by Daniel Diehl
“Loadstone? What is this loadstone?”
“Naturally magnetized rock, Father.”
“But why would they be magnetic?”
“I can’t say for sure, but I’ll bet the loadstone neutralizes the crystals.” When four confused faces stared at him in silence, Jason tried again. “I think the Ten Commandments keep the thing from calling up the serpent demons. I think that’s why Moses put them in here in the first place. It kept the world safe by shutting the thing down.”
A ray of understanding and revelation glimmered in Beverley’s eyes. “And the thick layer of gold plating on the Ark is completely nonconductive, so it holds the power of both the Commandments and the crystals safely inside the Ark.”
“And I think we can assume”, interjected Fr Marcos, “that Solomon was aware of all these things. He removed the Commandments when he wanted to conjure the demons and then, to protect the future from unscrupulous men, he separated the disk from the case.”
“That’s the problem, isn’t it? I hate to do this, but we have to make sure nobody can ever use this thing to call up the demons again.”
With one quick, hard, backward swipe of a heavily gloved hand, Jason smashed through dozens of the crystals protruding from the back wall of the Ark. As Fr Marcos stared in stunned silence, he struck twice more before withdrawing his hand.
“Sorry about that, Father. I think it had to be done.”
The old priest hung his head, shaking it sadly and then nodded in agreement. “Sometimes we must make hard decisions to protect mankind from itself. As difficult as it is to say, you did the right thing, Mr Carpenter.”
“So what’s that other thing in there?” Desperate to be a part of the historic moment, Ras was leaning over Jason’s shoulder, pointing to an odd, spindly crumpled object laying at one end of the Ark.
The thing looked like nothing more than a woven wire frame with precious and semiprecious gemstones threaded onto the wires at irregular intervals. Here and there wispy remnants of long deteriorated fabric clung to the ruined framework. Staring at it for a long moment, Jason finally nodded with realization.
“I think we’re looking at the apron worn by the ancient Hebrew High Priests when they made really important decisions. They called it the Breastplate of Judgment and, unless I’m mistaken…”
Jason carefully reached into the Ark with one gloved hand, lifting the tangle of wires and jewels, staring down among the maze of ruined crystals. Shifting the mass of twisted wires and jewels one way and then the other, eventually he found what he was looking for. Laying amidst the pile of broken crystal were two small, irregularly shaped, polished stones.
Unlike the gems on the Breastplate, these were not diamonds or emeralds or rubies, they were simple stones, not unlike those which could be found along the banks of streams and rivers all over the world. Jason picked them up and rolled them around in his hand. One was slightly more square and the other a bit more round, and one was greenish while the other one was brownish. At no point did either of them have a dimension greater than one inch. Odd as it seemed, unbelievable as it might be, a simple process of elimination demanded the conclusion that these must be the Urim and Thummim, the diviners of good and evil. And one of them was the key that would lock the door to the dragon’s realm for all time. Holding the stones in the palm of his open hand, he held them out toward the old priest.
“Father, may I have these?”
“That is what you came all of this way for? What you and the lady risked your lives for? For these two simple stones you were willing to give away the Gnostic book and the disk which completes the Ark of the Covenant? Not to mention the fact that you have proven that the Ten Commandments still survive.”
“I know it sounds strange, but this really is all I want.”
The old guardian stared hard at Jason, his deep, dark eyes trying to see what it was that motivated this young man.
“They must be very important to you, Mr Carpenter.”
“To me, to a friend of mine and, I honestly believe, to the future of the whole world.”
“I have no idea why, but a line from an ancient text which is said to have been discovered by Sarah, the wife of the Prophet Abraham, comes to mind. It says ‘Thus thou shalt possess the glory of the whole world; and all darkness shall flee from you’.”
“Well, I don’t know about the glory part, but with any luck these stones will make the darkness flee.”
“Then take them with the blessing of the elders of the Coptic Church, and may they bring you whatever good fortune it is that you seek. Now that the great disk has been reunited with the Ark, possibly the Schechinah will return to the Mercy Seat and make God’s will known to us. You have done a great service to all of God’s children; is there nothing more that we can do for you?”
Jason pondered for a moment, sliding the lid of the Ark closed before glancing at Beverley and Ras and then looking back at the old priest.
“Actually, Father, there are two things.”
“Name them. If it is within my power to grant them, you shall have them.”
Jason pointed to Ras. “Father, without my friend Ras, here, I would never have found my way to you. Ras is homeless and I was wondering if you could offer him a job and a decent place to live.” Ras started to protest, but Jason held up a hand. “Ras can speak English, French and five Ethiopian dialects.”
Fr Marcos looked at Ras, blinked and nodded his head sagely.
“We always have a place for willing young lay personnel. The pay is modest but I can promise him a clean bed and plenty of good food for as long as he wishes to remain in the service of the church.”
“Is that ok with you Ras?”
“Wow. I don’t know what to say. Thanks boss. Thank you, Father.”
Fr Marcos smiled and nodded at the boy and then turned back to Jason.
“And the other thing?”
“There are some very bad people trying to kill me. I know they’re watching the airports and I need you to help me and my friend Beverley get out of Ethiopia.” After pausing for a beat, he added “And the sooner we leave the better.”
The old priest rocked back on his heels, remaining deep in thought for several minutes before opening his eyes and smiling. “One of our wealthier local benefactors has several large lorries that travel between Axum and Eritrea and Djibouti on a weekly basis. Eritrea is a small country directly north of here on the shore of the Red Sea and it abuts Djibouti. From there you can take a boat into Yemen and from there catch a flight back to your home in England. Would that suffice?”
“That would be wonderful. We are so, so grateful to you.”
“And I and the Coptic Church are grateful to you. So both of us come away happy; and so should all of life be.”
Chapter Seventeen
Merlin turned up the collar on the ratty bearskin coat to protect his neck from the drizzling rain that had been dogging his steps every minute of the three hours since he walked away from Heathrow Airport. He had no way of knowing the actual distance between the airport and the Hellfire caves but he knew from Beverley’s A to Z map book that they lay west and slightly north of his current position. Now he traveled by the same method he had used for more than seven decades of life in the fifth century before being dragged into this strange, twenty-first century world where every move a person made was plotted and planned and speeded-up by machines and electronic devices; he followed the line of the setting sun westward and put one foot in front of the other.
Shortly after leaving the constant swirl of traffic that perpetually kept the lanes and roadways around Heathrow congested, he stepped off the berm of the road and into a small copse of trees where he found a fallen limb that was roughly straight, as long as he was tall, and slightly more than an inch in diameter. It made a perfect walking staff. Now, staff in hand and three hours away from the din of Heathrow, Merlin found himself marching along the edge of the M40 motorway. A few hundred yards beyond a sign proclaiming that the n
ext turn-off would take him to places called Amersham and Slough, he walked into a small paved area where a man was selling food from a window cut into the side of a small trailer. The sweet, greasy smell of cooking sausages and beef made his stomach grumble menacingly, and since he knew there was no way he could possibly walk all the way to West Wycombe today, he decided food was more of a necessity than a luxury.
Glancing at the sky he realized the rain had nearly stopped and the clouds were slowly dissipating. Lowering the collar of his coat and shaking the rain from his hair and beard, he strode toward the food stand, nodded and smiled at the man in the window and his single customer before turning his attention to the menu board. After placing his order he surreptitiously glanced over the shoulder of the other customer, a fat, bald man eating a sausage sandwich. A few paces away stood a dark green truck with the words ‘Alcott & Sons Produce, High Wycombe, Bucks’ and a telephone number and website address painted on the side in brilliant red and yellow letters.
“Excuse me” Merlin said, smiling broadly at the man standing next to him, “but would you happen to be going to High Wycombe?”
“Aye. What of it?”
“I was wondering if you would be so kind as to give me a ride. I’ll be happy to pay you.”
The man’s mouth fell open and he lowered the sausage sandwich from his flaccid lips as he stared incredulously at the soaking wet, bedraggled figure in front of him. Finally, after nearly half a minute of stunned silence, the man threw back his head and roared with laughter.
“You’ve got to be joking. Have you looked at yourself, you mad old geezer?”
“I’m sorry. I know I must be a terrible mess, but I’ve been walking in the rain for hours and I would be very grateful for a ride to the edge of High Wycombe. I don’t mind riding in the back of your vehicle.” Reaching into his pouch Merlin extracted a fifty pound note and held it aloft. “I would appreciate a ride this much.”
“G’wan. Get away with ya. I don’t want the likes of you mucking up the back of my lorry.” The man made shooing motions with the stub of his sausage sandwich. “G’wan. Now piss off.”
Merlin exchanged the bank note for a smaller one and handed it to the man in the window in exchange for a cup of coffee and a hot sandwich, rich with the smell of cooked ground beef and sautéed onions. After dropping the change into his pouch he picked his food off of the counter, smiled and nodded at the cook, even offering a nod to the fat truck driver who was back at the window ordering more food.
Walking back the way he had come, after a few steps Merlin veered to his right and went around behind the back of the food wagon. Leaning against the metal wall of the trailer he took a few bites of his sandwich while studying the back of the green produce van. It was clearly parked far enough off the road that its rear doors could not be seen from the front of the little roadside restaurant. It took a moment for Merlin to figure out how the odd arrangement of handles and rods worked to open the double doors, but when he figured it out he approached the rear of the lorry, set his sandwich and coffee on the step-bumper and placed his index fingers in his ears. Muttering and chanting, he cast a simple spell of partial deafness over the two men who stood only feet away; they could still hear each other and the traffic whizzing past, but they would be unable to hear the clatter and squeak of the truck doors being opened and closed.
Surveying the inside of the vehicle, Merlin found boxes of fresh vegetables piled one on top of another. Carrots and cucumbers, onions and squash, lettuce and tomatoes filled the air with the earthy scent of their goodness. On the sides of the boxes were descriptions of the contents written in languages that Merlin could not identify. Smiling his approval, the old wizard tossed his walking staff into the truck, set his food far enough beyond the threshold that it would be safe from the closing door and clambered in after it. After conjuring a glowing orb of light he pulled the door shut and willed the latch mechanism to close. Once settled comfortably on two cases of Spanish onions he retrieved his food and selected a gloriously red tomato and a golden pear to add to his dinner menu before leaning back and sighing contentedly. Almost as an afterthought he scribed small, airborne circles with one finger, removing the spell of silence.
Two hours later the rear doors of the truck swung open. The fat driver and another man surveyed the pile of boxes, sighed, climbed into the cargo area and started hefting boxes into the small warehouse. What they did not see was the old man with the long white beard who smiled, nodded, stepped between them and strolled out through the warehouse door and into the late evening darkness. Stopping at a service station long enough to wash his hands and face, comb his hair with his fingers and brush out the matted spots on his fur coat, Merlin ambled down the street toward a brightly lit pub sporting a sign advertising Whitbread ales and bed and breakfast service. Tomorrow would be soon enough to walk the few remaining miles from High Wycombe to West Wycombe and the caves where he would finally confront Morgana le Fay.
He didn’t know how long he might have to wait for her to appear, but he had no doubt that sooner or later, one way or another, she would return to the caves; and when she did, he would be there waiting for her.
The following morning, refreshed, bathed and fed, Merlin decided it was safest to take the small, back roads connecting High Wycombe to West Wycombe and the cave which lay three miles beyond. Walking along the narrow, rutted lanes flanked by tall, shaggy hedgerows which separated the dirt track from a checkerboard of neat fields sporting their spring crops of wheat, barley and fluffy white sheep, Merlin felt for the first time as though he had very nearly returned to his own world where life was unhurried and the seasons, rather than a clock, determined the changing phases of life’s endless cycle.
To ensure his approach to the Hellfire caves went unobserved, only a few hundred yards beyond the edge of High Wycombe, along a sheltered stretch of road where he was completely alone, Merlin cast the small spell that would make it impossible for others to see him. Just for the fun of it he allowed himself to remain visible to the uncomplicated minds of animals. As he passed a field where a farmer was shooing a dozen sleepy cows from their barn into the fresh growth of spring grass, two or three of the black-and-white beasts looked up at him with huge, blank eyes, following his passage along the road. When the farmer glanced toward the lane to see what had attracted his herd’s attention, he saw nothing except an empty road where the only motion was a few branches stirring in the morning breeze.
An hour later, as Merlin moved purposefully down the newly cleared track leading to the cave, he veered toward the edge of the road, taking care to reconnoiter any possible activity both ahead of, and behind, his position. The road leading to the staging point of Morgana’s planned assault on civilization was no place to take foolish chances even for those who are invisible. No cars or trucks passed him and the first sign of life he saw were two men in grey uniforms stationed inside the encircling mock-ruins that flanked the entry to the cave. While one of the men relaxed inside a hulking range rover, the other was standing outside, one arm flung carelessly on the roof of the car as he leaned forward to chat amiably with his companion. At his side the butt of a Glock pistol peeked out of a black leather holster. Pausing long enough to make an initial assessment of the men, Merlin moved on to the far side of the turn-around area and stepped behind a clump of wild rhododendron where he removed his heavy coat and settled to the ground, resting his back comfortably against the base of an ancient oak.
Hour after hour he patiently watched the men, learning the pattern of their day’s activity and coming up with the best poly to get them out of the way. He needed time to investigate Morgana’s set-up and locate the dragon gate, which he was now certain lay somewhere in the depths of the cave. Waiting for Morgana was the easy part – if he sat here by the old oak long enough and she would undoubtedly show up – but it was essential that he have time to examine the cave at his leisure, time to locate the dragon gate in case Jason and Beverley were successful in their se
arch for the Urim and Thummim and – possibly most importantly - time to sort out the best way and place to set a trap for Morgana. The idea of simply putting the men to sleep had serious drawbacks. While it would be easy enough to incapacitate them temporarily with a sleeping spell, he wanted more long-term access to the caves than that would safely provide. Undoubtedly they were required to report to their superiors regularly and if they failed to do so it would certainly arouse suspicion. He had been listening intermittently to their idle conversation since shortly after his arrival with nothing to show for it, but finally, as the sun crept below the hill across from him, his patience paid off.
“I sure could do with a few pints about now. How ‘bout you, Phil? You fancy a run into the village?”
“Don’t be daft. We’re on watch for more’n thirty-six more hours afore we get relieved. You can take first sleep in the back and then I’ll wake you at midnight.”
“I know. I know. But bein’ out here all day is thirsty work and a few pints would go down a treat.”
And there it was. A few minor adjustments to the thought processes of the man named Phil and Merlin should be able to manage at least twenty-four, and possibly as much as thirty, precious hours alone in the caves.
“I do have a mite of a thirst as you come to mention it.”
The other man broke into a broad smile and slapped his hand on the roof of the Range Rover. “Good lad, Phil. Good lad.”
“Oy. But we ain’t gonna’ stay long. Just a quick pint and its back to work, you understand?”
As the other man dashed around the front of the car and jumped into the passenger’s seat, he slapped his companion on the shoulder and nodded. “Just one pint…maybe two.”
“But no more.”
“No more.”
As the Range Rover drove down the lane toward the main road and West Wycombe, it carried three occupants; the two guards and the consciousness of Merlin which remained hidden inside Phil’s head. If he was going to execute his plan successfully he had to follow them to whichever pub they decided to visit. The rest he would deal with in due course.
