by Robert Ross
Seramai smiled and his form shimmered.
“Oh, my,” Meghan said, smiling appreciatively and tracing her hand along his chest, “You clean up nice.”
Kellan felt himself involuntarily make a strange face as he took in Seramai’s new appearance. Gone was the anachronistic leather armor. Instead, the warrior now wore comfortable blue jeans, a crisp linen shirt, and stylish shoes. Kellan looked back to Meghan and said, “Wait, what about your client in New Orleans? You made a huge stink about making sure I got you back to her.”
Meghan waved a hand, “I have a whole week to get back to her. For the next six days, past me has it all under control. I’ll catch a flight after Sera and I have some well deserved R&R. Isn’t that right?”
“Indeed it is, my valkyrie,” Seramai said with a smile and then turned to Kellan. “Sentinel, a portal if you please.”
Chapter 11
The Seal of Solomon
Kellan blinked in surprise, his senses deluged with sounds and smells. He looked around as he felt the portal vanish behind him. People were everywhere, laughing and pointing at this thing or that, but no one paid special attention to him. This was one of his worst nightmares. Normally, Kellan found that his portals opened in the most nondescript areas within a location he targeted, but not so this time. Well, you chose Chicago’s Navy Pier he thought to himself, then added, Yeah, but only because it’s the closest place to this stupid island that I could get a portal to work. Over the past year, Kellan had learned a great deal about traveling by portal, both spacially and temporally. Yet, despite all he had learned, the act of ripping holes in space, time, or both never ceased to fill him with awe. The fact that he could open a portal in the midst of this gentrified amusement park and not cause an eye blink among those nearby continued to amaze as well. Like most things about his exercise of power, portals drew on intent. If Kellan intended to arrive clandestinely his portal would open in alleys, basements, or the like. Sometimes, such locales were simply not available in the immediate area. In such cases, even when Kellan appeared amongst a throng of people, they just didn’t seem to to notice. The young Sentinel felt a smile cross his face as he recalled the first time that had happened. The portal had opened just in front of the stage at Wembley Stadium and he had totally freaked out. He had made a spacial-temporal portal to June 17th, 2007 and Muse was playing Knights of Cydonia. Kellan felt a pang of guilt as he thought, Yeah, great use of semi-divine powers, ripping space and time because you love Muse. Well, it was one of the most epic concerts ever. No shit, hey, we should go see Bowie. Kellan felt himself cringe as he dismissed the internal banter with himself. He’d gotten a lot better about that but sometimes it just leaked out. The point being, he reminded himself, that no one among that 90,000, standing room only, crowd noticed a thing, not in person, not on video, not on subsequent DVDs. He had checked, watching the DVD at the exact place and time he knew the portal opened but nothing was there. Of course there are times, Kellan reminded himself, when it can be handy to be seen and heard yelling and leaping from glowing ovals. It tends to distract and unsettle adversaries, so when that was his intent, the portals obliged. The Sentinel nodded to himself as he walked through the Navy Pier’s Polk Brothers Park. He loved his portals.
“OK, enough revelry,” Kellan mumbled, “Time to find a boat.” He glanced around and started angling to the right where water taxies and sight seeing boats were docked by the pier. Along the way, he passed a map of the Pier’s numerous amusements, gave it a quick glance, and continued past. A moment later, he stopped so abruptly that a couple walking behind Kellan bumped into him and apologized as they went on their way. The Sentinel barely noticed them because one of the items on the map kept flashing in his eidetic mind like a beacon: DMK Burger Bar. Kellan felt his mouth start to water as the menu scrolled through his memory along with the perfectly preserved high-resolution photos a friend showed him years ago while proclaiming proudly that Chicago had both the best pizza and burgers. Kellan snorted and thought, Obviously, New York has the best pizza. Jon Stewart was right Chicago pizza is really a bloody casserole, but burgers—maybe burgers. And I am hungry. And they do have craft beers. Screw it, stupid demon trapping seals can wait.
Kellan turned and headed down the center of Navy’s Pier’s broad walkway, past Centennial Wheel, and skirted by the under construction Yard at Chicago’s Shakespeare. He looked up at the stylized logo as the tagline of, “Best damn grass-fed burgers, shakes, and fries that ever hit your lips,” danced through his hunger fueled mind.
“Oh yeah,” said Kellan as he walked through the door and settled himself on a plain black metal stool by the bar. The red DMK logo was engraved on white tiles beneath which sat dozens of liquor bottles ranging from bourbon to gin. Kellan glanced down the bar and saw a dozen beer taps as a twenty-something server walked up to him.
“Hey, I’m Tim and I’ll be taking care of you tonight.” The server set down a menu, but Kellan just slid it back to him.
“I know exactly what I want, brotha Tim. You ready?”
“Shoot,” the server side with a smile.
“Ok, I’ll have a Number 1, loaded, with the aged cheddar, smoked bacon, charred balsamic red onion, but can you sub out the Rufus BBQ sauce for Leroy’s Remoulade?”
“Yeah, no problem. Anything else?”
“Oh yeah. Please make it a double on the burger and I will upgrade those fries to truffle and Parmesan.” Kellan paused a moment realizing that he had no recollection of his beer options and asked, “Do you have any high gravity Belgian style beer?”
The server answered immediately, “Yep, we have a 7.9 berry Belgian waffle. You want a taste?”
“No, dude, you had me at waffle. Can I have a 20oz glass of that as soon as possible?”
“20 oz?” Tim said questioningly, “I hope you don’t have anything planned for the rest of the night. We usually serve that with an 8oz pour.”
“Never you mind,” said Kellan with a smile. “I have a supernatural metabolism and don’t plan on doing much tonight but chartering a boat to some mysterious island to find a demon binding artifact.”
Tim laughed as he scooped up the menu, “Right. I’ll get you that beer. Hang tight.”
“So, how was it? Everything good?” Asked the server as he reached for Kellan’s plate.
“Tim, it was horrible. Worst I’ve had in recent memory.”
The young server frowned with his hand frozen on the plate, then noted that not the smallest scrap of food remained. He looked up to find Kellan staring at him with a mischievous grin and chuckled, “Yeah, it looks like you really hated it. How’s that beer sitting?”
Kellan tilted his glass, draining the final swallow and set the it down with a thud. “It is sitting quite well. If you would bring me the check my good man, I will be off.”
“We don’t really use checks, but here.” Tim slid an iPad from beneath the bar and tilted it up to face Kellan. He quickly scanned the items, added a healthy tip, and bumped his Apple Watch against the tablet which gave a friendly chime of acknowledgement.
“Good luck with the demons,” he said as Kellan slid off the stool and swayed slightly then added, “you aren’t driving, right?”
“Nope, I told you, takin’ a boat.” Kellan paused halfway to the door then walked back. “Say, Tim, where is the easiest place for me to find a boat?”
By the time Kellan had reached the charter docks, he noted sadly that all the effects from his beer had faded. Unfortunately for the young Sentinel, his body could not distinguish between alcohol and other toxins. When it encountered any, it autonomously channeled Ordered energies to purge them leaving him stone cold sober shortly after even a healthy round of drinks. Kellan frowned slightly as he looked around. Most of the moorings were empty with their boats having been already chartered for evening rides. He glanced up at the clear sky and full moon thinking that it certainly was a nice night for it.
The two remaining boats were both fishing trawlers. Kellan glanced at the stern
s of both. The closest was called the Kobayashi Maru while the next had Water Beetle stenciled in sharp black letters. The Sentinel paused, looking from one to the other, decidedly unhappy with both his options. The Water Beetle looked barely seaworthy with its formerly white hull faded to a dull gray. Then again, the other boat’s name was simply unacceptable. I mean, thought Kellan, who in their right mind names a boat the Kobayashi Maru. Just as he had made up his mind and was about to head towards the Water Beetle, two figures emerged from below its deck. Both were tall men with dark hair one long and one short. Kellan’s eyes widened at the red pulsing aura that danced about the longer haired man. The Sentinel drew the trickle of power he needed to gain additional discernment and insight flared in his mind: Vampire. Wow, that is one handsome vampire, Kellan thought when his eye was suddenly drawn to the other man whose long leather duster glowed with all manner of mystic symbols. He locked eyes with the man who gave Kellan a subtle and distinctly dangerous shake of his head. The young Sentinel swallowed, gave a little wave to the pair, and decided that the Kobayashi Maru might just be a good name for a fishing boat after all.
“No, Christa, I’m sure you are an excellent captain, but you keep turning away from the island I’m trying to reach. Why do you keep doing that?”
The trawler captain took a last drag on her cigarette and flicked it over the side. “Look,” she said, “You’re my charter, so I’m doing my level best not to be rude, but I’ve told you that there is no island.” She stabbed the map for the third time since Kellan had boarded about an hour ago. “See, no island.”
Kellan turned away from her and looked through the glass of the bridge. He felt his eyes warm with power and saw the wide ghostly line appear above the waves, just as Micah had described during their time in the workroom. “I can see the bloody ley line, clear as day,” he mumbled.
“What’s a,” the captain paused sounding out the words, “ley line.” She craned her neck to try and see what Kellan was looking at.
Great, he thought but turned and flashed Christa his most winning smile while dismissing the details provided by Micah in favor of more mundane knowledge. “Well, since you asked. The term ley line was coined by Alfred Watkins in 1921 to refer to specific physical or spiritual alignments that occur in geography. I’m trying to find the exact spot where several of these ley lines converge or originate.”
“Uh, huh,” she said fishing another Marlboro from the half empty pack poking out of the breast pocket of her flannel shirt. “And you thought the best time to do this was at 9:00 at night?”
Kellan gave her an embarrassed smirk, “Truth be told, no. I’m sure it would have been better to do earlier, but I really wanted a DMK burger and needed beer.”
Christa nodded in appreciation, “DMK is one tasty burger.”
“I know, right,” began Kellan, “Anyway, please indulge me for just a little longer, Christa. After all, it is my three hour cruise. If I’m nuts and just want to go around in circles looking for a nonexistent island, no biggie, right?”
“I suppose,” she said sounding unconvinced.
“Tell you what,” said Kellan, “I’m going just stand up here and direct you left, right, or straight. You follow those directions and we’ll get to where I need to be. Sound good?”
The captain sighed in acquiescence, “As you said, it’s your three hour cruise and you have two left.”
Kellan spent the next hour continually giving course corrections to the trawler’s captain as he watched the ley line before him gradually grow thicker. The longer they went the more frequent his course corrections came. He had long ago stopped asking Christa why she kept turning away from the direct course he provided. Something was clearly affecting her and whatever it was made her both uncomfortable with their current course and unconscious of the actions she took to deviate from it.
“God damnit,” Christa yelled causing Kellan to turn as she cut the engines. “All my instruments are flaking out.”
Kellan walked around the side and entered the bridge to find the various screens flashing intermittently. “C’mon Christa, I think we are close. Give me five more minutes on this course and if I don’t find anything we can turn back.”
“No, if your crazy ley lines are messing up my boat, I’m done. Ever heard of the Edmund Fitzgerald? I’m not joining her.”
Kellan sighed as the Gordon Lightfoot song of the same name came unbidden and unwelcome to the fore, then slid his fingers along the edge of his belt until he found the opening. The Sentinel held the coin up for Christa to see, turning it as it caught the bridge lights.
“What’s that?” She asked.
“This,” said Kellan, “is a gold American Eagle coin, valued as of this morning’s spot price at exactly $1,204. It’s yours for five more minutes on this course.” He watched as the Captain unconsciously wet her lips and reached out for the coin.
“May I see it?”
“Of course,” Kellan replied dropping the heavy coin in her outstretched hand.
“Should I bite it?”
Kellan chuckled, “I wouldn’t recommend that, but it is real. I assure you.”
Christa looked at him, suddenly suspicious, “And why would you carry around a thousand dollar gold coin.”
Kellan shrugged, “Just something my old teacher impressed upon me. He always said to travel with gold because gold spends everywhere.”
She nodded, seeming to accept that rationale as reasonable, then slipped the coin into her jean’s pocket. “Ok, five minutes, no more.”
“Great! Full power, Christa.”
Exactly five minutes later, the engines again cut off causing Kellan to reenter the bridge in a rush.
“Why did you stop? I can see it.” He asked.
“Your five minutes are up and my instruments are even worse now than they were. We are leaving. There’s something weird about this place and I don’t like it. Do you realize that according to my GPS, when it gives a reading at all, that we aren’t in any State right now?”
“Huh?” Said Kellan.
“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” said the Captain, “But it seems we are almost exactly where Wisconsin, Illinois, and Michigan meet, but where we are right now isn’t included in any of them.”
“Ok,” Kellan allowed, “I’ll grant you that’s weird, but I can see the island that isn’t on any of your maps, so just take me there and we’ll call it a night.”
“No!” She said and started to turn the ships wheel.
“Stop stop stop,” cried Kellan pulling out another gold coin. “Get me to that island and I’ll give you this one too.”
“You don’t even know if there is a place to dock,” she said rounding on him.
“Then I’ll swim. Just get me close.”
“You are a crazy man,” she said, but didn’t turn the boat. “How many of those coins do you have left?”
“Why?” Asked Kellan, narrowing his eyes at her. “Add two more to the one in your hand and I’ll give you my dingy. Take it your island or go buy some cheese in Wisconsin, I won’t care.”
Kellan frowned, “How about I give you three more coins and you take me to the island yourself? If there’s no dock, then I’ll take the dingy.”
The captain shook her head. “No, three gold coins for the dingy now, take it or leave it.”
“I’ll take it,” he said sullenly, “But I’m not happy about it.”
Captain Christa Sorenson stuck out her hand and as the three coins clinked together she looked up and said, “I can live with that.”
Kellan cut the engine on the small dingy and lashed it to a mooring on the rotted pier. He hopped out and gently tested his footing to make sure the boards weren’t about to collapse beneath him. Despite its apparent decrepitude, the wood seemed surprisingly solid. The narrow dock extended maybe one hundred feet from a rocky shoreline that angled up to a tangled tree line. Kellan sighed. He had absolutely no idea where to look for the Seal of Solomon. The sound of movement startled him
and he instinctually reached for the power within. The entire island burst to life under the gaze of Kellan’s Sentinel enhanced vision. Nine massive ley lines angled out, three each, toward Wisconsin, Michigan, and Illinois. Beyond that, interwoven bands of energy seemed to encircle the small island almost like a massive dome designed to keep everyone out or as Kellan suddenly feared, keep something in.
“Oh, shit,” Kellan said as a massive figure emerged from the tree line. It was vaguely human shaped but too distant for him to make out any distinct features. The creature lumbered slowly but deliberately toward Kellan who hadn’t moved from his place on the dock. When it had crossed about halfway between the trees and the shore, the creature stopped and set something down. Kellan couldn’t tell if the figure had eyes, but felt something lock onto his and a chill rippled through him that even holding the fullness of his power didn’t dispel. The creature pointed to the object it had placed, then to Kellan, and then whipped its arm violently in an outward direction. The message was very clear to the young Sentinel. He was not welcome here. He would not be tolerated here. With a final sightless glare, the figure turned and vanished back into the island’s interior.
Kellan swallowed hard and snapped a protective shield around himself as he cautiously made his way to the spot where the creature had stood. There he found a small, intricately carved, wooden box that appeared to have no hinge or lock. Kellan felt his stomach do tiny flips as he grasped the bottom of the box while taking furtive glances around him. Pulling slightly the top separated to reveal a plush blue velvet interior on which rested a metal object that, to Kellan’s eyes, glowed with an inner blue light. It was round with an hexagonal star engraved on its face. Between each point of the star rested a small round gem that appeared to be diamond.
Kellan recognized the object immediately. The Seal of Solomon.
A loud keening came from within the trees and Kellan looked up in alarm as he slammed the lid back on.
