Guardian of the Stone

by Amity Grays

  “How long ago was that?”

  She leaned against the door, giving it some thought. “Maybe an hour…maybe a little longer. It was right as I was leaving.”

  “Thanks, Alison.”

  “Sure,” she replied, slipping inside the building.

  Tellen instantly radioed the men in back.

  “Cramer?”

  They all waited, but all that played back was static.

  “Cramer, this is Tellen, do you read me?”

  More static.

  “Patten? Patten, are you there?”

  “Shit!” Dane pointed to the east corner. “Tellen, head around the rose garden and check on Patten. Roberts, take the west side and radio for help.”

  As both men drew their weapons and headed their separate directions, Dane ran back inside the building and straight into Father Tom and Federic.

  “She’s not in—” Federic stopped as he got a good look at Dane’s face. “What’s happened?”

  “Not sure yet. Follow me.”

  They landed in the backyard just as Tellen and Roberts arrived.

  “Cramer’s alive,” Roberts said, “but he’s down. He was hit pretty hard from behind. I’ve already called for help.”

  “I can’t find Patten,” Tellen said, still eyeing carefully their surroundings.

  Federic instantly moved toward the cottage, terror and fury riding double across his face.

  “Federic, wait,” Dane called, he and the others following directly on the older man’s heels.

  But there was no stopping him. The back door of the cottage flew open, and Federic stormed inside completely unarmed.

  Dane followed Federic’s path straight into the unknown, but all they found was an empty cottage.

  Federic turned to him as they stepped from the kitchen steps onto the lawn. “How could I have let this happen? Why did I take my eyes off her?”

  “This isn’t your fault,” Dane said, even as he cursed himself for the very same thing.

  “Patten,” Roberts hollered from behind them as the sound of steps over gravel sounded from the side of the cottage.

  Patten came wobbling out from behind the house, rubbing his head. His glance fell instantly to Dane. “Dane, I’m sorry,” he said, his manner displaying both pain and regret. “They hit me from behind. I never even heard them coming. When I came to, there was commotion coming from the front of the cottage. I ran that way, but got there just in time to see them drive off.”

  “Did you get a license?”

  Patten shook his head. “No. I took a hard hit to the head. My vision was a bit blurred. I know they were California plates and it was a black Suburban like ours.”

  “How many?”

  “There were at least three.”

  “Anything about them that sticks out?”

  “No,” Patten said, roughly rubbing his hands up and down over his face. “I’d better call Martin and let him know what’s happened. I’ll see if he can’t get us some help.” Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out his cell and dialed as he made his way back toward the parish.

  Turning to Tellen, Dane instructed him to call Matthews. He then turned back around. Federic and the priest were both heading back to the cottage. “Federic?”

  The knight grabbed a ladder from the side of the small house and carried it to the back steps of the cottage. Father Tom stood at the base of the steps as Federic moved up and pulled a decorative decal from the overhang.

  Sighing a breath of relief, Dane asked, “Tell me, that’s what I think it is?”

  Father Tom nodded. “There are a total of six hidden all around the yard and inside the cottage. We planted them here the first day we realized Edeline could be taken.”

  Cameras.

  Brilliant.

  “I think I love you two,” Dane said, turning back toward the parish, intent on having a word with Martin as soon as Patten was through. But something about the look on Patten’s face stopped him dead in his tracks. He was watching the priest and Federic not with a look of relief, but rather a look of apprehension.

  “We have a problem.” From the distance his words were silent, but Dane had run reconnaissance long enough to easily read words so simple. The soldier turned away from Dane’s view as he continued his conversation with his employer. His head was bent as his free hand massaged his neck. Beneath his hand, his flesh was painted.

  A violent chill ran the course of Dane’s spine.

  The soldier’s hand dropped to his side, leaving exposed the cobra’s head tattooed into his flesh—angry, defensive, its body wrapped tight around the blade of a sword as its mouth opened wide to reveal its poisonous fangs.

  Chapter Nineteen

  AT SOME POINT SHE REALIZED she was dreaming, but she didn’t want to wake. Perhaps it was the soft whisper which played over and over in her head, soothing her, comforting her, providing her with a false sense of security. It was as real as the chants which filled the room, ringing like a dark melody—rhythmic, deep and haunting.

  At first she thought the chants had come from her dream, but she realized now it was the other way around. They had slithered into her subconscious, pulling her into a forest where the trees where unlike any she’d ever seen. Spindly and old, their branches swayed in the wind, their round, flat leaves quivering as though chilled. They seemed to watch her, not hindering her way or holding her back, but rather pointing their thin, twisted limbs, directing her forward as the eerie chants continued to push at her heels.

  As she neared the forest’s end, the sun’s warmth hitched a ride on the breeze and blew, as its rays did fall, in between the thinning trees and onto the foliage covered floor. The chants seemed to pause, holding back as she ventured out of the forest and down toward the sun-kissed cliffs. Turning to look behind her, she could see no one.

  “Edeline.” The whispers began, encouraging her to move on.

  Then suddenly she was standing at the cliff’s edge, looking out into a sea both welcoming and oddly familiar.

  “Come with me,” the voice encouraged from the sea.

  The wind picked up.

  The chants began again, this time closer, more persistent.

  “Come with me.” Suddenly there was a woman. She looked much like her but the woman’s face was framed with long brown hair and there was a whitish glow about her.

  Is this an angel?

  The ground shook as the chants landed at her back. She froze with terror.

  “Edeline.” The woman touched her face, startling her out of her dream and landing her back in an unfamiliar bed.

  She opened her eyes and the same woman sat at the edge of the bed. Edeline blinked, and the image was gone.

  “Don’t leave me,” she whispered.

  Exhausted, terrified and hating the dark, she didn’t care if the woman was a ghost or a figment of her imagination. She didn’t want to be alone. But alone she was. The woman, whoever…whatever she was, had vanished.

  But the chants remained. Ringing in an unfamiliar tongue, they chilled her through and through, making her feel as though she’d slipped through the hands of the mortal world into a deep, blackened chasm of an ungodly empire?

  Maybe she had.

  Bound and gagged, she’d originally gained consciousness in the backseat of a car. Carefully she’d peeked through her heavy lids to see two men sitting quietly in the front seat. They’d taken her to a breathtaking mansion sitting high in the hills overlooking the bay. Then they’d lifted her from the cool leather seat of a Mercedes and carried her inside the mansion only to throw her into a dark room and leave her there, her mouth covered and her hands still tied behind her back. It was a simple room with a bed and a mattress which had immediately lulled her to sleep, as it would lull her again now if she let it.

  Is that what they wanted, to have her sleep? A silent prisoner until…what exactly? She started to shake as a sob formed low in her throat threatening to choke her. She had to get out.

  Swinging her legs to
the floor beneath, she tried to remember the layout of the room. She’d only seen it lit for a few short seconds as the light from the hall had rolled in as they brought her inside. Small, mostly unfurnished, nothing to cut the tape holding her bound. What could she use when all she had was a mattress, box spring and frame?

  Of course, her frame at home had sharp edges.

  Moving to the floor and scooting back against the bed, she found the corners of the frame not only sharp, but also easily accessible. Scraping her bindings back and forth against the sharp edge, it did nothing at first, but when she tried raising her wrists up under the angle, the tape punctured and began to tear. In a second her hands were free. Ripping off the tape covering her mouth, she nearly yelped from the pain.

  Her head felt heavy, her limbs weak. Sleep had never sounded more inviting, but she couldn’t shake the feeling the woman in her dream had been there to save her, waking her and encouraging her to move when every other part of her screamed for her to surrender.

  And then there were the chants. They continued to slide into the room from underneath the door—black, ambient murmurings that clawed at her sanity. They were close, but it didn’t sound as though they were directly outside it. Turning onto her knees, she made it to her feet, the throbbing in her head never subsiding.

  She searched the room for windows, but if they were there, they were blocked. Her only way out was through the door, which she feared would be guarded. Pressing her ear against its solid surface, she listened for sound, but there was nothing outside of the heathens’ eerie mantra. Carefully she placed her hand on the knob and turned, sighing with disappointment as it didn’t move at all.

  Of course, it was locked. She should have known.

  She felt the knob. It was exactly like the ones in the church. That, she could handle. Numerous times little girls and boys had left the restrooms and pulled the still locked doors shut behind them. Edeline had become a bit of a pro over the years at picking locks. This one would be simple…if she had a hanger. There wasn’t much to the room, but she could remember a closet. Making her way across the dark space, she prayed it wasn’t empty.

  She reached inside and found a full wardrobe, or more accurately—a full closet of robes. Grabbing a metal hanger, she allowed the garment it held to fall to the floor. Untwisting its neck, she made her way back to the door.

  The metal end fit snug but still managed to push through. Twisting and turning the rod, she finally felt it slide into the narrow whole which held the needed lever. Lifting the rod, she heard the lock turn.

  Dane spotted the slight rise in the leaves near the aging Oak. If he was right, the tripwire should be right around…here. Taking the stick he’d grabbed a few feet down the hill, he carefully scooted around the surface debris. There it was, thin and well hidden.

  He had to hand it to Martin. He knew his craft.

  Luckily for Dane, he knew it even better. Kneeling down, he carefully clipped the tight wire.

  Now he understood why his superiors had found it so hard to believe Graham was involved. He never would have suspected Martin. If he hadn’t asked for Patten’s phone, spoken to Martin himself and verified it was he the soldier was warning, he probably still wouldn’t believe it, though it all made sense now.

  Martin was in the perfect position to lead such a rebellion. He had the knowledge, the money and everyone’s trust. No wonder the man had been so fast to cast doubt and yet so eager to supply protection.

  If Dane managed to get his hands on him, he’d rip him apart.

  Taking the end of the now broken line, he lifted it carefully and followed its path back to a plank covered with sharp blades. Not exactly the typical protection one would expect from a modern-day security expert. But then it wasn’t the common thief Martin wished to deter. That much was made obvious by the intricate and assorted devises covering the hillside leading to the mansion.

  Today’s security was all about system sensitivity, civility and law enforcement—nothing scary enough to put off one trained in the jungles of actual warfare, where humanity took backseat to “survive and conquer.”

  Dane had to hand the man one thing, he knew them all—security measures as well as tactics both old and new. The entire property was monitored by the most advanced closed-circuit video system available to man—well, the wealthy man anyway. Of course, no alarms rang to any police station or neighborhood watch. No, the only rapid response unit Martin would have alerted would be his own. And their response measures would be no more civilized than the guerilla-style booby-traps planted throughout the steep slope.

  Not for the first time, Dane wondered just who his enemies were and more importantly, who were his friends? General Matthews had brought Martin into the fold. Did he know who the man really was? Dane’s stomach turned. He could only hope the general was as blind as he had been, but he couldn’t be certain. So from that point forward, he’d have to do it alone. There could be no asking for help.

  Black muck covered his hands and face as he carefully moved through the cover of brush, dodging one trap after another. “Damn, the man’s paranoid,” muttered Dane as he stopped at the edge of the brush and stared at the tall, high-voltage fence, watched over at every angle by well-armed guards.

  Dane was good, but no one was that good.

  Edeline hurried down the hall, moving quietly along on the tips of her toes.

  Where was the exit anyway? It felt as though she’d already been from one end of the massive mansion to the other, and still she’d found no way out. Her luck wouldn’t hold much longer. If she didn’t get out of there soon, she was bound to get caught. She should have paid better attention when they were bringing her in, but she’d simply been too groggy and more than a little afraid.

  And where was everyone? The chanting, which had been her only source of direction telling her where not to go, had faded several turns back. Is that where they all were? Were they all together? Somehow she doubted it. Though she had no desire to see any of them, knowing where they were and avoiding them would make her a lot more comfortable than the ghostlike silence which now echoed through the dark, foreboding hall.

  Deep resonant chimes danced off the walls where she stood. Following their rings down the next turn, she reached the end of the west hall just outside the foyer.

  The door was only a few steps away.

  She sighed with frustration as she spotted a well-dressed butler stepping forward from a side room to answer it.

  Searching the hall for a place to hide, not one option seemed better than the other. She chose the closest door. Praying safety lay behind, she carefully snuck inside.

  The room, a study, stood bare of all life. Odd—she couldn’t explain it, but it didn’t feel empty once inside. Something about it made her feel watched…edgy.

  It wasn’t that anything seemed unusual. Everything seemed in place. It was clean, elegantly furnished and simple in design. The walls of shelves were full of richly covered hardbacks, dusted and well preserved. The paintings on the walls were pleasing and…Stepping closer to the picture hanging on the wall to her right, she realized the feeling was stemming from there.

  A high-rising cliff overlooked the sea. Peaceful and calm, it should have been soothing, but instead it haunted her, and not just because it was the cliff from her dream. She touched its frame, longing to touch the canvas, to walk into the scene and feel the breeze from the sea against her skin. Her hand hovered in front of the image, desperately wanting to touch it, but for some reason afraid.

  “Edeline.”

  She jumped back when she heard it—the same voice from her dream. But the voice hadn’t come from a dream. It had come from the painting.

  Certainly she’d imagined it. It had to be the residual effect of whatever drug they had used on her.

  The feeling of being watched intensified and started to swarm, coming at her from all angles of the room. She whirled around, but the room was still bare—bare but not silent. At first she thought it the
shelves which rumbled, but she soon realized it was the books which shook and drummed against the wood. From the midst of the thunder, a book plummeted to the floor, bouncing onto its back and opening its cover.

  Like the painting it called, not with words so much as a fascination. Stepping across the room, she bent down to her knees.

  Odd words, undecipherable, jumped from the page, holding her prisoner with an uncomfortable allure. Suddenly the chants she had heard earlier, started again, rolling down the halls from some unseen chamber and filling the room with their dark, cadenced beat.

  “Edeline.”

  She turned back toward the painting and once again it seemed to call. It was easy to imagine herself there—the sea calm, the breeze refreshing. She instinctive raised her face as though lifting it to the wind—and a wind did reply. From the canvas it blew picking up the ocean scent and carrying it to the floor where she knelt. Somewhere in the back of her mind she knew it was impossible, but it seemed so real.

  The pages of the book began to turn—only a few until they stopped, revealing a hole cut out of the book’s center. And in it was a necklace—a long chain with a simple stone. The wind picked up and danced around her, taking her hair and boldly slapping it back against her face.

  She reached inside the hole and lifted the chain. The stone dangled in the air, whipping wildly with the wind.

  Could this be the stone, the same one from the lab? She moved the chain over her head and allowed the stone to drop.

  No. This was another.

  It fell against the flesh of her chest and instantly her body warmed as a bright illuminating glow transformed the stone into a breathtaking gem.

  Staring at it in awe, she had a hard time believing her own eyes.

  What? How? Why?

  It made no sense at all.

  The marvelous light spread from the small brown stone and shot across the room, illuminating every corner and nock with an indescribable radiance.

  The voices came next, at first soft and few, then loud and many. The chants outside the room were completely buried beneath the voices of millions which now rang in her head. Everything became muted as the sounds became one and were picked up and carried into the room’s whipping wind—swirling and flying and moving away.