The Book, the Key and the Crown (Secrets of the Emerald Tablet Book 1)

by Jennifer Cipri

  “I love that one,” I say.

  “I have been blocked,” he tells me darkly. “My mind has been overworked and tired, maybe. But I have not worked in almost three days.”

  “Maybe you just needed a rest,” I encourage him. “Don’t be too hard on yourself.”

  “Yes. I forget sometimes. I forget sometimes to just be.”

  “My mother always tells me not to fight my lazy moments. She says when I am daydreaming I am letting the true light in.”

  “Your mother is wise. If she were not so opposed to the city I would have you all live here behind the golden gates.”

  “We have lived in the Caverns since before the flood,” I tell him. “Our ways are sacred to us.”

  “Yes. Yes. I forget. I shouldn’t forget. Your ways are powerful indeed. Your dancing, Bilhah. It is ethereal. It is the very light your mother speaks of. And it is a magnificent inspiration to me. I would call you my muse but you are much more than that. You are the messenger. The messenger of light. Your fearless dancing calls down the light. It opens my mind, sweet Bilhah. It calls forth imagination. For imagination is the only way to access the ancient sights. Not memory, not calculation, but unbridled dreaming. Laughter and dance of the soul.” He cues the woman at the stool with a gracious nod of the head and the music starts to play. He shuffles back on his funny shoes and seats himself upon a chair.

  I feel a little nervous at first. I always do when I know he’s watching me. But then the music starts to take over and my feet betray my inhibitions. The sway of my heart becomes my very body. It floats me up and down, and sends my fingers out in waves. The music is life now. And I am intent on living.

  The music is inside of me, outside of me. To the right, to the left, above, below and always always in the center.

  When the song is done I am refreshed and tingling like I’ve just emerged from the cool waters of the river under a blazing midday sun. I’m tired. But not the kind of tired from not feeling well. It is the kind of tired that makes me feel like I can run right out onto the terrace, swoop my arms out and up and take off right into the sky.

  The Mathematician is up on his feet, clapping. He is beaming with happiness. With pride. He is looking up into the corners of the room like he has just spotted something. “Yes! Yes!” he cries. “I have got it! I have got it! The crown must be inlaid with the stones of lapis lazuli. The gold must come from Havilah! These items were created in ecstasy. These items will open the portal of ecstasy that leads to the gates of heaven. I must be alone now, to work on the plans. I have so much running around inside my head. Guards. Take her down to the city gates. Let no one in after she’s gone.”

  The guards are not quick enough for me, though, for I dart out of their sights as soon as the Mathematician’s doors close behind us. I know he would be displeased if he found out I left the city unattended, but I just have to get down there in all that bustle, all that brilliant color. I don’t want the guards telling me I cannot stop to listen to the women and their gossip at the water well or watch the fires burning in the furnaces where the bricks for the tower are made.

  Today I stop at the jewelers. Inside the men are at their tables, working diligently. They are tapping, sanding and polishing all kinds of magnificent gems. The Mathematician says that the men who carry the stones for the tower all wear necklaces of crystal—it augments their power and makes them stronger than the average man.

  I just think the stones are pretty and some of them are hanging in the windows for the women to see. There are classes in the city of Babel. Not every woman is as wealthy as the next. The ones who have the money are able to stop inside the shop and commission the jewelers to make them ornaments for their bodies. My mother tells me these women are vipers and their desire to adorn themselves in lavish things is a great sin. My mother says the city dividing the people according to wealth is the greatest iniquity of all. My people—the Braves of the Caverns—do not believe in possessions. All things inside our dwellings—our clothing, our animals—are not considered belongings. We share all things in the Caverns.

  But oh how some of the gems sparkle. How I do secretly wish to have a green ruby sitting above my breasts.

  “Do you like it?” someone asks me.

  A boy is standing beside me. He is taller than me but looks younger. He is studying my face and I find this quite unsettling. Why is he looking at me like that? He does not even know me. I’m insulted and turn and walk away from him at once.

  But he follows me.

  I quicken my steps, but he is still there. Now he is right beside me. “You are not from the city. I can see.”

  “The Caverns,” I tell him quickly. Maybe he will find this offensive in some way, as others here in the city have when I told them where I live.

  “Oh. The Caverns. So you are a girl of earth and clay.”

  “I am.”

  “Don’t tell your mother you were dreaming of necklaces. She might bash your head in with a stone.”

  I am frightened. The words themselves are like stones and I can feel my insides drawing tight. I am not a fighter. I have never used my hands to harm another living thing. Why would a stranger say such a thing to me? That my mother would want to kill me? What kind of thoughts live here in the city? Spoken out loud without a care for who around will hear?”

  “I beg you. Please let me be.” I quicken my steps and it seems he has stopped walking. Good. Get away from me, you evil boy with the evil words living upon your tongue. Get away.

  Then I feel something bite me in the back of my head. I look down and see a stone behind me. I reach to the hurting place and feel that it is wet there. The boy is trying to stone me. I want to call for help, but I can’t. The fear has stifled my very speech. People are rushing in every direction around me. Women with baskets atop their heads. Men with leashed dogs and nets of fish. All of them are swarming and creating so much noise that the “help” that finally escapes from my trembling throat is eaten up, swallowed whole.

  He runs after me now. I run, as fast as I can. I run from the boy. Another rock is hurled my way. It misses me by an inch. Then another comes flying and it gets me in the back of my heel.

  Up ahead I see one of the guards. He stands close to the gates of the city. He spots me and puts his hands on his hips. I must get to him. I must get to him. I must. And then I hear a voice fall down from the very sky and it says. “Fear not. For there is another who is coming. A girl who will knock the stone thrower to his feet. A girl with fire upon her head and a heart that trembles.”

  32: Tony Carp

  Me and Richie Ramera was talking about how we like them one night. Sharing a bone on the curbside, watching a few of them go by.

  “Crazy,” Richie said. “They let you put it anywhere.”

  “I like the soft ones,” I said. “Soft ones are nice.”

  “You know what I ain’t had yet? Gotta get a piece.”

  “Lemme guess.”

  “Sullen.”

  “Sullen’s hard. Complicated. I don’t do sullen.”

  “But I bet it would taste sweet. All that sadness. Yeah. I’d give her something to be sullen about.”

  It was all good until the night you came into the Cage and fought Christina Dexter. Richie was there and he was tanked. The second he saw you he said, “There it is, bro. Sullen. Gotta get me a taste.”

  I pushed him off his seat and one of his boys took out a gat.

  But Richie only laughed. “I thought you said you don’t like it.”

  “Don’t matter. That one’s mine.”

  I’m looking at you now and I’m still wondering what those words mean. She’s mine.

  We stand in the middle of Windy Way. You still look so pretty and over your gown you’re draped in my goose down coat.

  “I never meant to hurt you Stori. I never meant to treat you like a possession. It’s just that I wanted to protect you from guys like Richie. I know you’ve got a mind of your own and you know how to use it. I know your
tough.”

  But as I look at her I also know she’s not tough. She’s just what Richie said she is. Sullen. And sullen girls are the softest of the soft. That’s why I told her she’s better than this. Better than the animals in the Cage. Better than me. You see I’m just like Richie and the rest of them. And I prefer it like that. I don’t want to feel. I don’t want to care. I’m an orphan. And orphans know better than anyone else, that people leave and never come back. And the worst thing you can do is care.

  I would only hurt her. Maybe in another world we could be together. But not this one.

  I take my necklace off. “I want you to have this.” It’s a silver chain and a charm—two boxing gloves. My father gave it to me the day before he and my mother died.

  “I can’t,” you tell me. “I can’t take that from you.”

  “You have to. It’ll keep you safe. Be your good luck charm. It has always been for me.”

  You look at me and there’s no more of that anger in you anymore. The sullenness, yes. But the anger is gone. “I’m sorry about all your losses, Tony. I know it hurts. And I’m so sorry about what I said—”

  “—Shhh.” In the Valley, friends don’t have to explain.

  We embrace. As friends. I know it’s all we can ever be.

  No. I never felt that way about you, Stori. As much as I wish I did. Because we could be perfect for each other. Maybe it’s the destruction in it. You know. The lust part. Wanting to possess someone. I think that desire makes us animal. Maybe you’re too good for the animal in me. Oh, Stori. If you only knew about the animal in me.

  But know this. A friend in me you do have. And when the time comes I’m getting you out of this mess. But for now I’ll go back to Nardo’s and feed the beast.

  I don’t want to let go, but Caroline is waiting for you just beyond Windy Way and she told us we have to make good time. “I’ll check on your fam,” I tell her. “Anything they need.”

  “Thank you, Tony. Thank you.”

  33: Stori

  Forest Boom is blanketed in brand new snow. Icicles twinkle like ornaments on the weighted down tree limbs. It’s so quiet I can hear a single pinecone thump to the earth’s floor.

  “It sure is dark in there,” I tell Caroline as we stand there together waiting.

  “It is,” she says with a frown. I’m not the only one who’s nervous. “But you’ve got my warm boots and your lantern. And your matches and your sleeping bag here.” She hefts my backpack a little.

  My heart aches for Amanda. I still can’t believe I gave her away.

  I have one more thing I must do before I set off on my journey. “Caroline. I told Regina to meet me at the dam if she needs me for anything.”

  “I will watch her in the flame. Your sister will be fine.”

  “Do you promise?”

  “I promise.”

  We turn to face the forest now, standing side by side. “I always thought I could protect her, and my family by being tough. But I’ve learned that I was wrong. All that did was make me small, weaker. I want to change. I want to be a better person, Caroline. I don’t want to be small anymore.”

  “Just keep your heart open,” she tells me. “No matter how tempted you are to close it. I wish I could go with you, to help you. But this journey can only be traveled alone.” “What do I look for?” I ask, peering into the unknown darkness, unsure of what lies beyond the dense grove of pines.

  “I don’t know. But the forest is still rich with many powerful things. If the answer to finding the portal is anywhere, it’s in there. When you find it, I’ll have the crown sent to you.”

  “Then I have to go,” I say, hoping that speaking the truth will help in accepting it.

  “Yes. You have to.”

  I take a step forward so that I’m standing separate from her. A wind picks up from the north and the branches of the trees go wild. Snow-dust scatters. Just when I think that I’ll be too scared to do it, I see something appear beyond the first row of pines.

  It’s the boy.

  The Native American looking boy I saw delivering firewood in the Valley that day. He moves from behind a black trunk and faces me. Draped in white fur to his ankles, he starts nodding his head like he knows my whole story and then he turns and retreats deeper into the forest. Then a girl appears. The one who appeared the night I was putting up my dad’s signs. She’s got the same dress on and her hair and face are shining. I move closer to see her better.

  She is beautiful. And she is smiling. She is smiling at me. She lifts a sword in front of her and it bursts into flames.

  I don’t bother to say a final goodbye to Caroline because the place that I am going to is not a destination. It is a feeling. An experience. A place of wonder hidden deep inside the soul.

  Oh you that have stayed this far to listen to my story, I wonder if you are curious too about the worlds beyond this one we have always called home. Will you follow me?

  I take up my path and don’t bother to wonder where it will lead me.

  The angel is pleased. She turns and begins to lead me in, her flaming sword parting the darkness. Her steps are light and dainty. Her dress billows out behind her in the wind.

  This is the beginning of my journey. It starts at the end. In what this life has taught me so far, I have found that most journeys begin this way. When all is said and done, when the sweet things have been crushed down, run away and vanished, there is nothing left to do but let go of who you think you are and surrender yourself to the light.

  **Note to Reader: Thank you for reading the first installment in a series called The Emerald Tablet. If you enjoyed the first book, make sure to look out for book two, Ghost Dance Returns. Coming Soon!

  Here is an excerpt from Ghost Dance Returns!

  Lone

  The girl has been sleeping for days and does not wake. I keep her aloft, in the tree house, wrapped in many quilts. She is safe from snakes here and from the pranks of the Boom Babies down below. But her nightmares I cannot protect her from. She cries in the middle of the night. “No. Don’t take them from me,” she begs. “No. Don’t take them.” Her hands clutch the sack she brought with her from the Valley, fingers crushing pillowed cotton, making little dents. She is haunted by something. Some kind of loss tearing at her soul.

  I have not been interested in someone in quite a long time. But the girl and her haunted dreams makes me wonder.

  I want to rouse her from sleep and ask her how she found this place. It is protected by the Great Mysterious and no one in history has ever been able to find us. I have been here since the year 1890, the year my grandfather Sitting Bull was killed. I am the last of his line and the world knows me not. I was named Lone Bull, a name whispered to my grandfather by a buffalo bull years before I was ever born. For short the Boom Babies call me Lone.

  I carry the ancient gifts passed down by my mystic fathers. As my father, and his father before him, was able to speak to animals, so am I. It is not easy being the last of my family here, being without them. It has been over a hundred years, yet still I miss them with all of my heart.

  The Boom Babies are my brothers and sisters now, and they are good people to live with. But still I am unsatisfied. I am a severed limb from a tree. Fallen away from the trunk and roots, I rot here alone. It is hard to keep the memories alive. The stories passed down to me from my father, from my tribe. The stories I myself have to tell.

  I have killed men in battle and have shown them mercy in battle too. I have proven myself a great warrior amongst my people, touching the enemy with the coup stick without ever drawing blood. Only a few have been able to accomplish this, my father being one of them.

  I hardly speak the stories to anyone. For they are too precious for others to hear. I only keep them in my heart and pray that I will always remember.

  Sometimes I think I’m starting to forget. Who I am. Where I came from. The family I once had. It’s like a bad dream. And I must wake.

  I have to fight it. I have to fight fo
r the memory.

  The Boom Babies know that I must free myself into the forest when this happens. I must return to the Mother Speaker, I must unleash myself and run wild like the wolves.

  I am running now; the girl is still aloft in the treehouse sleeping.

  I leave her for the moment and start a good trot out of the Canopy. I pick up speed, a small hill trailing down toward the stream offers momentum. The path along the stream is roped with roots and I know each and every one like the purple ropes under the skin of my hands. I know the heart beat too. The heart beat of the land I am pounding my bare feet upon. The snow has finally melted and the first of spring is coming. The heart is open and calling out for its child. I am that child and I lift my face to the clear blue sky and shout my first cry—the cry of a ghost dance apostle, fearless in the art of warrior love. A hawk cries, joy is rising, it is rising from the earth. It is coming right up from the soil, up my legs and into my heart. I am strong and fast, like a fox. I am swift and deadly like the night. I am Lone Bull, the son of Sitting Bull, the big medicine man.

  I am rising now, taking great leaps as I make my way up the butte of the rising mountain. I am almost there. I am almost there. The last great leap and I have made it.

  Panting heavily, I stand over Forest Boom in the secret place where my prayers are taken up to the Great Mysterious.

  I raise my arms wide over my head and tell him. “Father! I am here!”

  My call echoes, it booms off the rockface below, ricocheting from one side to another. It is as if my message has a life of its own. I wait for the silence. It comes in a great rush all around me.

  The clouds above are puffy and white. The air holds the sweet promise of spring. I stand there with my arms out and offer my being to the Great Mysterious.

  And then an eagle soars down from brilliant white, the sun is behind it and it blinds me. Its swoops down low right over me; its wings are as big as me when they are open. But as it perches in the narrow crags just above my reach the wings disappear. He nestles into the rock and blinks. He likes his little spot just fine.