The Chardon Chronicles: Season One -- The Harvest Festival

by Kevin Kimmich

  Robbie said, “can you talk some sense into him?”

  Jack thought for a moment. “Do you know how many times people have played this game and lost?”

  Matt answered, “maybe we only know about the losers.”

  Jack nodded, “I can’t discount the possibility, but look at the cases we know well. Dee and Kelly--John Dee contacts them to help fight Spain and to empower England, but it cost him dear, and gave them a solid foothold in England… and from there to America.”

  Robbie punched Matt’s shoulder. “That’s why the Wells family got outta ye Olde England in the first place.”

  Jack nodded, “the problem is they’re not human--they operate on a scale we can’t comprehend. You won’t be able to perceive them working on you and through you.”

  Matt said firmly, “Dad set a course--fostering the practical arts as a sort of route to individual enlightenment, but I think that’s a limited path. It’s capping human possibility. Also, I believe that strategy has its own risks and dangers… like the potential for total failure and enslavement of the whole human race!”

  Robbie tried to keep calm, “Matt, you’ve found some really incredible, powerful, and useful stuff. Why not stop there?”

  Matt shrugged. “I’ve been on this path for years and I’m going to follow it to the end. Isn’t that what we do?” Robbie and David gave a faint acknowledgement, a slight nod.

  Dana made a long sarcasm tinged, “Hmmmm….” They all looked at her. “It seems to me that burning for knowledge is exactly what’ll open you up to them.”

  Matt’s face was resolute, and he remained silent. They shifted the conversation to Jack’s Troubadour research and carried on.

  Chapter Eight

  At Cincinnati, Jack and his students said their goodbyes and thank yous and went on their way. Matt stayed in town, too, ostensibly to take care of some normal life business. His wife, Telia, ran an antique store and Southern Ohio was usually a good source of cheap merchandise. He’d buy a car and work his way back along the Ohio River Valley before going back to Chardon. They all knew, though, it was an excuse and he needed a break from the rest of them.

  The crew continued on toward Nashville. Robbie felt the need to apologize to Johnny. “Sorry for airing some of the dirty laundry, there. The family, and by that, I mean all these people in our circle is full of knotty, interesting, and opinionated people. Sometimes there’s friction if not outright fighting.”

  David nodded, “Fights and disagreements happen among independent people. Also, Matty can be an imperious asshole.”

  Robbie agreed. “He’s got that instinct, that urge for leadership, no doubt. He manages to keep it in line much of the time.”

  Dana said, “probably necessary since all his peeps are anarchists… I am an anti-christ… I am an anarchist...” she sang into an imaginary microphone.

  “No need to apologize. It’s a good thing to hang it all out there.” Johnny said. “My family’s civil, but at the cost of a little chilliness. We live our lives and meet at Christmas at the parent’s place but that’s about it.”

  “Wait til they get a load of the new you!” Dana said.

  “Wow, yeah. And you.” He said.

  She smiled and posed, fluttering her eyelashes.

  Robbie said, “They might pleasantly surprise you… what you’re doing, what we’re doing is in human nature. It’s taken a lot of years and abuse to whip and flog people into this so called life.” He gestured out the window at the Kentucky suburbs of Cincinnati with its car dealerships and shopping centers flashing by.

  Johnny asked, “so when Matt said you guys were focused on the practical arts, what was that about?”

  David answered, “yeah, long story... It really started with Robbie’s great-grandpa… Maybe before that. The 19th century anyway. They saw a massive wave of nihilism and materialist philosophy rippling through the west, like this black billowing cloud that eats souls.”

  “Poetic!” Robbie said.

  “Thanks. I try.” David said. “It started to work its way into the US--dripping in from Britain.”

  “Is that related to Dee and Kelly?” Johnny asked.

  Robie answered. “Yeah.... they uncorked a bottle. Let monsters in. The story’s way more complicated than that, but good enough explanation for now. Actually that event caused a split within the Rebellion. My ancestors fled to America as a result. I’ll send you a copy of my great-great-whatever grandad’s journal. If you think this stuff we’ve been talking about so far is ‘out there’… wait til you read that!”

  David said, “yeah, this story gets weird fast. That black billowing cloud--it came here inside people, a handful of people, then took possession of others… prominent names. Railroad barons, Wall Street Bankers, oil men. The usual suspects.”

  Robbie jumped in, “they built this system to completely cut off people from nature, from family, from even making things, from making a living outside corporations. In about a century, they were able to tap the resources of entire continents for their own ends.”

  Johnny whistled, “holeeee shit.”

  David jumped back in, “Don’t forget we’ve been fighting back this whole time. We see the real game is spiritual--it’s about discovery on an individual level--and connection with others and the world. So we try to foster that.”

  Robbie made a gesture like he was holding a ball. “Yeah, and this is important, we have sympathy with the other side and what they’ve created. We’re trying to transform it from within.”

  “So what’s ‘practical’ about any of that?” Johnny asked.

  “Yeah that’s the 10,000 foot view for sure.” David said. “We--that is me and Robbie and Dana here--travel around helping people out. I do permaculture and local food. Dana’s helping women and men with family stuff and babies.” she put her hand up to acknowledge. “Robbie’s been promoting the maker culture.”

  “Really? I love that.” Johnny beamed.

  Robbie smiled. “I thought so. Yeah, we’ve worked to spread that message for a while. It’s catching on.”

  Johnny nodded, “I’m on board with this… I can see what you’re trying to do.”

  David added, “Let me play the demiurge’s advocate for a minute. Matty’s got a point, too. Our strategy doesn’t have any immediate payback. We all struggle with that.”

  Robbie held up his hands and said thoughtfully, “Johnny, before you get too deep in this life, take a point to heart. Much of the time, we’re battling on a higher plane, but... when necessary, we get down in the dirt. It’s not always this brainy.”

  Dana leaned over and pulled a Colt .45 1911 from her bag. It had been restored and elaborately customized by Robbie. The body had been colored a dark iridescent blue-black and the grips were mother of pearl inlaid with silver crescents.

  “And you thought I was just a sweet innocent hippie chick.”

  Robbie and David laughed. Johnny was shocked.

  Chapter Nine

  Matt bought an old Honda civic hatchback from a Craigslist seller for $500. The car ran well, but had a few rust spots, bald tires, and the seats were frayed and torn. He spent part of the day tooling around Cincinnati bringing the car up to snuff: new tires and minor repairs. He figured he’d be able to sell it back home for $1500. In the late afternoon as the shadows were starting to get long, he popped into a book and curiosity shop that had a black stained carved oak facade. The word ARCANUM was written in gold letters above the door.

  The owner was a big man with a round, bearded ruddy face. He had gold rimmed bifocals that were a little too small for his big head. He was wearing a flannel shirt and worn blue jeans. His shoes and socks were off and he padded around the colorful oriental rugs on the shop’s floor in bare feet. He stepped out of a back room when he heard the door open.

  The store was never very busy. The owner was the heir of a dwindling estate that had been built from steel manufacturing in the 1920s. He ran the shop to support his collecting habit, and to a
cquire oddball knowledge and curiosities.

  “Hi George, I’m Matt Wells, we spoke on the phone a couple weeks ago.”

  George’s big face lit up. It was rare for anyone to come into the shop, and it was a special occasion for another person with the same interests to come in. He shook Matt’s hand. Matt felt like he was shaking a catchers mitt. George eased himself onto a stool behind a glass counter. A few choice books were inside on stands and open so the pages were visible. The books were colorful illuminated manuscripts.

  George pointed up into the air and recalled the conversation. “Ahhhh, yes, the Randolph diary… right? Paschal Beverly Randolph.” he repeatedly recited the name out loud. The shelves were indexed by the author’s name and he padded back to the spot. He pulled a slender, leather notebook from the shelf and opened the front cover, then nodded and handed it to Matt. The bottom right of the cover had gold embossed initials PBR.

  “Still interested in a trade?” Matt asked. He put a duffle bag on the glass counter.

  George nodded. “This diary’s not much of a thing… It’s a one-of-a-kind original, but there’s only about fifteen pages of writing in there. The market for it is...” he held his fingers together to indicate it was small. “That said, I am mostly interested in trades; things that get me closer to what I am after.”

  “I have that same outlook.”

  “What did you bring me?”

  “As I said on the phone, this is a first edition of Transcendental Magic. It’s mint.” He pulled the book from the duffel. For him the value was in the information, rather than the artifact.

  George’s face lit up. “Wow. Looks like I’m doing the Alchemy today! I’ll take that trade. In fact, if you want to poke around in here and find something else you like, we can talk.”

  Matt left the copy of Levi’s work on the counter and wandered the shelves. He saw a hand sized sparrow hawk figurine that was serving as a bookend on one of the shelves. “Hey George, how about this figurine? My teenage old daughter loves figurines, especially colorful ones like this. It’s a beauty.”

  George put on a French accent, “Absolutment! That’s from Lavaur, France. Enameled brass, very unusual.”

  They shook hands and George spent a few minutes chasing down packing material for the figurine. Matt flipped through the pages of the diary. Only the first fifteen pages had writing. The last entries in the book were marked Toledo, Ohio, May 1873. Around that time, Randolph was thrown from a train platform and severely injured in what was reported as “an accident”. Occasionally, the quest for knowledge spilled from the ephemeral world of concepts and imagination into the hairy, sweaty, flesh, bone, and blood world. Things could get exciting, and often very ugly.

  George packed the figurine in a large box filled with crumpled newspaper. “I figured better safe than sorry.” Matt put the notebook on top of the box, shook hands again, then loaded the car.

  Chapter Ten

  He drove east along the scenic Route 52. The broad, deep black water of the Ohio River was in constant view out the passenger window. Several homes were built along the side of the road where the ground was flat enough to have a yard. A steep wooded hillside formed a backdrop. The two lane road snaked along the river bank for miles and connected a string of small river towns. The flotsam and jetsam of prior centuries of prosperity was stuck in those places.

  He stopped at a bed and breakfast that was a block off the Main Street in the small town of Ripley. The B&B was a big old victorian house. The furniture was out of date and the bed was too soft, but the place was tidy. Every available section of wall in the house had an image of Jesus--his face on paintings, crosses, gaudy bloody crosses, baby Jesus, Jesus getting flogged.

  He pocketed the Randolph diary, picked up a local paper and walked to a diner in town for an early dinner and some apple pie. His waitress was named Carrie. She was in her early forties and was very sweet and gracious and spoke with the twang of a Kentucky accent. It was before the dinner rush and she kept his coffee and water topped up regularly.

  “What ch’all readin’?” she asked about the notebook.

  “Oh this--I picked it up in the city today. It’s a diary of an extremely interesting guy--his name was Paschal Randolph. See the date here--1873.”

  “Oh wow, that’s interesting. I haven’t ever seen something that old. Is he famous?”

  “He was a bit of a rock star in his day, a doctor and an adventurer. He was controversial too.”

  “Oh really? ‘bout what?”

  He blushed a little. “Well, he was a practitioner of what’s known as ‘sex magic’.”

  She chuckled and her eyes went big. “Oh my! I’m no prude, but I’ve never heard of that!”

  “Yeah, well it’s not a widely known subject, probably since it’s combining two taboos in one thing…” he meshed his fingers together. “He even went on trial for immorality, but wasn’t convicted.”

  “Interesting stuff… I need to get back to it, though.” she topped his coffee up one last time, he left a big tip and headed out.

  Chapter Eleven

  He had an appointment to meet with a woman who was selling items from her parents’ estate. The house was only a few miles down the road and he had some time to kill so he went down to a park on the river to read through the diary.

  When Matt first read about Paschal Randolph, he gathered the man was versed in the lore of the Western Tradition, but was more of an actor than a true practitioner. However, over the years, as Matt trod along his own winding path, looking for knowledge of dark things in dark places, he started to recognize the man as a kindred.

  Though Matt was the eldest of the Wells children, he was the last to get initiated into the family business. The Wells way was to leave their children ignorant about the lore and the contents of the library unless they happened to stumble into it. Matt remained in the dark through his entire childhood and well into his college career.

  In those days, Matt was the black sheep of the family. All through childhood, their father encouraged wildness in the brothers and among their friends, and nudged them all to bounce out of normal American life. A parade of seekers, con men, hippies, gurus, farmers, mechanics, artists, and inventors visited the farm through his childhood and provided a dizzying bunch of unconventional life choices. However, Matt’s self discipline kept him glued to his conventional path all through high school and into college. He was preparing for a career. He attended college on a scholarship, studied Physics, and planned on studying medicine. He also prepared for family life, he was engaged to Telia in their junior year. It was that summer, when he returned home to find David and Robbie completely absorbed in studying the material in the library, and having long conversations with their father.

  Matt sat in on their conversation. His carefully constructed model of the world began to corrode. David was the first to completely abandon his former life. He was absorbed into the network of family and friends that were attached to the Wells farm and started traveling the world. Robbie hung on through graduation from high school, but then began his work in earnest. Matt returned to college for his senior year, but for the first time, he had difficulty with his classes. His sharp and strong mind was entirely occupied with trying to interpret what he’d learned, and he started trying to gather more information.

  He was drawn irresistibly to the storehouse of odd knowledge in their library. He brought Telia home at the start of winter break. For nine days and nights, he read. He was so utterly absorbed that he barely ate or drank. On the ninth night, a cold dark December night, a few days before Christmas, he passed out and fell down the library stair ladder. He severely bruised his eye and remained unconscious for hours.

  He woke up in bed, with Telia sleeping next to him. He sat up, in bed, completely disoriented.

  “Where am I… Am I dreaming… Is this real…” he held up his hand and stared at it in the bluish darkness.

  She was still groggy, “Yeah, sooooo real… Welcome back.” Whe
n he fell down the stairs, Telia was secretly relieved. She’d been left alone for almost the whole break, now she felt he’d be all hers. “You knocked yourself out.”

  He muttered, “oh, there’s so much…” He saw her body in the soft glow of light coming in under the door frame. Her long blonde hair spilled onto the bed like a pool. She was laying on her side with her head propped up on her hand. One of her legs was over the covers. She was wearing a baggy sweatshirt and shorts. Through the ringing in his head, Matt felt an irresistible impulse to take her. He flipped the covers back and scooped her into the middle of the bed.

  “Whoa, what the....” she said. He started to undress her and she helped slip the shorts off. He just pulled his pants off and slid inside her and started pumping. She dragged his T-shirt off and pulled off her sweatshirt. His weakness and the pain in his head made the lovemaking a trial for him. As minutes went by sweat beaded on his forehead and dripped on her. She writhed beneath him biting into the pillow to keep quiet. Finally he had a shuddering orgasm.

  Chapter Twelve

  Matt’s phone rang.

  “Hello?” he answered.

  “Ya. I got your message about the sale… I’m home.” a young woman answered.