Ancient Echoes

by Joanne Pence

  No one spoke.

  “There are other means, however.” He walked up to her. She never flinched as he unzipped her jacket and dropped it from her shoulders to the floor. She wore a turtleneck with a flannel shirt over it, multi-pocketed cargo pants, and hiking boots.

  He said nothing but looked at her shirt and top and nodded.

  Her face a mask of disgust, she removed the shirt, and then pulled the heavy turtleneck over her head, revealing a tight knit camisole. Her breasts were full, her waist small, and a flat abdomen disappeared into loose-fitting trousers. Every man, including Kohler, made a sharp intake of breath at the sight.

  “Stoke the fire,” Kohler ordered, then glanced toward the large fireplace in the room. Ben Owens went over and did as commanded.

  No one moved as Kohler took an iron poker and placed it in the fire. He waited a minute, then used a wadded cloth to pick it up. The tip glowed as he walked toward Melisse.

  “This is barbaric!” Charlotte cried. “What’s wrong with you?”

  Arnie Tieg approached her, knife in hand. Her protests stopped.

  Brandi whimpered “No,” as tears filled her eyes.

  The other men crowded near, expecting Melisse to run.

  “Hold her,” Kohler ordered.

  As they tried to grab her, she fought. She knocked Gus and Sam out of the way with ease. The elderly Olgerbee hung back, as did Will Durham who looked sickened, but didn't interfere even when Rachel begged him to stop this outrage.

  Finally, Olgerbee and Will joined Gus and Sam. Together they wrestled her, face down, to the floor. While the others held her, Kohler knelt on the ground, straddling her hips. Angered by the struggle, he gripped her camisole and ripped it open to expose her bare back. Then he gasped.

  “What is this?” he whispered.

  Scars from lashes and burn marks crisscrossed her back. His fingers lightly touched the puckered, tortured skin.

  She turned her head to look up at him, but made no reply.

  “Who did this to you?” he asked.

  “What does it matter? It's your turn now, it seems.”

  He tossed aside the poker then moved off of her. He grabbed her arm, made her sit up and turned her to look at him. The other four stayed close, ready to act if she lashed out or tried to run. She gripped her camisole to cover herself.

  “I want to know!” Kohler demanded.

  “I was with a couple of men doing recon in Afghanistan when we were captured by the enemy. The men were killed. Fortunately, our unit found me—saved my life.”

  “You were in combat? A woman?”

  “Why so shocked?” she said bitterly. “It happens.”

  He held her gaze. “How long were you a prisoner?”

  Without flinching, her tone saying as much as her words, she replied, “Four days...three nights.”

  His jaw tight with anger, he stood. “Leave her be,” he ordered the others. They didn't move. “Damn it, did you not hear me? I said, leave her be!”

  They hurried out of the room.

  After once last glance at Melisse, Kohler also left.

  Chapter 47

  UNAWARE OF WHAT transpired in the community house, Michael, Jake, and Quade met outside the stables, out of hearing of Lionel and Vince. They each read the Francis Masterson manuscript.

  Masterson’s account stunned Michael. No wonder his brother dropped everything to come to Idaho to search for this place, to find out if any of the information was true. He would have done the exact same thing.

  “These papers explain everything,” Quade said.

  Jake shook his head. “It’s got to be some wild yarn.”

  “Do you believe it?” Michael asked.

  “The story is true,” Quade said. “I read Francis Masterson’s first journal. The Smithsonian stored it among the remnants of a small, failed Mormon settlement called New Gideon. I assume the Tukudeka probably picked it up, and it later fell into the hands of settlers. If the settlers had found the pillars, they surely would have mentioned them. In any case, the journal chronicled the Secret Expedition before Masterson stepped between the pillars. People assumed it to be a work of fiction, or wild scribblings of a madman. These papers and this place prove he wrote truth.”

  “Even though I’m standing right here,” Jake said, “I still find it hard to believe.”

  “I don’t,” Michael said. “It fits with a discovery I made in Mongolia.” He briefly told them about opening the tomb of Lady Hsieh and her practice of alchemy—but left out the fact that he believed he saw and spoke to her.

  Still, Jake looked at him as if his mentis was not very compos.

  “Being hard to believe doesn’t make it false,” Quade reminded him. “More importantly, these papers tell not only what became of the Expedition, but also Abbé Gerard.”

  “You’ve heard of him?” Michael asked.

  “The surprise is that you haven’t,” Quade said with a strange, secretive smile. “You didn’t see it, did you?”

  “See what?” Michael asked.

  “Abbé Gerard’s family name was Rombert, pronounced in the French way, Rohm-berrr. But it wasn’t always French. The abbot was actually a descendent of Edward Kelley, who was either one of the great alchemists of all time, or one of the greatest con artists. What we know about him is a mixture of rumor, legend, and truth, and no one can be sure which is which.”

  “What does he have to do with any of this?” Michael asked.

  “It’s a long story, but one well worth hearing. Edward Kelley was believed to have been born in Ireland in the 16th century. A thief and swindler, early in life, his ears were sliced off as punishment. He fled to England and managed to find himself a wealthy, well-educated sponsor, an older man named John Dee.

  “Dee had spent his life studying the supernatural, and amassing a large library about it. When he met Kelley, who claimed to be clairvoyant, a psychic, Dee believed him. He even brought Kelley to the court of Elizabeth I.”

  Clearly warming to showing off his erudition, Quade wore a sly smile as he continued. “At one point, Kelley even convinced Dee the angels spoke directly to him, and wrote down what they said in a made up language he called Enochian. Dee became so much under Kelley’s influence that when Kelley suggested they swap wives for the good of the angels and man, Dee agreed.” Quade smirked. “By the way, history tells us Dee’s wife was much prettier than Kelley’s, and also that Mrs. Dee had a child some nine months after Kelley’s escapade with her, something which apparently made Dee rather unhappy. But that still wasn’t enough to cause John Dee to end their association.”

  “This is important, why?” Jake asked impatiently.

  “Kelley’s interest moved to alchemy,” Quade said with a nod. “Using books and materials from Dee’s vast collection, including The Book of Abraham the Jew, which Kelley kept for himself, he claimed to have learned the secret to creating gold, and apparently demonstrated it several times at the English court.

  “Emperor Rudolf of Bohemia heard about this, and wanted some of that gold. He invited Dee and Kelley to his court. They went, sans their troublesome wives. They had a problem, however. Once in Romania, Kelley apparently lost his ability to produce gold. He begged the King for more time. Dee, who wasn’t a complete fool, fled back to England, while Kelley found himself a new patron named Vilém Rozmberk. This Rozmberk managed to protect Kelley from the emperor for some time, and spent a fortune on Kelley, in hopes of being repaid through Kelley’s gold-making acumen. Kelley’s only success, however, came when he convinced Rozmberk’s daughter, Anna, to marry him...prior wife notwithstanding.

  “Kelley spent lavishly, and his extravagances financially ruined Rozmberk. The emperor lost all patience, and sent Kelley to prison where he eventually died from complications after breaking both legs trying to escape.

  “Kelley’s wife grew fearful that the Emperor’s wrath would fall on her and her son. She fled Romania, taking The Book with her. She knew its value, and that an alchemi
st could use it to make gold for their family. It’s said that her son, also named Edward, inherited his father’s psychic ability, plus some of his less noble traits. He, too, became an alchemist and a confidence man.

  “Also, you should know that Anna didn’t take Kelley’s name as hers. The man had been a scandal, and she wanted nothing to do with him. Since Rozmberk was an awkward name, she changed it to Romberg.

  “During a period of anti-Semitism in France, the family changed their Jewish-sounding name to Rombert. Despite the name changes, Edward Kelley’s bloodline continued, and each generation of males possessed psychic abilities. Some more, some less.”

  A chill rippled through Michael at these words. He wanted to tell Quade to stop; at the same time, he wanted to hear the rest of Quade's peculiar tale.

  “Gerard Rombert was one such descendant. He thought his visions and understanding of future events were caused by the Devil. Because they brought him great anxiety, he joined a monastery hoping they would go away, but they didn’t. In the monastery, he was drawn to ancient writings about alchemy. He owned The Book of Abraham the Jew, passed on to him by his father as a family keepsake.”

  “The last history knew of Abbé Gerard Rombert de Fontainebleau and his special book, he left France after the French Revolution broke out. In his travels, he met men who knew much more about alchemy than did the Catholics in France. Once he did, a new world opened up to him, as you have read in these papers.”

  “Fascinating,” Michael said.

  “Yes, but there’s more,” Quade said. “His name.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “As the family traveled to different countries, including the U.S., its name changed in various ways. Rombart, Rembart, Rempart. They are all from the same root. You, Michael, and Lionel, are descendants of Edward Kelley.”

  As much as Michael had been sure that would be the upshot of the story, he feigned disgust. “That’s ridiculous.”

  “Is it? I have seen your intuition, which is nothing more than a modern, unthreatening term for psychic abilities. Why were only you and Lionel able to see the array of lights when none of the rest of us could?” Quade asked.

  “That is going too far,” Michael said.

  “Michael’s right!” Jake groaned. “This is giving me a headache.”

  “The bottom line,” Quade said, “is that alchemy got us here, and is needed to get us out. And we just happen to have a descendant of Edward Kelley to help us.”

  “That’s where I have a problem,” Jake said. “It’s simply too much of a coincidence.”

  “What, you don’t find it a happy chance that Lionel and I just happened to come to Idaho?” Michael folded his arms in disgust.

  “Clearly, it is no coincidence,” Quade said. “Whoever is behind this has done a lot of investigating. That person knows about your family. The information I gave you is available to many people. Someone has connected the story of Edward Kelley and his descendants to the Rempart name. It stands to reason, given your notoriety, Michael, that once someone began putting this together, such connections would be made. In a way, it may also explain why both brothers have a professional interest in the anomalies of the past.”

  Michael shook his head. “No. I suspect Lionel was chosen because of his field of study, and his connection with George Washington University.”

  “Not really.” Quade’s small cupid-shaped lips curled in a smile. “Masterson’s journal is in the Smithsonian. Any scholar could have read it. No, it took someone with a special affinity for the promise presented in The Book of Abraham the Jew, and an affinity for alchemy itself, to throw all caution to the wind and come on this journey. That there happens to be two of you makes you an even better fit.”

  “If it was a matter of finding a descendent of Edward Kelley, there could be hundreds of people to choose from,” Michael argued.

  “Or few. Or maybe none except the two of you. Genealogical lines die out all the time. People die young, die in wars, in famines, or simply die without issue. The remarkable thing after so many centuries is to find any offspring at all.”

  Despite his protests, Michael knew everything Quade said was true. He knew it before he raised the objections. Quade's story answered questions about himself, about his strange intuitive ability. “What about Edward Kelley?” His voice was soft, resigned. “Where did he get his psychic abilities?”

  “All we know is that he came from Ireland. Many people believe Kelley wasn’t his real name, so we’ll never know. Personally, I wouldn’t be surprised if his ancestors didn’t include Hermes Trismegistus himself.” He stared at Michael a moment. “It makes me wonder what your father is like. Of course, that’s none of my business.”

  Quade’s last comment churned in Michael’s mind.

  William Claude Rempart was frightfully intelligent, but seemed to exist on a different plane, almost a different dimension.

  Michael always suspected that oddness had a lot to do with his mother’s death.

  They lived on a large estate and she fell from the balcony of a third floor study onto a brick patio. Michael watched her fall to her death. Fall? Or jump? Whichever it was, Michael had stood and watched her…and had done nothing to stop her.

  Her death had been ruled an accident, but Michael had doubts about that determination.

  Lionel was ten years older and at Yale at the time.

  Their father, who had never been very practical or down-to-earth, became even more withdrawn. Some said his wife’s death drove him mad. Others said he caused her death, with dark hints of murder or driving her to take her own life.

  Michael ended up being raised by nannies. The family housekeeper alone gave the young boy love and compassion. The housekeeper and her little daughter were once Michael's whole world, and then they too were gone.

  After his mother's death Michael lived his life trying to convince himself that he didn’t care anything about his parents or their troubled lives, but he did. He sometimes wondered if he wasn’t more his father’s son than he wanted to admit.

  Voices and movement beyond the stables warned them the villagers approached. “You’re right,” Michael said to Quade. “It is none of your business.”

  Chapter 48

  New York City

  “MR. LI,” JENNIFER Vandenburg said as she held out her hand and welcomed Jianjun to her office. The large windows and magnificent view stunned him. “Your call intrigued me,” she said as she stepped behind her ebony and chrome desk and offered Jianjun a seat.

  “Thank you for seeing me.” He sat in the black leather arm chair facing her and then told his carefully made-up story. “It has come to Dr. Michael Rempart’s attention that you were his brother’s benefactress for his Idaho trip. He needs to learn as much as possible about the trip to help him find Lionel.”

  A flicker of what seemed like anger showed for an instant before she regained her composure. “If I had, I wouldn’t be keeping it from the authorities, would I?” Vandenburg smiled sweetly.

  “Except that you don’t want the public to know about your interest in alchemy.”

  “Alchemy? I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “But you do,” Jianjun said coolly. “It’s why you sent Lionel Rempart to Idaho.”

  She stood, arms folded, and walked to the window. Jianjun noticed her cell phone on her desk. He scooted his chair as close as possible. He palmed his own phone and punched in the spy monitor access code. The system would locate her phone and lock onto it, accessing her future usage. “Professor Rempart,” she said, “was quite interested in following Lewis and Clark. Many people, I’m sure, contributed to his investigation. PLP donates to many educational causes.”

  “We know about The Book of Abraham the Jew,” Jianjun said.

  She faced him with a cold smile. “And you aren’t laughing? I am. I know Lionel Rempart went off on a tangent about that book and alchemy, but I never believed such a book existed, let alone was lost in Idaho! If that was
the real reason for Professor Rempart’s expedition, I’m sorry I authorized one penny to him. The last thing I expected was for him to drag along a bunch of students and then get lost. It’s a horrible tragedy. I pray every day for their safe return.”

  “How did you, or PLP, become involved with Lionel Rempart?” Jianjun asked. He leaned back in the chair and casually slid his hand and cell phone in his pocket.

  She studied him for a long moment before she answered. “The professor sent us a proposal asking for assistance to find the site where a secret expedition that followed Lewis and Clark lived and died. I found it interesting. Nothing more.”

  “I understand many unique and useful drugs have been discovered by studying ancient herbs and medicines,” Jianjun said.

  Vandenburg frowned. “If you think we were expecting to find medicine used by those adventurers, you are completely mistaken. Besides, drugs today are mostly synthetic, produced after decades of research and experimentation.”

  He stood. “I’m sorry to have bothered you.”

  She walked to the door. “Yes, well, I’m sure PLP is one of many who contributed to Professor Rempart. Considering the terrible turn this has taken, I do not expect my name or that of PLP to be associated in any way with Rempart, his disappearance, or his strange pursuits. Do I make myself clear?”

  Jianjun nodded and left.

  Chapter 49

  THAT AFTERNOON, MICHAEL was alone at the stables. Earlier, the village men took the others away to work. His arm felt much better already, and he wondered about the poultice Ben Olgerbee had used.

  In the distance, he saw Ben Olgerbee walk by.

  The word “wizened” came to mind to describe Olgerbee, a small, thin man who walked with a stoop, his chest concave. Wizened cheeks. Wizened hair. Wizened...Michael thought of a similar word. Wizard.

  Something made him decide to follow the man.

  Past the stables, near the fence that circled the village, a trap door lay flat on the ground. Olgerbee opened it and descended steep steps, then lit a torch and shut the door behind him.