“What is it for?” Kristian enquired.
“The urn. The urn, as far as I can decipher, is used to… how does it put it, oh yes, ‘it is used to contain that which is divine’,” Saresh said.
“And what does it mean by that?” Kristian stared into Saresh’s eyes quizzically.
“Divine. Well it’s subjective. In this context, I believe it refers to the commonly agreed divine lineage laid out in Arnardian law.”
Kristian again looked blankly.
“You have never read anything on Arnardian law?” Saresh looked at Kristian’s expression - it remained blank. “You black suits! Well you should read up on it, it’s fascinating. That’s beside the point. So, things it classes as divine, which you would have heard of. The soul, every human has one or at least starts with one. The Phoenix, yes that thing inside you is classed as divine, the Trinity. There are all sorts of classes and types as well; you should definitely read ‘Basic Arnardian concepts.’”
“Yeah I will, next opportunity I have. But now, can you tell me more about this urn. It contains the divine. What, like imprisons it? Like it could be used to trap one of these divine things?”
“I guess. I am no expert on this urn, or urns, as it indicates – ‘Solasis Krull has made many urns’. I haven’t researched them, I’m just going by what it says in this text,” Saresh replied.
“So does it say anything on how to destroy them? And what happens to the contents?” Kristian asked, his mind roused by the possibility of completing his promise.
“I think, from the description, it would break like any other urn made of pottery. The markings offer magical protection of the contents, not of the physical object. So, I think it would smash, and the content I assume would be freed. Why do you ask? Have you come across one?” Saresh asked as his eyes widened.
“No,” Kristian barked defensively. “I need to go, that meeting. Thanks for looking into that name,” Kristian said, not wanting to reveal the truth.
“You’re welcome. If you do come across one, you should feel obliged to let me know,” Saresh said as he closed the book; Kristian was already on his way out.
“Yes sure. Goodbye and thank you again,” Kristian lied, the promise was empty. He had seen one before and he believed he knew where another was, he was going to destroy one, or at least die trying.
…
Looking down, Kristian was determined not to talk to anyone; he was going to see Jonathon and didn’t want to speak with anyone else. He had made plans to meet up with Jess later but first he needed to be sure of something. He entered the long corridor and was surprised to see how empty it was for a Friday afternoon. As he walked past the various rooms, to his relief, he bumped into no one. He was beginning to regret the things he had said to his boss a few hours ago. He now wanted to apologise; Jonathon was a good man and Kristian believed it.
Stopping in front of the President’s office, he could hear voices coming from within. Whoever was in there was shouting. Kristian considered knocking when he heard the distinctive voices of Brendan and Amar. Amar was shouting something. Kristian could not make it out and pushed his ear closer to the door, straining to hear what was going on inside.
“Please,” pleaded Brendan. “Promise me, when the time comes.”
Amar replied but Kristian could not hear what he said, just muffled mumblings.
The two men became silent and Kristian quickly stepped back and knocked on the door. It opened to the stern face of Brendan who said in his harsh voice, “What?”
“Is Jonathon in Jonathon’s office?” Kristian replied sarcastically.
“No, he’s in the Great Library,” came Brendan’s reply.
Kristian turned on the spot and made his way back to the massive doors of the Library. Somehow he must have passed by him, the library was massive and one could have easily not seen someone in there, he thought.
“Hey! You did a good job with the Jakyll, you made us proud.” As the words left Brendan’s mouth, Kristian stopped in his tracks. Never before had he been given a compliment by Brendan.
Kristian turned to him, “Thanks.” He smiled out of respect for his fellow Phoenix before he continued towards the library.
Standing in front of the golden doors he felt the strange tingling sensation he had felt when he had crossed the barrier an hour earlier. It was like walking over a magical threshold but the intensity was stronger. Kristian was about to speak the secret password when the door burst into life. The large cogs that held the doors securely together began to turn, the panels lifted into the air and Kristian stepped back, his eyes reflected the beautifully bright colours that emanated from within the Great Library itself.
Jonathon was walking out and, noticing Kristian, stopped, facing him. He looked forlorn and the pair stood awkwardly together not speaking for a number of seconds.
Kristian was the first to speak. “I was looking for you, I wanted to apologise for earlier.”
Jonathon waved a hand in the air. “Ah, not to worry. What is done is done. Thank you for your apology. I too said things I now regret,” he walked in the direction of his office and signalled for Kristian to follow.
Entering his office he placed a pile of notes he had made in the library onto his desk. Kristian was a little surprised to see that Amar and Brendan had left already; he wondered if Jonathon had known that they were in his office but did not speak up.
“So, are you feeling calmer about Leceth?” Jonathon asked hopefully.
Kristian was still angry but he had wanted to talk to Jonathon about the Sagara Prophecy; that was what was important to him in this moment. Kristian lied convincingly. “Yes, I have cleared my head. I know that you want what I want. And I know what I said was out of order. I am truly sorry.”
“Good,” said Jonathon looking incredibly relieved.
Now to the thing that was still plaguing Kristian ever since his discussion with Zelupzs and Oliver. “What do you know about Sagara?” Kristian probed, his voice calm and collected, unlike Jonathon’s face which had turned sour, the question taking him by surprise.
Storming over to the door and closing it heavily, Jonathon turned to Kristian. “How do you know about Sagara?” he demanded, quietly but sternly.
“I’ve read it,” Kristian replied.
“But why Sagara? Who told you about it? Who told you to read it?” Jonathon’s voice was slightly raised.
“No one told me to read it, I just did. I’ve never spoken about it before,” Kristian again lied.
Jonathon looked him directly in the eyes, ready to read his expression, “Are you sure?”
Kristian could see Jonathon was surprised by the fact he had read it and was asking about it now.
“Of course, I swear,” he looked at Jonathon’s face and could see a hint of panic in the old man’s eyes. “I’ve read the Whittington report on Sagara as well.”
Jonathon now looked even more shocked, he moved away to collect his thoughts.
“Do you agree with Whittington’s analysis of it? Do you think it prophesies the end of the Phoenix?” Kristian asked.
Jonathon stood stock still, choosing his words before replying.
“I’m afraid I do. I believe that’s the correct conclusion from the translation.”
Kristian suddenly felt ill, sick to the stomach. Jonathon noticed the worry on his face.
“The Sagara Prophecy is like other guarded prophecies, it’s a kind of weapon,” Jonathon explained. Kristian gave him a puzzled look. “You see, knowledge is power. I’ve implemented many things to ensure that it never happens. The prophecy has existed for thousands of years. I wish you had not worried yourself with it. The head of the Order and the leader of the Phoenix order are always entrusted with reading it when they take their posts. It’s not the only prophecy out there.”
Jonathon could see that the boy was troubled with what he had read of the prophecy and accompanying analysis. In that moment Jonathon was sure that he had been keeping these fears to hi
mself for some time.
“Kristian. It is unlikely that the prophecy will come to pass in our life time, if ever at all.”
Kristian looked up at the old man in front of him. “If the prophecy is a great weapon, why isn’t it better protected?” Kristian asked, recounting how easy it was for him to find.
“It is in the Great Library so that only the pure of heart can read it. And sometimes the best place to hide something is to hide it in plain sight,” as Jonathon finished he walked over to Kristian. “Please don’t worry yourself with ancient prophecies or evil leaders. You are young, let the old ones do the worrying.”
Kristian did not feel relief, but he had found out what he had wanted to know: Jonathon was aware and he knew about Sagara, that was all Kristian needed to know.
Now Kristian had to go and see Jess, it was the next step of his plan. He stood up and looked Jonathon directly in the eye. “Thank you, Jonathon. I just read it one day, and it sent shivers down my spine. It’s frightening, what it says. I guess I have been worried about it. I know I shouldn’t and I know you’re right. Thank you again. Right, I need to go. I have plans to see some friends tonight.” Jonathon listened to Kristian; the young Phoenix’s words sounded a little hasty, but to Kristian, his own words felt final.
…
- Chapter Twenty-Two -
Confessions with Friends
The house, though detached, was rather small. It stood on a quiet street on the outskirts of north London. The neighbourhood was filled with these detached nineteenth-century houses, built of brown brick with deep brown wooden window and door fittings. Peter had lived in the house for many years and often spoke of how his parents had once owned it and that he had inherited it after their passing.
The house was filled with many happy memories for him, it was his office away from the Order. His passion for history, both the conventional and the mystical, littered every room except one. In his early years whilst just starting his career with the Order, he had adopted a young orphan boy. Gabriel was the only son of Peter’s very close friends, David and Sarah Goldstein; all three had met at Harvard before all ending up in the Order. After Sarah and David’s premature deaths, Peter found himself being the closest thing that the young boy had to family. Formally adopting him, he had brought him back to England and raised him in London. Gabriel’s room was small and clean. Gabriel, like his adoptive father, owned very little and to him the room had only one purpose: sleeping. It still had the old motorcar wallpaper on the walls that had seen him grow from an inquisitive young boy into a determined young man. Now in his late twenties, like his adoptive father, he worked for the Order, within the Nariasdem.
Peter was wearing the same grey pinstripe suit he wore to work. Grey was the colour for all those who worked in office roles in the Order, the clerks, librarians and anyone who did not work out in the field.
He loved his grey suit. Like the Phoenix attire, he believed it represented something. The grey to him was a sign of brains over brawn. The only thing about Peter’s appearance that looked slightly out of place was his gold pocket watch. The golden chain fell down inside his waistcoat and the watch rested in the pocket. He had never been seen without his watch and would often glance at it, up close as though he was keeping time a secret from everyone else.
Peter was sitting in what would have been the dining room if this were an average person’s house. In his house though, it was his grand reading room. On a large round table that took up most of the space, books were piled high. He would flick from book to book, looking at different pages, never reading just one book at a time.
Every so often something would grab his attention and he would reach for a pen and write notes in a large open jotter on the table. He would often become so engrossed in his writing he would miss meals, and the old jotter would be filled with essays written over the hours. A ringing sound came from the kitchen, attempting to distract him from his work. He ignored it; his writing got faster and his words became spidery and unreadable. The bell rang again and still Peter ignored it. He knew it was the doorbell but hoped that whoever it was would get tired of ringing and leave soon.
There were then three consecutive rings from someone who was obviously getting impatient on Peter’s doorstep. He threw his pen down with a large sigh. He looked down at what he had written. He could understand it, but would Jonathon, he wondered.
Moving into the kitchen and then into the passage, he walked past table after table covered in books. As he reached the front door he began to flick the many locks and bolts. It took him nearly a minute to unlock and upon opening it he was filled with dread.
“Penny!” Peter gasped. It was only in that instant of seeing his colleague that he remembered what he had planned for that evening.
“I’m so sorry, Penny. It is not that I forgot, it is just um… okay, I did forget, but I have a good reason, I have been working on something very important,” he stuttered. He felt awful.
Penny looked incredibly disappointed. “Okay,” she said meekly, “well if you’re busy, we can always make it another night?”
Penny had planned this evening for over a month. After plucking up the courage to ask him out on a date she had planned the evening to the tiniest detail. She had planned a lovely meal at a prestigious restaurant, followed by tickets to the opera. Then a romantic stroll along the river. She had spent hours that evening on her appearance. She was wearing a long green dress that stretched from her ample cleavage down to her delicate ankles, the eye then drawn to a pair of elegant emerald-green high heels. A small silver and green handbag hung from her shoulder.
“No, tonight is fine,” said Peter as he saw the hurt on Penny’s face.
Stepping into Peter’s house for the first time Penny could do nothing but stare. She passed Peter the coat she had in her hand and began to scan the interior. Her eyes were like a camera, taking pictures of everything she saw. After placing Penny’s coat on a hook Peter walked her through to the kitchen, navigating around the tables of books as they moved.
“Okay, wait here and I will be down in a jiffy. I shall just go and get changed,” Peter darted off down the hall and up the stairs which rose opposite the front door.
Penny looked around the kitchen; it was clean, just cluttered, books littered every surface. Picking up an particularly old-looking one, she began to flick through it whilst glancing around the rest of the downstairs; something piqued her interest in the dining room. She entered it quietly and could not believe her eyes as she recognised a ‘Transtext’ on the table. It sat askew next to another huge collection of books. The top one was entitled Myths and Legends of the Great and Gifted.
Penny began to scan the book’s open pages. The more she read the more intrigued she became. “I wonder what he is working on?” she asked aloud.
She flipped over another book from the pile and read its title: Traveller Codex.
“Interesting!” she said as her eyes scanned the rest of the table.
Es Ringlet el Curdle read the title of another book which had a picture of a large ring on it. Penny knew what the title meant: The Ring of Cordell. She had never heard of the ring of Cordell before but she could read Lower Ancient. She continued reading. She discovered that the ring had the power to allow the wearer invisibility at the flick of its cover. It had been created by a Warlock Cordell over twelve hundred years ago. The picture showed a beautiful silver ring with a blue gemstone in the centre and a half moon-shaped sheath on the right side. As Penny read more she learned how the flick of the sheath over the stone made the wearer invisible. She had heard of invisibility spells, but objects that turned the wearer invisible were extremely rare. Her eyes shot over to the door where a half-dressed Peter stood having announced his presence with a creaking floor board. He was now wearing black trousers, which clearly did not fit, and an untucked light blue shirt. He was in the midst of doing up his tie.
“Oh sorry, I was just…” flustered Penny.
“Not to worry. T
his is the reason I forgot all about our meal. Jonathon had asked me to look up a few things,” he replied as he finally knotted his tie and moved into the room.
“It looks interesting,” she said. “What is it?”
“Jonathon asked me to look something up. It’s regarding Leceth. Andrew had noticed he was wearing three rather remarkable rings at their meeting. After identifying them on the CCTV taken at the time I was also intrigued,” as he finished speaking he placed his hand on the picture of the ring and smoothed it softly as though stroking it in real life.
“It’s pretty, isn’t it?” Peter said softly.
Penny replied with a simple “Yes”.
“I’m almost certain that this is one of the rings that Leceth was wearing. I have also identified another but the third has me a little stumped,” Peter said as he opened another book and flicked through the pages.
“The Myths and Legends of the Great and Gifted?” recited a bemused Penny.
“Yes, you wouldn’t think that this would be very helpful, would you?” Peter chuckled.
He turned the book around and showed her the page he had been reading. It read ‘Mark Williams – the unknown gifted.’
Penny knew exactly who Mark Williams was. He had been an ordinary man who, in the sixteenth century, was told by a seer that he possessed an ability like no one ever had had before. However, as he lived his life no extraordinary gift ever presented itself until one day, on his search for answers, he stumbled upon an old woman who could create fire from nothing.
The day he met her they chatted some and then she described how she felt overwhelmed by his presence. In addition, she explained how at that moment she felt that her own power was more prominent, like she almost wouldn’t be able to control her flames anymore. Later that day the entire village was wiped off the map by a huge blaze, it killed all the residents. Mark also died in the blaze.
“What has the story of Mark Williams got to do with Leceth’s ring?” she asked.
The Phoenix Chronicles: Alone in the Light (Book ONE) Page 33
