The Celtic Key

by Barbara Best

  “A few steps ahead, my Blommie Kabouter, a few steps ahead,” Masegi reiterates. He covers his mic with one hand and shouts, “Yes! God is good!” Grinning from ear-to-ear, Masegi resonates a thrilling sense of accomplishment. He releases his tension by laughing with open abandon. Loosening his death grip on the yoke, he elbows Sophie good-humoredly.

  Sophie glares at Segi, yet she cannot help but join in. The hilarity of their situation and brush with danger fills the cramped cockpit they share and lightens their load.

  When they reach the proper altitude and airspeed, Masegi drops the nose of the Piper and they level off. He wipes the tears from his eyes and perspiration from his brow with the sleeve of his shirt and glances over at Sophie.

  “Now, young woman, we have much to talk about.”

  Chapter 17

  A POWERFUL FACTION

  Masegi scratches a half-day’s worth of coarse stubble on his cheek and checks his fuel gauge and watch. It will be time to switch tanks at the top of the hour. He is flying a vintage aircraft and hopes it has not developed any serious leaks. It would not do to run the Piper dry or push it too hard. The rebuilt single-engine prop hums efficiently in spite of its age. The loud drone of the propeller spiraling through the air is muffled by their headsets as they cruise above the wild African terrain.

  He peers out his side window over his left shoulder at the wing and is glad for good visibility and reasonable turbulence. The endless winds of Africa that blow across rolling plains, mountains, lakes and rivers can be as volatile as a new bride. They sweep across the torrid continent in currents as innate as a bee flying from flower to flower or a grasshopper jumping from one blade of grass to the next.

  “I searched the FBI and Georgia law enforcement databases last night while you were resting. There’s no record on you.” When Masegi gets a quizzical frown from Sophie, “What?” he asks.

  “Conducting an investigation out in the bush? Now, that’s interesting.”

  “Ha! My retreat may look primitive, but it is quite modern. Although, power and water can be unreliable at times.”

  Sitting shoulder-to-shoulder with her family’s best friend, Sophie reasons, “It is helpful you have connections. But Segi, there has to be something. Ben,” she falls silent, her voice becoming thick.

  Gone forever. Those torturous two words hit an emotional chord between grief and despair. Sophie takes a deep breath, refocusing on what needs to be said. Her story, so far, has been choppy, but she is doing the best she can.

  “In the states, I am linked to not one, but two disappearances. Both at Fort Pulaski in a year’s time. When Jane went missing, the FBI and local police questioned me, but I really had no idea what had happened. That’s the truth. The second time, well, that’s twice, and a different set of circumstances.”

  “So,” Sophie says as evenly as possible, “Jane Peterson and Bryce McKenzie were literally erased from the face of the earth, and there’s nothing? Ben and I should at least be labeled persons of interest. We left the scene after Bryce. In fact, we fled the whole freaking country. That can’t be the end of it. No all-points bulletin? No criminal investigations? No warrants for our arrest?” Sophie shrugs, “I’m just saying.”

  “I told you Salva is good,” Masegi smiles, and pats Sophie’s lower arm like an understanding father. He is baffled and massively curious, but he keeps a firm grip on his questions. “There are many ways to cover their tracks. The Salva Society has great global influence. They have been on our watch list for some time. Cape Town is their first stop on business ventures from Gough Island. They have a small satellite office in the city. They also have a much larger conglomerate in Durban that is affiliated with a revolutionary research institute based outside Stockholm, Sweden.”

  “How is it I’m not surprised,” Sophie says dryly.

  “For some time, we have expected they are more than what they seem. As yet, though, we have found no concrete evidence, no proof. Gough Island, itself, is well over twenty-five hundred kilometers off our coast.”

  “Tell me about it. It took five days to cross by boat to Cape Town,” Sophie says. “So, Segi, what’s next?”

  “There is someone who is interested in your relationship with Salva. A Doctor Seamus Archer stopped by my office a few weeks ago. He left his business card.” Segi glances at his flight instruments, paying close attention to the altitude, heading, and airspeed indicators. “I made a call.”

  “You are kidding me!” Sophie’s anger sparks. “You talked to someone? What? Are you turning me over?”

  “Don’t be so dramatic, little one. Doctor Archer understands the danger you are in and has offered temporary asylum.”

  “Asylum as in refugee or asylum as in nuthouse.”

  Masegi laughs at this, “I think you know the answer.”

  “Did you tell him, this Doctor Archer about that creepy piece of work Ben shoved into my purse?”

  Sophie is repulsed by the mysterious object and sure the bizarre symbols etched into the surface denote the occult, a gateway to corruption and evil. It is something ancient and forbidden, a cipher shrouded in darkness. She has no idea how Ben got his hands on it or why he would risk so much, even his life to give it to her. It doesn’t take a brainiac to understand stealing from Salva will not go well for anyone.

  “Naw. There is no need to play all our cards. We should hear them out first, aye?”

  Masegi had explored the clear zippered pouch with Sophie’s passport and an extraordinary artifact inside more than once. He is utterly fascinated by the gold jeweled case with a unique feature they have in their possession. It contains something that resembles a key, yet it is three-dimensional and can stand on end. “I am told these people have been observing Salva’s actions for decades. They have a history. Some sort of secret fellowship I have never heard of.”

  “Secret fellowship? Oh, that’s just peachy,” Sophie rasps in irritation. “I’m a little tired of secrets and secret places.”

  “They have offered asylum,” Masegi firmly reminds. “I think it wise to take them up on this offer. That is, if we can get you there safely.”

  “And, there is where?”

  “Scotland. The Supreme Divinity Temple of the Highland Gaelic Rite.”

  “Oh, this keeps getting better. Don’t tell me, standing stones, highland myths, cult rituals,” Sophie rattles off. “Sounds like the perfect place.”

  Sophie remembers Camila’s story about the Celts and a marriage of dark power between Rodrigo Tomas de Salva and his Druid Princess hundreds of years ago. She tells Segi about a mysterious metal mined on Gough Island. A marooned Rodrigo, the only survivor of a shipwreck in the 1500s, discovered the black gold in a cave. It would become the root of a forbidden practice that defies the laws of nature and world order. Tiny blonde hairs on Sophie’s arms prickle and she forces her attention elsewhere, needing a momentary distraction.

  Testing her balance and removing her eyes from a fixed point on the horizon, she slowly sweeps the vista below, drawn by its vast beauty. Wild stretches of honey-brown grassland have swirled into subtle patterns made by constant winds and the movement of wildlife and water. Just off the wing, if Sophie twists a little in her seat, a flat-topped tree rooted in burnt, undulating soil forms a leafy green umbrella-effect. It makes a cool resting place for a small herd of imposing African buffalo. A few of the males, burdened by their thick curling horns, have gathered under its knobby branches. In the distance, the land changes its palette and shape into a lush tropical jungle with patchwork quilt-like squares of farms that rise up into the hills and border majestic mountains. An occasional plume of smoke drifts upward through the tangled growth revealing signs of intelligent life. Her vision of Africa on their route from the air gives an impression of freedom, something endless and as old as time itself.

  “Look, Flamingos!” Sophie spies a flock so dense that all she can see is a solid pink covering, like floating rose petals on a lake.

  Masegi hands Sophie a p
air of binoculars. “You are doing better, yeah?”

  Sophie nods. Her airsickness is manageable. She puts the twin pieces up to her eyes. It magnifies the lake and colorful array of nature.

  Moving her circular gaze through the lenses to explore what is ahead, Sophie remarks offhandedly, “What makes you think I would be interested in trusting another faction with Lord knows what other hidden agenda? How do we know they are any better?”

  “Ah!” Masegi is glad to continue. “As I see it, we have no choice my young friend. Your escape from Salva is highly unusual, and I am grossly out of my league.” He notices the tightening of Sophie’s lower jaw and the downward turn of her mouth that makes him think of her father. When the major dug his heels in, he could no more change the man’s mind than he could move mountains or persuade the sun not to rise. “You, of course, are free to do as you wish,” he offers wisely.

  “With that gang of lunatics hot on our tail, what else can we do?”

  “Precisely.”

  “I just don’t want to make the mistake of jumping from the frying pan into the fire.” Sophie’s mouth softens at the corners. “You didn’t get any sleep last night, did you?” Bowing her head and fretfully winding the strap of Berko’s binoculars between her fingers, “I can’t tell you how sorry I am for getting you into this. I was desperate. It’s such a horrific mess.” Sophie notices the polish on three of her nails is chipped.

  “No worries. Life is a road full of potholes.”

  “Well, this is one monstrous sinkhole, if you ask me, ready to devour us both. Some way to spend your vacation, huh? On a bumpy road to who knows where.” Defensively, she rests a hand on her stomach. “Dad is probably rolling over in his grave about now.”

  There is a poignant lull between the two, each lost in their thoughts.

  Masegi misses his old friend, Major Eden, terribly. To have him ripped from the world in a tragic car accident during the autumn of his life, along with Sophie’s mother, was a brutal blow. Two fabulous people, gone in the blink of an eye.

  “Are you hungry?” Masegi decides to change the subject.

  “Yes,” Sophie says. “It seems, a lot more lately.” Color returns to her cheeks at the thought of food.

  “Can you reach the backpack?”

  Sophie twists her arm between the seats and can barely capture one of the straps. She is happy to find apples in one of the large side pouches. “Want one? Hey, there’s some good stuff in here. Mmm, cheese too, and bread.”

  “From the resort,” Masegi grins. “You should drink some water. I packed several bottles.” He gives Sophie a chance to settle again in her seat before he continues. He is anxious to address his own misgivings. “Now, you have more to share, aye?”

  “You’re sure you want to hear more?”

  “Yes, yes,” Masegi encourages. “I want to hear everything.” He must know why the Salva Society would take interest in an unassuming Civil War fort and small group of reenactors tenuously located on Georgia’s saltmarsh coast.

  “Okay, then. I warn you, what I am about to say is going to ruin your perspective of the world. A lot,” she mutters, to put it mildly. “But Segi,” Sophie hesitates, riddled with guilt and fearful she will make matters worse, “If I tell you this, I . . . well, Ben is gone because of it.”

  “I am involved enough,” Masegi says plainly.

  Crunching on her apple, Sophie lets the sweet juice quench the sudden dryness in her throat.

  “All right,” she swallows hard and pulls her mic closer to her mouth. “There is a woman that I got to know fairly well. Her name is Camila Salva. Salva, as in married to a direct descendant of the society’s founder, so I am pretty sure she knows a thing or two. For whatever reason, she confided to me members of their organization have been secretly altering past events. They transport people to certain periods in history, claiming to have mastered a form of time travel.”

  “She told you this?” Masegi clarifies sharply, “Time travel.”

  Sophie quickly lifts the padded housing on her headset when Segi’s amplified voice crackles a little too loudly. “You said, everything.”

  “Go ahead.”

  In short order, Sophie manages to give a condensed version of her time on Gough Island. Segi listens stoically, making soft guttural sounds and rocking his head in an occasional nod.

  “You see,” she concludes, “Salva, Camila, and all the other minions on that volcanic rock in the Atlantic are making a utopia of some kind in another dimension. All the other stuff you hear and read about the organization is a ruse, a gigantic smokescreen to cover their evil-doing. It’s insane, I know.”

  After studying Segi’s stiff form for a second or two, “Come on! Missing persons, secret sects, mystery, suspense, the occult . . . murder.” Her last utterance comes with a sizable shudder. Sophie wraps her apple core in a paper napkin and adds dimly, “No one in his or her right mind would believe this stuff.”

  Masegi’s face is intentionally wiped clear of expression. He shifts positions in his seat. When he finally begins, his voice is low and controlled.

  “The Bushmen, the Khoi-San who lived along the Orange River taught us about a god we call, Kaang. Now, it is said Kaang’s wife gave birth to an antelope and it was well loved and nurtured. When the calf was mistakenly killed, Kaang demanded the antelope’s blood be boiled and its parts scattered across the land. In turn, it became not only an antelope, but also many other animals. In this manner, Kaang provided the meat his people could hunt, kill, and eat to this day.”

  With his eyes trained on the horizon, Masegi continues, “It is our belief Kaang can transform himself into different forms. He existed long before man evolved on earth, and can die and be reborn many times over. From these ancestral stories I believe truth emerges. All you have to do is open your eyes to see it.”

  “You believe me.”

  “I believe you.”

  Masegi’s statement is simple, but it gives Sophie a feeling of profound gratitude. She is warmed by the first ray of hope she has had since Ben’s promise to get her off Gough Island. Somehow she thought she could persuade Ben to go with her. If she had, surely he would be alive now, by her side, and they would be facing this together. Hot tears well and she quickly dabs her eyes with a corner of her napkin made sticky with apple juice.

  Sophie’s thoughts flash back to her uncomplicated life in Savannah. Her marriage with Ben. The easy, inconsequential days of working at Copperfield and Brine, taking lunch with her friend Jane, and planning their next Civil War reenactment. She squeezes her eyes tight to stem a torrential flow of sorrow. Keeping her head turned away, “I am glad for your help, Segi, more than you know,” she chokes halfway through, and takes a few sips of water to squelch the pressure.

  “There is no room for regret. You must stay strong. Everything will be a’right. You will see.”

  Contrary to his outward display of confidence, Masegi’s internal qualms reveal the overwhelming responsibility that lies squarely at his feet. With an explosive sigh, he turns his attention to his cockpit dials.

  Berko helped him map out a route. They will need to land soon to refuel. With his brother’s flying experience much greater than his own, they had selected a reliable airstrip where Berko knew the owner. The journey will be far and definitely clock many hours to Masegi’s flight time.

  Chapter 18

  THIS IS NO GAME

  The announcement that bleats over the radio disrupts their temporary peace. A string of odd syllables form a series of jagged words and clicks. It wreaks havoc on Sophie’s fortitude, giving her instant butterflies. She understands enough to be alarmed.

  “No dis time, bru!” Sophie imitates out loud. “What does that mean?” she yells over the noise, forgetting her mic is live.

  Masegi flinches, throws up his hand for silence and listens intently.

  “Roger that,” he speaks clearly, his mouth forming a thin line afterward. Masegi thumps the fuel-level gauge absently with his mi
ddle finger. “There has been a change of plans. Hand me Berko’s map.”

  “But we are getting low on petrol,” Sophie says. They have been in the air for a while and she needs a bathroom break and chance to stretch her legs. The pinprick of swelling feet is bothering her.

  “As I see it, we can backtrack east over the mountains and zigzag our way north. But first,” he hesitates. “Take the yoke.”

  Sophie shrinks back in her seat away from the control wheel in front of her. “I can’t fly!”

  “You’ve seen enough. Watch out for birds and air traffic. It is like driving, aye?”

  “Hardly.”

  “Do it,” Masegi orders, his jaw muscles bulging.

  Masegi studies Berko’s map. The paper is tattered along the edges and heavily creased from years of use. He finds their location, turning his head this way and that to read the meticulous updates. His brother is an accomplished pilot in the region and has noted places for emergency landings. They both have flown enough to know that in Africa anything can and will happen.

  “Here,” he stabs his finger at the spot. “This is the closest. We can refuel there.”

  “We aren’t landing now?” Sophie asks, her face screwed up in confusion. She worries they might already be flying on fumes.

  “Two vehicles have turned up. Ol’ Man Jazz has never seen them before.”

  “It can’t be Salva, can it?”

  “Well, we aren’t going to circle to find out. The other place is not far. I can land just about anywhere.”

  “Gee, that’s comforting,” Sophie grumbles, momentarily averting her eyes, which causes movement.

  She seizes up as the plane pitches and rolls to the left. “Oh, shit!” Sophie gasps. “Uh, my bad.”

  The yoke reacts to the slightest tilt. Although they are cruising at one hundred nine knots and drifting on a favorable tailwind, it seems like they are scarcely moving at all. There is a strong impression of weightlessness and driving without brakes.