Ancient Echoes

by Joanne Pence

  “Alchemy is just a dream, you know,” Phaylor said, keeping his gaze fixed on the impressive skyline even as his voice took on a wistful quality.

  “Having spent time with Dr. Rempart, I believe there may be more to it,” Jianjun said. “Much more.”

  Phaylor attempted to laugh, but instead wheezed. “In that case, I must congratulate Dr. Rempart. Few young computer whizzes like you have any tolerance for the paranormal.”

  Jianjun simply nodded, wondering how Phaylor knew about his computer skills.

  Phaylor continued. “I have learned a lot about alchemy, including how to interpret The Book of Abraham the Jew. If you’ve found me, I’m sure you know that the board took my company from me, and put that interloper, Jennifer Vandenburg, in my place. She’s not a bad person, but she shouldn’t run anything more complicated than a McDonald’s franchise.”

  “I see,” Jianjun murmured.

  “No, lad, I’m not sure that you do. I’ve lost everything because I believed I could find something that would be of value to mankind. I have no family. Never married, no kids. My company was my life, and now it’s gone.” He eyed Jianjun a moment. “I know what a brilliant archeologist Michael Rempart is, all the treasures he has found. If he is seriously searching for The Book of Abraham the Jew I am more than willing to assist. I have books, records, which may help.”

  “Yes, my boss is very serious about finding the book, as well as locating his brother, Lionel Rempart.”

  “Lionel,” Phaylor frowned. “That’s right. I almost forgot about him. Tell me, does Michael Rempart know much about his family’s history?”

  “His family's history?” The strange question surprised Jianjun. “Not that I’ve heard. Why? What do you know about it?”

  “Nothing of importance.” Phaylor’s eyes narrowed before he forced his mouth into a smile. “Why don’t you stay here while you’re in New York? This house has several guest bedrooms. Olga can freshen one up for you, and I’ll send books and manuscripts on alchemy for you to read. You’ll find them fascinating.”

  Jianjun doubted it. Despite feeling nervous about staying here, it made sense to do so. “Thank you. I would like that. Very much. Yes. Thank you.”

  Jianjun wheeled him to the elevator. Olga waited with his oxygen tank when the elevator doors opened on the third floor of the mansion. She frowned at the smell of tobacco and scotch. As Jianjun watched Phaylor instruct his housekeeper on the guest accommodations, he wondered if he’d regret accepting Phaylor’s offer to stay.

  Chapter 39

  MICHAEL AND QUADE looked down from the cliff top where they hid. There had been no signal from Jake or Charlotte.

  “Let’s circle the compound,” Michael said. “There’s something about it I just don’t like.”

  To stay out of sight, they made a wide arc through brush and pine forests until eventually they reached the compound’s west side. There, they noticed an area where the ground had been trampled.

  “The beasts?” Quade asked, walking toward the low-lying scrub where broken stalks lay flat on the ground.

  Michael stooped low, peering at the dirt. “Not unless they’re wearing shoes. It must have been men from the compound. Let’s see where they went.”

  They continued on slowly, carefully. None of the landmarks they had used earlier remained visible to them, and they felt disoriented.

  In the distance, they saw a large object on the ground. It looked like some sort of animal. Michael half expected it to wake up and run or attack. When it didn’t, they moved closer for a better look.

  Blood covered the ground. The creature lay face down and looked more like a bear than anything else, but not quite. It had been stabbed multiple times.

  Michael turned it over.

  The monster had a long snout with enormous fangs, and white skin under a brownish-gray coat. As he looked closer, he saw a symbol made up of bluish-red vein-like lines just above the stomach—the same triangle-vee-circle symbol he had seen in Lady Hsieh’s tomb.

  And now it marked this creature.

  “What in the world?” Michael exclaimed.

  “It’s a chimera,” Quade said, his soft hands clasped as if in prayer as he stood over it. “It’s an animal made of components of other animals, possibly including humans. Some people believe that when the alchemist moves beyond gold to being god-like, in other words, moves from creating the perfect metal that will not decompose, to the perfect man who will not die, their earliest attempts often do not work. There are various names for the beasts that result—some are called chimeras, which are more animal-like, and homunculi, which are more human.”

  “Human? An alchemist, here, involved humans?” The idea appalled Michael.

  “Homunculi were little humans created in a flask,” Quade explained. “They were often discussed by medieval Arabs. Whether they actually created homunculi is unknown, but they certainly wrote as if they did, and I see no reason for them to lie. They even debated whether using the fluids of these ‘little men,’ as the word means, to cure diseases in normal men, was moral. It’s much as we will someday debate cloning humans for the sole reason of taking the cloned being’s body parts. Is it moral and ethical, or is it simply good science? All of this, chimera and homunculi, erode the boundary between the artificial and the natural.”

  “This is our proof, then,” Michael said with a shudder. “An alchemist was at work here, and may still be.”

  “Yes,” Quade nodded, ever emotionless and scientific. “There are things at work beyond mortal understanding.”

  “But look at the way this beast was killed.” Michael stood, and then backed up as the full realization of what the sight before him struck. “It was killed with knives, and anger. Great anger.” He peered into the dark forest and wondered what other strangeness lurked within. “We should get away from this creature, back to where we can keep an eye on the compound,” he said. “The forest has eyes. I can feel them on us.”

  They no sooner left, than the creature awoke. It slowly struggled to its feet, then stared with curiosity after the two men who found it.

  Chapter 40

  THAT NIGHT, RACHEL Gooding hurried back to the community house from the outhouse, her head filled with both hope and despair after hearing Charlotte’s tale of the search party trying to rescue them. Sam Black suddenly appeared on pathway.

  “I need a woman to warm my bed tonight.” He slurred his words as he looked her up and down. “You’ll do.”

  She backed away. He smiled. “You can’t outrun me, missy.”

  “Get out of here, Sam!” Will Durham stood in the doorway of his hut, his gun pointed at his fellow villager. “You’re drunk.”

  “I’ve had my fill of liquor,” Sam said. “It’s something else I’m craving now.”

  “You heard the Captain.” Will stepped between the two. “The women are to be left alone.”

  Sam spat on the ground. “Until he wants one himself.” He tried to sidestep Will, but Will pushed him back.

  “You'll have to go through me, Sam.”

  “These whores aren't worth fighting amongst ourselves!” Sam shouted as he backed away. “Hell, there’s others. And them that’s not so scrawny.”

  Will took hold of Rachel's wrist and whispered to her, “Come inside with me until he’s gone.”

  In her relief to escape Sam, she did as he said. Not until he shut the door behind her did she realize she might have gone from the proverbial frying pan into the fire.

  “I won't hurt you,” Will said. “But go out there now and someone might. If not Sam, then Arnie or Gus. Maybe Kohler himself. It's been a long time since any of us have been around women. Some of the men, clearly, have forgotten how to behave.”

  “But not you?” she said, a mocking jeer to her voice.

  “I don't force women.”

  “Oh? You're irresistible, are you?”

  “To one, I was. The woman I love. You're safe with me.”

  That stopped her, and she n
odded. The room had a small cot-like bed, one chair and a desk-size table.

  “Take the bed. I have work to do.” Will picked up a chip of obsidian, sat on the chair, and began to sharpen it.

  She sat on the bed’s edge, unsure of him or any of this. She watched him work.

  The accuracy the villagers could achieve with bows and arrows amazed her. She saw the hateful Sam Black take down a Canadian goose in flight the day before. “Why do you do that?” she asked as he finished one and picked up a second. “You have guns, why bother with bows and arrows?”

  “When the bullets are spent,” he said, “the guns are worthless. The arrows can be fashioned by us, and this way we can always eat.”

  “I see,” she said. He continued to sharpen the stone and said nothing more.

  “Have you really been here thirteen years?” she asked.

  So many seconds passed before he answered she thought he wasn’t going to. Then their gazes met, and she saw a sadness in his that struck her. He seemed every bit as unhappy to be here as she was. Perhaps just as trapped in his own way. Whatever it was, she felt she may have found a kindred spirit.

  His hands stilled. “That must seem an infinite amount of time to one so young as you.”

  She studied his face. Up close she saw that despite the beard, his skin was youthful. “You aren't exactly old, you know.”

  His gaze flickered toward her then away. “I've always been plagued with a youthful demeanor.” He gave a shy, almost embarrassed smile.

  She wondered if he and the others were part of a military or special operations mission that had gone bad. It would make sense if all this was classified, and would explain the secrecy surrounding this place. Fear for her situation and a hope that Will just might tell her the truth, emboldened her to ask, “Are we in danger here? Should we be afraid of you? All of you?”

  His response wasn't what she'd hoped for. “There is evil here. It isn't our fault, but it has happened. If you can get away, it will be better for you.”

  “What do you mean?”

  He put down the obsidian, his face harsh yet desperate. “I'll protect you, Rachel. I'll do whatever is in my power to protect you. But I may not be enough.”

  “My God, Will!” she cried, frightened by the change in him.

  He clasped his hands together and stared at the floor, as if realizing he had said too much. “I'm sorry that you and the others are caught up in this.”

  “What is it?” She was near tears. “What's going on here?”

  “It's more than I know, and what little I know, I can't explain,” he said. “But I can tell you this. I wasn't always this way. I was a good man once, loved by a kind and gracious woman. I gave all that up and came here, and nothing has ever been the same.”

  “Why did you come?”

  “Why did you?” he countered. “I suspect for the same reasons—adventure, something new, interesting, and with thoughts of what it might mean to my future to have had this experience, something few people could even imagine.”

  “To beef up the résumé,” she said.

  He chuckled. “You have an interesting way with words,” he said.

  She looked surprised. “Not me—you're the one with the odd accent. Where are you from?”

  “I can't say.”

  “Can't or won't.”

  “Won't,” he replied firmly. “Don’t worry, Rachel. I won’t let anything happen to you.” To her surprise, he reached out and gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. He kept his touch light, and he withdrew it after only a moment. The brief encounter forced her to realize how cold the Professor and Melisse were, how completely self-centered Brandi was, and how very afraid and alone she felt. She responded to Will's touch with a mixture of gratitude for a simple kindness, and something more.

  “You're trapped here, aren't you?” she asked with sudden insight. “Just as we are.”

  “It’s not worth pondering,” he said.

  “I'm so sorry,” she said, “for us both.”

  His voice dropped as he swayed ever so slightly toward her. “If the chance arises for you to escape, do it, Rachel.”

  “Come with us,” she said. “Let's leave, all of us together.”

  “I wish I could.”

  “You can,” she pleaded. “You know this area so much better than the rest of us. You must have some idea of what to do, which way to go. Help us, please.” She placed her hand on his arm, and he covered it with his own. His fingers and palms were callused from hard work. As she looked from their hands to his face, she felt his fingers tighten ever so slightly before he pulled his hand away and picked up the arrowhead.

  “Let me think about it,” he whispered.

  She nodded.

  “It’s quiet now, outside,” he said. “I suspect the others will soon be asleep. It’s my turn to keep watch all night. First, I’ll walk you back to the community house. Don't worry. I'll make sure you’re safe.”

  He held her hand as he led her back.

  She went straight up to her pallet without a word to the others. She didn’t want to answer their questions about where she had gone for so long or why Will Durham had been with her.

  She lay down, exhausted. With Will’s assurances of her safety echoing in her mind, for the first time since this madness began, she slept peacefully and deeply.

  Chapter 41

  AS MICHAEL AND QUADE watched the compound and scouted the area that night, they found more peculiar tracks of chimeras. Strange animal noises, some guttural, some howls, and some high-pitched shrieks made it difficult to relax, let alone sleep. Michael kept watch while Quade slept for four hours, and then they reversed roles. He wondered, however, if he dared sleep.

  He shut his eyes and hoped for rest, hoped to stop his mind from racing. A sweet perfume slowly filled his senses. The scent of peonies, Jianjun had said, the scent rising up from Lady Hsieh’s tomb.

  He opened his eyes. She knelt beside him.

  “You will find a copse of pines to the east. Go to them, Michael,” she whispered. He sat up and reached for her, but she was gone.

  Quade sat about twenty feet away, his back to the supposed sleeper.

  Quietly, Michael stood, picked up his Remington 700, and walked east. In the starlight the trees looked like a massive nothingness, a void, but he kept going. Once he reached them, he continued forward another five-hundred feet, blackness all around him. He was ready to turn back, convinced he had been dreaming, when he saw a flicker of light.

  He crept close. Around a campfire, five men slept.

  He jerked backwards and bumped into something.

  “Quiet!” Quade whispered. “I followed, curious about where you were going. How did you know they were out here?”

  Michael made no response, but stared at the men in sleeping bags. The firelight showed them to be young, clean-cut, big and burly. Beside them were M107 sniper rifles. Military grade.

  “Any idea who they are?” Michael asked fiercely. Shades of Mongolia, when government troops moved in on his dig site, killing and stealing, came to mind.

  “No,” Quade said indignantly. “They aren't government.”

  “Then they’re contractors. Mercenaries.”

  Quade opened his mouth to ask why he thought that when Michael shoved him to the ground.

  The shot was wide, but close. Michael fired back while Quade flattened himself.

  The sleepers were immediately up and armed, their movements fast and efficient. Professional.

  Quade and Michael ran back through the trees, shooting at their pursuers, but knew there were too many of them, too well-armed and well-trained for the two of them to last long.

  The pines provided some shelter, but they quickly reached the edge of the copse. The ground was barren after that. They could do nothing but keep going, the night darkness their only friend.

  They timed a run-and-shoot, ducking behind thick tree trunks, knowing if they went much farther they would have no shelter. They stopped, determi
ned to hold their ground.

  A bullet struck Michael in the upper arm. It bled heavily, indicating the brachial artery must have been hit. He clamped down hard on it. With only Quade able to shoot, the snipers moved in.

  “This way!” a voice called. Two men armed with only bows and arrows were near. They crouched and gestured at them to run to the hillside.

  Michael looked over the area. If they climbed up that hill, they would be exposed.

  “Hurry!” the second man said, as he backed away.

  They had no choice.

  Quade fired shot after shot as he and Michael ran. At the same time, the two strangers kept their arrows flying fast and deep into the trees. Michael and Quade reached them.

  Instead of a suicidal uphill climb, one of the strangers pushed them into what looked like a small crack in the mountainside. Michael bent down in the low, narrow space and soon reached a dug-out stairway that descended to a tunnel.

  Torches lined the walls, providing light. A slab of rock worked by means of an intricate pulley system, and the last man into the tunnel pulled a rope, causing the slab to slide over the opening, hiding the steps from the outside world.

  “The name is Will Durham,” the youngest of the two said. “This is Gus Webber. We shall lead you to safety.”

  Chapter 42

  MICHAEL AND QUADE followed Durham and Webber through a tunnel into the village and straight to Ben Olgerbee’s cabin. There, Olgerbee cleaned and dressed Michael’s gunshot wound. A poultice he smeared over it numbed the pain and stopped the bleeding,

  Kohler arrived and immediately began to question Michael and Quade.

  “Who are the men shooting at you, and why?” Kohler demanded.

  “We don’t know,” Michael replied.

  “We watched them follow you for some time,” Kohler admitted.

  “We never imagined anyone would follow, considering where we are,” Michael said.

  “So, you know where we are?” Kohler said, his voice dismissive, mocking.