Ancient Echoes

by Joanne Pence

  “I’m glad…” she murmured as she faded from his eyes.

  Charlotte climbed the mound and tried to pull Michael away, but as much as she struggled, he fought to stay there, as if he saw something beyond her vision. She took Ben Olgerbee’s poultice from her pocket and smeared the last of it thickly on the gaping wound. Immediately, it began to slow the flow of blood. Michael could not die, she thought, not now, not in this battle for all their futures.

  Jake joined her. They lifted Michael to his feet and carried him off the mound, just ahead of the toppling pillars. “She’s gone.” His strange words made no sense to them.

  The pillars swayed faster, deeper, until finally they crashed to earth. Dirt and ash spewed into the air.

  Jake, Charlotte and Michael fell amidst the tide, choking on the dust.

  Michael envisioned the time in Kenya, at his first dig, when the earth collapsed on him and he felt death a certainty. But the paralyzing emptiness that came over him in Kenya didn’t happen this time. Life was a gift, and held far more wonders and beauty than he had ever believed. He rose to his hands and knees, unwilling to give up.

  The sea of ash blinded Charlotte and left her unable to breathe. Strong arms grabbed her. Jake held her close as he led her away from the thick, roiling powder-filled air. Devlin, who had been some distance away with Brandi and Rachel, ran into the dust and helped Michael escape.

  At that moment, a cold, violent wind rose out of nowhere, swept the cloud of soot into a tornado that swirled around the village men alone, and pinned them to one spot.

  The villagers’ forms faded and then flickered and returned as they struggled against their fate. Kohler stared at Michael with malice while the world that kept him alive collapsed. His body shuddered as he struggled but failed to break the paralysis that came over him.

  All the others, Francis Masterson, Noah Handy, who had been Francis’ easy-going friend and now called himself Gus Webber; the brothers Orril and Asa Munroe, who pretended to be Sam Black and Arnie Tieg; and the wise elder Reuben Hale, who was known to them as Ben Olgerbee, had once been good men, but had been overcome by the evil of this unholy place.

  The chimeras watched the trapped men of the Secret Expedition. Hate-filled, they ran towards the men, their eyes glowing with the desire to tear them to pieces. They no sooner reached them when magna from within the earth, hot from fire, rose up and captured both men and beasts in its fiery grasp. The cyclonic wind that circled them grew stronger, forcing them inward even as they struggled with each other. And finally, at their feet, black, brackish water rose up from within the earth. The water boiled.

  The villagers and creatures stood in the midst of the elements—earth, fire, air and water. They screamed, and tried to run, but molten rock held them in place as it oozed upward to cover them.

  Michael’s gaze met Francis Masterson’s. The man had killed Lionel, but did it to save not only Michael, but the world from an unknown horror. But not even Francis could escape his fate.

  Francis glanced over at Rachel, standing with Devlin’s arm around her, then he looked back at Michael as his gaze softened into uneasy peace and resignation. He nodded, then shut his eyes.

  Michael watched with horror as the earth covering them hardened into rock, their final screams echoing throughout the valley.

  Michael turned towards Abbé Gerard who remained atop the mound watching the destruction of the world he created. Michael acknowledged, if only to himself, they couldn’t have survived without him.

  “Abbé Gerard,” Michael shouted, “you don’t need to die. We’ll find a way!”

  “It is not possible. I have had far more than my share of life.” Tears lined Abbé’s face as he looked at the earth, the sky, one last time. “I have seen unimaginable changes in this world, far more than any alchemist ever dreamed of. And they were developed by man, not by magic. I am sad to leave, but some things are not possible to undo.” Then, with a strange little smile on his lips, he added, “Man can subvert nature, but never improve it. Remember that, Michael. Always, remember that.”

  The ground quaked more violently and rocks and trees tumbled around them.

  The ancient, parched pages of The Book of Abraham the Jew caught fire. Before their eyes, the being who was once Abbé Gerard began to age, his body dried and shriveled. A great whirling tornado of fire rose up, lifting the book and the Abbé high over the earth. At that moment, like a great whale coming out of the ocean, the mound itself began to rise from the earth, to swell, like a terrible malignancy.

  As the book burst apart in a fiery blast, the Abbé’s body rocked and exploded into a turbulent vortex. The mound split open creating a wide, deep chasm. The men of the Secret Expedition, the chimeras, the pillars, and the charred remains of the Abbé and the book fell into the earth.

  Finally, as the last echo of the blast drifted away, the vortex collapsed upon itself.

  When it settled again, the land lay flat, and all evidence of the terrors they had witnessed were gone.

  With balance restored, the earth became perfectly still.

  o0o

  Rachel, Devlin, and Brandi, with Jake and Charlotte supporting Michael, walked silently away from the area where the mound and pillars once stood.

  After a short while, Jake stopped and unclipped the satellite phone from his belt and turned it on. Welcoming and welcomed lights flashed. He punched in a number and waited, then tried again. For a while, they heard nothing, but then a faint, crackling sounded, and a voice answered.

  “Telichpah Flat Station. Hello? Is anybody there? This is Deputy Mallick. Can you hear me?”

  “Mallick,” Jake said with a chuckle. “I've never heard a voice so beautiful!”

  “Sheriff! Holy crap! Where the hell are you? We thought you were dead!”

  “We've got three of the kids...Rachel, Brandi, and Devlin. Charlotte Reed and Michael Rempart also made it. All the others are dead. We could sure use a helicopter and paramedics, Deputy. I'll give you the coordinates.”

  “Thank God three of the kids were saved! We had given up all hope for them, and for you, too! This is a happy day, Sheriff!”

  “Yes, Deputy,” Jake said wearily, gazing back at the survivors. “It certainly is.”

  When Jake hung up cheers and tears erupted in thanks for their impending rescue and return to civilization, as well as sadness for those they lost.

  “How will anyone ever believe what happened?” Rachel voiced the question on all their minds.

  “They won’t,” Jake’s words were harsh, solemn. “They’ll investigate. Point suspicion.”

  “We’ve got to tell them something,” Charlotte said. “How can we explain? Plus, you and Michael have been shot!”

  “We can blame gunshots on stumbling across drug runners or pot growers trying to hide from the law,” Jake said. “But as for the students…whatever we say, we’ll all have to agree on it. Anyone who tries to explain what really happened out here will end up in a rubber room.”

  “A flashflood,” Michael barely managed the words. “Before we found Rachel, Brandi, and Devlin, the others were lost, swept down to the Salmon River. That will explain why there are no bodies.”

  Michael shut his eyes from exhaustion and pain as Jake looked at the others. One by one, they nodded. “That’s our story, then,” Jake told them, “and it makes sense. There’s a reason it’s called the river of no return.”

  Chapter 67

  THE NEXT MORNING the governor dispatched a private plane to Salmon City to pick up the students, media, and anyone else who wanted a quick trip back to Boise after the grueling ordeal.

  Jake went to the airfield to see them off. Rachel’s and Devlin’s parents met them there, having ridden up as part of the governor’s group. Brandi’s parents flew in on their own plane to take her home with them. All the thanks Jake received from parents made him uncomfortable. He looked for Charlotte and Michael, but found neither.

  As quickly as he could, he said his good-bye
s, got hugs from the students, and hurried to Salmon’s emergency medical facility. All the survivors had been brought there to be checked over when they arrived late the night before. The doctors insisted Michael stay, while the state provided the others motel rooms with baths, clean clothes, and lots of food. After Jake’s gunshot wound had been tended to, he spent the entire night being debriefed, and pretty much cut off from everyone else. He worried that Michael may have taken a turn for the worse.

  Instead, he learned no one knew where Michael went. His doctors expected him to transfer to a hospital in Boise, but a mysterious young Chinese fellow showed up and whisked him out of the medical center before dawn. By the time a furious Homeland Security agent arrived, they were both long gone.

  Charlotte hadn’t been seen at the hospital either. She might have left with Michael, but Jake found it hard to imagine her leaving without at least saying goodbye. He went to the motel only to learn she hadn’t used her room the night before.

  It made no sense. He could only think of one other place she might be, if still in the area. He drove like a crazy man out to the Forest Service cabin Simon Quade used.

  She closed the trunk of her rental car as he skidded to a stop on the driveway. She was alone.

  She looked happy to see him, but at the same time troubled. He limped toward her, the bullet wound mending but still painful. “You aren’t taking the plane back?”

  “No. Fortunately, Michael’s friend, Li Jianjun, found me as I left the clinic last night. He advised me to stay out of sight of any law enforcement types until everything involving some murders in Israel was settled. He’ll see that the FBI receives some evidence that implicates Calvin Phaylor. I don’t mind hiding out for a month or two. I was tempted to stay here, but I’m sure the Forest Service will come back to it eventually. You won’t turn me in, will you, Sheriff?”

  He stood close, one hand on the top of the car to help support himself. “Not to worry. I've said all I have to say on this subject to the authorities, the press, and everyone else.”

  “I know what you mean.” She gave him a lopsided smile. “Ironic, isn't it? I've found the story of a lifetime for both US historians and anyone interested in alchemy, and I can't tell it. No one would believe it, and it isn't the sort of thing I want the parents of all those students to have to live with, or Melisse's little daughter.”

  He nodded. “True.”

  “Years from now, when you're old and gray and living in these mountains and no longer care if you're called a crazy old sheriff, you'll certainly have a story to tell.”

  “If I stay,” he said, and glanced out over the mountains. “It's beautiful here, but the winters are long and lonely. At least that's what I'll remind myself when people start throwing blame around for so many deaths. Especially since I won't be able to tell them what really happened, I might not even have a job when it's all said and done. Maybe I'll leave before they ask me to.”

  “So many deaths,” Charlotte said. “So many lives taken, and the lives of those who loved them forever shattered.”

  Jake nodded. “The public will never know.”

  “It’s for the best,” she said, and walked to the driver’s door, car keys in hand. Before she opened it, she faced him. “I’m sorry it turned out this way for you.”

  He shrugged. “I came up here to retire from the world, from people. And look at what I walked into.”

  “You'll do well wherever you go,” she remarked, her face as serious as ever. “Where will you go, Jake?”

  “I don't know. A part of me hates the idea of leaving. No matter what, this is home.” His gaze swept the area, then returned to her. “What about you, Charlotte? Back to Customs?”

  “To look for art and antiquities forgeries after I've found the ultimate antiquity treasure? It's going to be very hard to do my job after that. So, I don't know either.” Her troubled blue eyes met his, and she stepped closer to him. “I guess I could return to Jerusalem to finish my Ph.D., but academic life no longer holds any appeal, I’m afraid. It would be finishing what I started, which makes sense, but at the same time, I can’t help but feel that would be going backward, not forward.”

  Washington D.C. or Jerusalem. He could never compete with all that, and knew better than to try. “I have never known a woman so serious or so focused on what’s logical, scientific and rational. Tell me, what you would most like to do?”

  “What I’d most like?” She thought a moment. “To what purpose?”

  He shook his head, and grinned at her. “For the purpose of, I don’t know, who you are? What you’re all about? Maybe even your very own brand of happiness?” He turned serious, and placed his hands on her arms as he quietly added. “You deserve it, you know.”

  That took her aback. “Well, in that case,” she said, regarding him closely, brows furrowed as she contemplated his question, “I think that to be somewhere with a big soaking tub, a soft bed, good books, and lots of peace and quiet would be rather pleasant.” Her expression eased, and with some hope in her voice, she added, “It might even be a place to begin to build some new memories. Good ones.”

  He saw the shine in her eyes, heard a lilt in her voice, but didn’t want to believe it. He dropped his hands. “That's all you want?” he asked, wary now.

  “Isn’t it enough?” Her voice caught.

  His mouth went dry. “There's a house in Salmon that has that. My place. You can use it if you'd like. I mean...I've got a guest room. I'm not suggesting...not that I wouldn't want...I mean…” He stopped then.

  The two studied each other but said nothing as they held their respective breaths.

  She spoke first. “The long winter is just about here,” she said, still serious. “And two bodies are warmer than one. That could save a lot of money on the heating bill, especially if we're both unemployed.”

  A grin played on his lips. “Charlotte Reed, did you just make a joke?”

  A slow smile spread over her face, one that broadened as she threw caution aside and put her arms around his neck and pulled him close. “I think I could get the hang of this ‘fun’ business.”

  “So do I, Charlotte, so do I.” As their lips met, her arms tightened and he crushed her to him. He had no idea if what they had found would last, but knew they would take it day by day, build on what they shared, and value those areas where they differed. Finally each could put aside the ugliness of the past and move toward the future. He hoped with all his heart they would face it together.

  Epilogue

  Goa, India

  MICHAEL REMPART WALKED alone through the narrow streets of the former Portuguese settlement of Old Goa to an imposing black granite and basalt basilica. His left arm was weak and limp while his shoulder and back still ached from the bullet that might have killed him.

  For one month, his friend and assistant, Li Jianjun, stayed by his side, diligently watching over him as his body mended. Once he healed, Jianjun returned to Vancouver.

  Michael spent much of his time soul-searching since he left Idaho, and contemplating all he learned about life, death, what lies beyond the grave, and about himself. He feared that a normal life, a life rich with love, marriage, and children would never be his, but for the first time he could think of the woman he had loved but lost without bitterness, and with peace for what they once had known. And as he thought of the loving, beautiful ethereal being from another age who had saved his life many times, he knew he would carry the memory of her forever in his heart.

  Lady Hsieh—Lin—had been right about many things, but never more than when she said that what he sought was in this world, but not of it. He had learned that, in the endless process of transformation, nothing was destroyed. Death was not destruction, but merely dissolution. In dissolving all things, the cosmos also renewed them. There was fulfillment in life; throughout the whole recurrence of eternity nothing existed that had not lived. He read that Hermes Trismegistus had once said, ‘For there never was any dead thing in the cosmos, nor is the
re, nor will there be.’ He believed it.

  He entered the cathedral with its beautifully gilded altars, frescoes and inlays, and turned to a small chapel that housed the relics of St. Francis Xavier, the peripatetic missionary who spent his life in India, the Malay peninsula, Japan, and died while on the way to China.

  Michael stood before the silver casket of the saint whose body, many believed, remained perfectly preserved even in death.

  Head bowed, Michael’s heart filled not only with peace, but also with a sense of purpose. He was alone, but not lonely. He didn't know where life would lead him, but he had every confidence in Lady Hsieh's words, that he still had much to do. She had never failed him.

  His thoughts then turned to Francis Masterson, the gentle but tormented young writer whose journals guided Michael and the others to understand what they faced and ultimately to safety. He had been a good-hearted man who boldly went to uncharted lands, much like the saint whose name he bore, and now, he finally rested in eternal peace. All of them did, including Lady Hsieh, and even Abbé Gerard.

  The unquiet graves were no more; and the secret of alchemy lost forever.

  As it should be.

  As it must.

  Author’s Notes

  Readers interested in learning more about alchemy can find vast amounts of material, including entire libraries, on the subject. If I had to name one scholarly work that I believe would be most helpful, understandable and interesting, it would be a relatively small book called The Forge and the Crucible: The Origins and Structure of Alchemy by philosopher and religious historian Mircea Eliade.

  Many writings exist that present the explanation Nicolas Flamel (also spelled Nicholas Flammel) gave of finding and eventually deciphering The Book of Abraham the Jew. The material found in this book was taken from the English translation of the French work as printed in London in 1624 for Thomas Walsley, called Hieroglyphical Figures (Which he caused to be Painted upon an Arch in St. Innocents Church Yard in Paris): Concerning both the Theory and Practice of the Philosophers Stone. Whether The Book of Abraham the Jew ever truly existed, as well as which alchemist named “Abraham” wrote it, continues to be hotly debated to this day.