everything. Phoebe wore a yellow and black sundress, and Caleb had put on khaki shorts, sandals and a white button-down polo.
As they navigated the crowded market streets, Phoebe and Caleb looked through the photo album Lydia had brought of the first years of young Alexander’s life. Caleb saw his son grow from a puny little cub to a brown-haired hellion covered with grape jelly and Saltine crackers. He seemed to love the beach and water and listening to Lydia read to him in his crib.
“He loves books,” Lydia said. “Like his father.”
“Then he’ll love where we’re going,” Phoebe said. “How long has the library been open?”
“Officially, for ten years,” Robert said. “Unofficially, in the subterranean levels, much longer. But it is still being stocked. All the works are backed up, digitized and stored in fireproof servers.”
“What about earthquakes?” Caleb asked.
“Reinforced concrete girders across the structure. And deep in the earth we built the lower levels inside an immense vault on a series of rafters and posts to resist quakes and shore erosion. The angle of the windows overlooking the top six floors limit the amount of sunlight entering the library, further aiding in the preservation of the books. And, as I said, everything’s duplicated and stored on servers at several locations across Egypt.”
“And what about-?”
“We have it covered,” Lydia said. “Armed guards, heavy security. Many benefactors, funding…”
“I’m sure the
y were equally confident about the previous library.”
“So pessimistic,” Lydia said, then glanced at Phoebe. “Was he like this as a child?”
“Worse.”
Caleb groaned. “I’m just trying to gauge how sturdy this place will be, if, as I assume, you’re going to use it to store what they’re bringing up from the Pharos.”
“We are,” she said. “That has been our purpose all along. Keepers have been on the board here at the new library, securing funding through UNESCO and ensuring that the construction exceeds specifications. We knew, very soon, someone would find the way in. We had stepped up our efforts to find the Renegade. And your father, with his thesis, made it easy for us.”
“Unfortunately,” said Robert, “the CIA got to him first. A bad streak of luck, that. A little unfair, with Waxman’s psychic help. They took your father away, and we were forced to wait. We had hoped, years ago, that maybe your mother had been given the Key, but instead we had to be patient.”
“And prod you along,” Lydia said.
“So it was all just for this?” Caleb asked her ruefully. He looked at his lap, reflecting, before he spoke again. “Any love in there?”
She stared back with a wounded look. “I hope you know better.”
“I don’t,” he said, but then he looked at the album again, at his little son nestled in her arms. “But maybe I’ll come to learn that, in time. If you’re willing.”
She reached back her left hand, where he saw her wedding ring, still glittering. “I am.”
In the library, they walked down a massive ramp as Caleb wheeled Phoebe along. He marveled at the architecture, the perfect columns, the lustrous balconies on each of the six floors; the great windowed dome, the tracks of lights crisscrossing overhead; the rich mahogany shelves, tables and chairs.
He felt a burning need to linger here for days, weeks, months. As he turned around in a great circle, his heart thundered and he couldn’t help but feel like Demetrius Phalereus stepping into his library for the first time, looking over the thousands of works from every subject on the planet.
Lydia gently took his arm and pulled him along, toward a waiting elevator. She used a special key to gain access to a floor below the other four sub-sea levels. After nearly a minute of silent descent, they stepped into a long tunnel made of all white marble. Caleb felt like they were deep in a secret military installation. At the end of the corridor, a set of gold-plated double doors opened at their approach. Inside, the room was set up much as the chamber under the Pharos, except larger, and with twenty desks and polished wood chairs. Empty alcoves everywhere, flat screen monitors, computers, scanners, and a bank of servers. A similar vaulted ceiling arched overhead with beautiful cosmic murals.
The Pharos Objective mi-1 Page 27
