“Of course, Padre, you can depend on me.”
DUBLIN – MARCH 15, NIGHT
Ms. Copendale was coming up from the basement with the laundry as MacClary was heading into the library by himself. He stood in front of her, placing his hands on her shoulders. “Thank you, Ruth, but I’ll do that,” he said gently. “You can turn in now.”
“Do you really think I’m going to be able to sleep a wink? I know what this is all about. As if this thing hasn’t caused enough trouble already. I can’t condone this. I promised your mother...oh, you’ll do what you want.” Moving at an astonishingly determined pace for someone of her age, Ms. Copendale marched up the stairs to her room, a room that had been her second home since childhood.
MacClary stood on the lowest step, surprised and confused. “Ruth, what did you promise my mother? You’ve never mentioned that before.”
She turned back to him, exasperation on her face. “I promised Lisa I would make sure you didn’t fall victim to your father’s insanity, which destroyed everything and made her so sick. Do you have any idea how much she suffered because of your father’s obsession?”
MacClary lifted up his hands in a helpless gesture. “Yes, I think I do know. I’ve suffered enough from it myself, but that also means that I need to know if it was worth it.”
Ms. Copendale shook her head. “You’re just like your father, Ronnie. That’s what has always scared me.”
Just at that moment, the doorbell rang. It had to be Jennifer.
“We’ll talk more about it tomorrow,” MacClary said before going to open the front door.
Jennifer was reading some messages on her cell phone when he got there.
“Ronald, are you OK? You look like...”
“I look like someone who has just experienced the most exciting moment of his life.”
“Oh no, let me guess: you’re going to be the next UN Secretary-General. Or, no, vice president!” A mischievous smile on her face, Jennifer walked down the hall and dropped her coat and purse carelessly on a chair.
“Jennifer, you know how Ruth hates that.” Ronald picked up her things and hung them in the closet while Jennifer casually strolled into the library, completely at home.
“OK, so let’s hear it,” she said when he followed her in. “Did you see a ghost? Have your Druid brothers gone up in smoke? What is it?”
“Nothing like that. Believe it or not, just a few minutes ago we discovered a clue about the trove that my father left behind. There’s a cave, and it’s on the Magdalensberg in Austria. We have the exact coordinates.”
Jennifer dropped down into a chair. “That just can’t be.”
Ryan and Adam came out of the kitchen.
“Jennifer, let me introduce you to Adam Shane. Adam, this is Jennifer Wilson, my most talented student and a colleague for many years at the federal district court in Boston.”
Adam stood there, obviously so struck by Jennifer’s looks that he couldn’t get a word out.
Jennifer stood up and extended her hand. “Good evening, Mr. Shane. Thomas Ryan has already told me about you.”
Adam sat down in an empty chair. “Thomas was about to tell me more about the Druids,” he said nervously, as though he’d never been in the presence of a beautiful woman before.
With mock despair, Jennifer clapped her hand to her head. “Oooh, and it could have been such a nice evening!”
“Now, Adam,” Thomas said cheerfully, “the history of the Druids and the philosophers didn’t end with their flight from Rome. Not by a long shot. Their first stop was what is now Austria...”
* * *
VIRUNUM (PRESENT-DAY MAGDALENSBERG) – AUGUST 19, 330 AD
The Druids, their students, and the young philosophers had brought several symbols and treasures of their culture with them when they escaped Rome. The journey had been undertaken on foot and with packhorses. It had been an arduous one. The secret system of caves was on one side of the mountain, the Roman administrative seat of Virunum on the other. It was a daring game to get in and out here, but the Druids were insistent that their library be built on this spot, which was for them a holy place.
“Rodanicas, this cave isn’t just suitable, it’s outstanding!” beamed Datanos.
Now is the time, he thought. I have to convince the Druids to do something that goes against one of their most holy laws.
Since the young Druids and Sopatros’s three Roman students had been able to steal parchment and tools from the administration in Virunum the night before, the philosophers had begun to write down a chronicle of their experiences in Rome during the Christian grab for power. Where their own memory and experience didn’t suffice, they relied on the tales of the scholars who had met a gruesome end after the treachery of Ablabius. The Druids could give them the most information, but the holy men were still reluctant to personally assist in the writing.
“Rodanicas, what will remain if all the Druids die or none of you make it to the Island?” Datanos pressed him.
“Well, you may believe that nothing of us will remain, but that is not the case. At any moment, our spirit can—”
“Rodanicas, please, be logical! You don’t know if you can even make it to the Island. You and Aregetorix, you are the keepers of the old knowledge. You could refute the writings of the Christians.”
They went into another room, where students had spent the last several days carving the spiral of life into a massive stone. Others had already carved out cavities in the wall, which would provide added protection for the parchment. As soon as everything had been accomplished, these cavities were to be sealed.
“Do you still not understand why we choose not to record our knowledge? We know that no judgment, no reckoning can remain valid forever. Truth must be experienced in the moment. Whatever we would write down now would ossify and become a curse. That’s exactly what has happened with the teachings of Jesus of Nazareth. They wrote down his words—set in stone. Do you understand? As if they had shackled him, or locked him up in a dungeon made of stone. Nailed down fast, just as the Romans had nailed him to the cross. And that has brought the greatest harm to the world. The humility that lies in the certainty of uncertainty is the heart of our teachings. I spend aeons with my students trying to get them to understand this. And that, my dear Datanos, is why our knowledge is only passed on to our students in an oral tradition.”
“But look at what the emperor and the Christians are doing. At least leave the knowledge of their actions behind for the world.”
“Datanos, we believe that everything in Rome will soon change. It is only a brief cultural disorientation, a political game that will end with the death of the emperor. You will see.”
“No. You heard for yourself what Aregetorix said!”
“And that is why Aregetorix will remain here.”
“What do you mean?” Datanos asked. Are they finally listening to my pleas?
“We will set out tomorrow. But Aregetorix is too old for the long journey, and he has decided to remain here.”
“Alone?” Datanos looked at Rodanicas in anguish.
“Alone. This was his decision. He will record what your heart is longing for, but we must leave. A messenger will provide Aregetorix with news from the empire, as long as he remains alive. And he alone will decide when these rooms will be closed, and his spirit along with it, and what he will leave behind. None of us—”
“But he’s choosing a certain death!”
Rodanicas laughed suddenly. “Do you see Uratorix there, his son? He just chose life, Datanos. We know the passage. Tell the others they should prepare for our departure. And don’t worry.”
By that evening all except Aregetorix had packed up their things. They would set out in the darkest hour before daybreak, hidden from the Roman scouts. Datanos was standing before the entrance to the chambers, listening to the incantations of the Druids. His heart grew cold. What would become of them? What would become of this world, where only one god was now allowed?
&
nbsp; After a while they all came out and made their farewells.
“Here, take this with you,” Aregetorix said as he handed Rodanicas a scroll. “This parchment contains our family tree. It will help you to rebuild the schools on the Island. Pass on everything that you know and safeguard this place by only allowing the knowledge to pass from father to son, from mother to daughter. They will know when it is time to free my spirit from this place.”
The small group set out on its journey. When Datanos turned around one more time, he saw Aregetorix returning to the cave. He was the last master of ancient times to be seen by the continent. But he firmly believed that one day people would return here. People who recognized the truth.
* * *
Ryan continued. “It’s quite simple, Adam. What Ronald and I have in common is this history and our desire to learn everything about it. And Jennifer, be fair, it’s at least a serious point of concern for you too, even if it is for other reasons, that the truth finally be accepted. My desire is that we as a culture finally retrieve what was stolen from us.”
MacClary considered Thomas’s words. The Vatican’s secret archive contained many relics of pagan cultures. There, stored in secret, were the artifacts that had not been destroyed over the course of centuries by fanatical myrmidons who often had no idea what they were doing or why they were doing it.
“The message of Jesus Christ was very similar to that of the Druids,” Ryan added. “They both had the same basic goals. Jesus, if he really existed, acted out of pure love. He showed humankind the inner and wholly individual path to God.”
“I think I know what you mean,” Adam said. “You’re saying that Jesus declared that the divine spark is in every person. If his message had prevailed, there would have been no need for priests or religious scholars. And because this view was a thorn in the side of the powerful people of his time, he had to die. He wanted to free humankind from every kind of manipulation or requirement about how to find God. That was the Druids’ goal as well, although their path respected nature as a symbol of the divine power.”
Ryan looked at Adam in approval. “That’s right, exactly. And they wanted to slowly dismantle the caste system of that time, which was similar to that of early Indian society, gradually replacing it with a society guided by self-determination and freedom.”
“Barbaric propaganda,” joked Deborah, coming into the library. “So, ladies and gentlemen, the next flight to Vienna leaves at seven in the morning. How many tickets should I book?”
“Adam, I’m assuming you’re coming with us,” Ryan said.
“Yes, of course. I can’t wait! It sounds like a great adventure right into the center of this insanity we’re living in.”
“Yes, it should be. Good, then it’s agreed. If I’ve understood correctly, Ronald, tomorrow when we land in Adam’s second homeland, we’ll pay a visit to someone who’ll equip us for the journey.”
MacClary nodded. “Right. And if I know him, everything will be ready for you when you get there.”
* * *
Shane was standing in the kitchen waiting for the water to boil for coffee. Thomas had just sat down at the table.
“Adam, there’s one more thing we should talk about. Your vision, or intuition, whatever you want to call it, that you’re so afraid of. The gift of seeing seems so strange to us today because we’ve forgotten to recognize it as a part of our natural potential. But amazingly, more and more people are returning to this place, practically of their own accord, without even understanding where it came from.” He held out a book. “Here, you should read this.”
“What is it?”
“Five thousand children with the same story as yours. Scientists have written it off as just a ‘phenomenon.’”
He laid the book down on the table, and Shane picked it up and skimmed through the introduction.
“The authors want to explain why children who have just learned to talk can tell about experiences from an earlier life,” Thomas continued. “They call the paradigm the ‘Akashic Field.’ Einstein, Nikola Tesla, and as far as I know Wilhelm Reich called it ether or the morphogenetic field—basically the origin of all things, in which the potential for all phenomena are already present. According to this, the universe contains, beyond time and space, all the experiences of all living things, like a universal quantum savings bank.”
Shane had already heard about this. “But that’s not a new idea. Clairvoyant people like Edgar Cayce have been referring for a long time to something they call the Akasha Chronicle, which is just the metaphysical name for a kind of world memory of everything that has ever happened.”
“Could be. But so few people concern themselves with this. You and I are not the norm. I just wanted to give you some evidence that might take the drama out of your experiences. On the other hand, this is a gift that you shouldn’t underestimate.”
A glimmer of warmth had crept into Thomas’s normally hard demeanor, which surprised Shane. They had only really known each other a couple of days and yet it felt like it could have been an eternity. Shane smiled at him, hoping to exude a similar warmth. “I’m terribly grateful that you’re letting me do all of this with you. You know, there’s one thing that I keep asking myself: Didn’t the Church itself make science what it is today? That is, this pure, rational viewpoint of empirical reasoning with no metaphysical support. I mean, if you ask a physicist if he believes in God, he’ll say, ‘Of course. I’m a physicist, after all.’”
Thomas burst out laughing. “Yes, and it’s no wonder that the physicists in particular came to this realization. After all, they work day in and day out with God’s materials. But despite their efforts, they only come just so far. As if there was a barrier of some kind, something in the way. The Druids and the other shamans knew about it.”
Shane stared off, dumbfounded. “There’s so much to rediscover.”
Thomas stood and clapped him on the shoulder. “Yes, there is. And we will. Come on, you old Celt, let’s get to bed. I’ll have a few hours of sleep here. We have a very early and very big day tomorrow.”
* * *
Shane stood looking out the window into MacClary’s yard, which was lit up by several small lamps.
“Hello, Mr. Shane,” said a female voice from behind him. “You have a unique gift for setting things in motion.”
“Oh, thanks,” he said, turning toward Jennifer, “but that was just luck, albeit a wonderful kind of luck. I’m still fairly nervous about the whole thing, I have to confess. I mean, I’ve only known the others for a few days, and then all of this...”
“I know,” she said with a hint of wistfulness in her voice. “It can be a bit stressful when you meet Ronald MacClary. How did you end up here, anyhow?”
“Oh, well, you see, for one thing, I’m interested in the art of healing with herbs. And for another, I’ve spent quite a bit of time—for as long as I can remember— trying to fathom our purpose. In other words, asking ridiculous questions that can make one’s life a living hell.”
Shane looked at Jennifer with a warm smile.
She returned the smile. “Ah, and I always thought that only the Church was concerned with hell.”
Shane felt his cheeks flushing. He needed to deflect the focus away from himself. “And what do you do, if I may ask, Ms. Wilson?”
“Please call me Jennifer, Adam.” She sat down opposite him and rested her elbows on the small table, supporting her head with her hands as she looked out the window. “I got here, like you, because of my interest in Ronald. When I was just beginning my career as a lawyer, I was hoping for his support to advance my career. But at some point I finally realized that I no longer needed that help. Then, for some strange reason, a real friendship developed.”
“Are you as caught up in his quest as the rest of the group?”
Jennifer smiled and leaned back in her chair. Shane couldn’t help but look at her. He had never met someone with so much femininity, beauty, self-assuredness, and intelligence all at the
same time, and he had to control himself not to give away his feelings. He wasn’t accustomed to responding to women this way. In fact, he hadn’t felt like this upon meeting a woman since he met Victoria ten years ago.
“Let’s say,” Jennifer began, shaking Shane from his reverie, “I share Ronald’s opinion about the Vatican’s questionable history. And I couldn’t care less if a crime is a year, a hundred years, or a thousand years old, especially if it concerns murder and torture. Meanwhile, I assume I don’t need to explain my opinion about the Catholic Church from my perspective as a woman.”
The forcefulness of Jennifer’s convictions made her even more fascinating to Shane. “But prosecuting old crimes probably doesn’t work that well.”
“No, of course not. For that, we would have to have a complete cultural sea change, and such a change is difficult to imagine. Still, historical crimes ought to be punishable. And...oh, forget it. I’m just succumbing to the usual sad combination of philosophy and wishful thinking.”
With that, Jennifer seemed as though she were ready to leave the room.
Surprising himself, Shane reached out a hand. “Please continue.”
Jennifer settled back. “Do you really want to talk about this?
“Absolutely.”
And so they did, long into the night.
DUBLIN – MARCH 16, EARLY MORNING
Shane was just finishing his packing after a total of three hours’ sleep, wondering why he’d even bothered to pay for the hotel room. Though they never got far from the subject of Ronald’s search, Shane still felt as though he’d gotten to see inside Jennifer a bit during their time together. He hoped it wouldn’t be the only long conversation they ever shared.
Minutes later, he found Deborah and Thomas waiting in front of the hotel in a taxi that would take them to the airport. As the taxi drove away, Thomas lifted up his hand. “Gentlemen, before we board the airplane, I have something here to fortify our spirits. It should help us to be successful on this trip if we are under the protection of our ancestors.”
The Celtic Conspiracy Page 8
