by W. Peever
On arriving, in anticipation of Tillie's exciting revelation, Charlie and Mick bounded out of the car only for mundane reality to kick in: Ellen's request that they make a run downtown to the local market to get some steaks for the grill. The Fourth of July barbeque came first. Smacking Mick's hat off, Charlie shouted, "Race you to the bottom of the hill." Both took off down the winding gravel road to the pond.
The Marblehead market had metamorphosed over the past year, mostly swallowed up by a modern supermarket. After supplying themselves, Charlie and Mick headed back to the house. When they did finally get back the girls were setting the picnic table. Tillie ran over.
"I had no idea there were so many salads—bean, tossed, egg, potato, pasta, Asian…you Americans are very creative."
Charlie shrugged. "Meat's cooking, Mom!" Ellen was in the kitchen mixing her famous New Englander punch, equal parts cranberry juice, orange juice, pineapple juice and ginger ale with sliced limes and lemons floating on top.
"Thank you, Charlie!" she called back. All that was left was for Ellen to switch on the purple bug zapper, casting an eerie glow over the table as twilight set in. Over the barbecue dinner Tillie went on and on about her trip… Rome so ancient…Paris so stylish and vibrant. The vivid descriptions were lost on Charlie and Mick, straining with all their might to wait out this girl-talk.
After what seemed like an eternity dinner ended, parents busy washing up and gossiping. The boys wasted no time getting to the fire pit on the edge of the woods. They piled the firewood just enough to get a blaze going, roast marshmallows, and finally pump Tillie about her great secret. It turned out their guard, Marley, had given good advice in keeping their objects and weapons on them. Mick lowered his heavy staff from his shoulders and sent a green bolt of energy into the dry wood. The fire caught instantly, lighting a warm glow of satisfaction on each boy's face.
"Hey! It's obvious you two aren't worried about keeping secrets," complained Tillie in shock.
"Oh, come on! We're in the middle of nowhere. You can't even see the neighbor's house through this forest."
"The same forest we were attacked in last spring, Mick," said Bailey, backing Tillie up. "Have you forgotten already?"
"I haven't forgotten, but…"
"But nothing! It's reckless. You're going to get us all caught, or killed."
"Hey!" Charlie butted in to break the tension of the moment. "Grab a stick and roast a marshmallow. Maybe a smores will chill you both out. What's done is done—Mick promises to be more careful…now, I want to hear what Tillie has been keeping from us all day." Charlie knew Bailey couldn't resist the delicate crunch of gram-cracker with marshmallow and a chunk of a Hershey bar, so he placed them all strategically in front of her. The crackling fire cast weird, flickering shadows on their faces as they all hogged in and settled down to hear Tillie.
"Well," she began, "as I said before, the end of our European trip was the real stunner. It was when we made a pilgrimage to my father's hometown in Scotland. On our way back from Oslo my mother suggested we make a trip to Roslyn Chapel where my father and mother were married in their last year at Thornfield."
"Your parents got married during the last year of high school?" Bailey's mouth had fallen open.
"No, silly. You're forgetting Thornfield has the practical year added after senior year, for experience in our chosen field. Soon after that they did their internship in London and settled there."
Charlie was fascinated. A part of him thought maybe Tillie was telling him this story as a kind of hint. "Nice story, but I can't figure out what this has to do with…"
"Show some patience, Charlie. I'm getting to it. We arrived at a beautiful old chapel: majestic gardens, carved walls and buttresses, like in a fairy tale book. My parents went for a romantic walk in the main garden, and I explored on my own. In one dark corner I pushed on a heavy, ancient door, hinges groaning…this huge wooden slab didn't want to share the secrets inside."
Her three friends leaned in closer.
"When I finally shoved my way inside, my eyes couldn't settle anywhere, everything was so beautiful, from the stained glass to delicately carved pillars. The whole interior just took my breath away. I had to sit down, so I found this old deacon's bench—you know, one of the long wooden benches that can hold ten people. And that's when everything happened. Along the middle of the bench was a brass plaque that said it had been owned by some explorer…I ran my hand over the name and it gave me an intense vision—my first ever—and I sensed it was of this explorer on the plaque."
Tillie had inherited her mother's Seer ability, allowing her to have visions of the past, present and future. Some Seers took years of patient training to become powerful enough to have one. She had also been born with a very rare ability to become completely invisible, something only her friends and the school's werecat were aware of.
"Some explorer? Could you be a little more specific?" asked an exasperated Mick.
"Oh, I'm terrible with names." The other three just looked at each other. "Oh, I'm sure I wrote it down," Tillie murmured. "I mean, the Oracle had told me that I was a Seer, but I had never used the ability before. It was really odd," Tillie went on as she fumbled in her ever-present purse. "It wasn't like I wanted to have a vision. The vision just found me, and suddenly I was in the middle of a conversation between this knight and," Tillie paused for a moment as her fingers connected with a crumpled cornershred of paper, "Henry—Henry Saint Clair?"
"Wait!" shouted Mick, as he, Charlie and Bailey took a collective breath. Somehow, despite the distance of thousands of miles between them, Tillie had learned about the same man Avery had spoken about earlier that day.
"Henry Saint Clair? Are you sure that's the name?" Charlie asked, shocked.
"Well, close enough." Tillie said, squinting closely at the scrap of paper again.
"He was a relative of a guy my mom is dating." said Charlie, disbelieving, trying to take it all in. He couldn't help grabbing the fragment from Tillie to make sure.
"Oh…" replied Tillie, nonplussed. And now annoyed at Charlie's abruptness, "Then you should really pay more attention, maybe try to listen rather than interrupt me every few minutes." She glared back at Charlie.
"Well, go on!" Bailey urged rudely.
"As I was saying…" Tillie took a deep breath to ensure she kept her temper. "The knight was wearing a kind of white sheet with a huge red cross over his silver armor. Henry sat down on the bench, and it dawned on me that this must have been the object that triggered the vision."
"Obviously." Mick offered.
Tillie was determined to ignore them. "Henry seemed very sad, his head sinking down till his chin touched his chest. Then he spoke: 'I know we must move the Babel Stones to the New World, but does it have to be so soon? My son has just taken his first breath in this world.'"
"That must have been…" was as far as Mick got thinking out loud before Tillie cut him off.
"The knight sighed and put his metal studded, gloved hand…"
"Gauntlet." said Charlie, still deep in thought.
"…on Henry's shoulder. 'I know the past few years have been hard on your family,' he said. 'When your grandfather fought alongside us and Robert de Bruce at Bannockburn he became one of us, a Templar Knight'."
Mick jumped up, excited. "Wow! That's the battle Robert the Bruce fought to avenge Braveheart! Dude, that's like my favorite movie of all time! I had no idea the Knights Templar fought with them. I mean, it makes sense —it's probably why they won. No one had ever won against England's Northern Army, and these Scots did!"
"Wow! That's spooky," added Tillie, unable to resist some dramatic irony. "Not a coincidence then?"
Charlie was still in a fog. "So, how does this all tie in with Henry Saint Clair?"
"His grandfather—that the knight was talking about —must have been William de Sancta Claro, which means Tillie's vision took place somewhere around 1370!" Mick was jumping up and down with excitement, only halting when he saw his
friends' faces. Instead of the jubilation he expected they were looking at him as if he were a mad man.
"Mick!" Bailey, unaccustomed as she was, wanted to choose her words carefully. "How do you know all this? I mean, you're not exactly the best student."
"I might not be…"
"No might about it." Tillie added under her breath.
"…but I can recall every fact and quote from every cool movie made since, like, 1988! Before then they don't really count anyway…I mean, they're in that weird faded color! Boring!" Mick's friends looked confused. "Seriously, you need to watch more television. In Mel Gibson's movie Braveheart it's 1314 and Laird Robert de Bruce wins Scotland's freedom from England. Obviously, he made a deal with the Templars!" Again, he waited for a response. "Oh my God, you didn't even see The Da Vinci Code? The Pope decided the Templars had something the Church wanted and he declared them heretics. On a Friday the 13th in 1307…"
"Also known as Black Friday!" Charlie chipped in, coming to grips finally.
Mick just nodded. "…he had as many of them killed as he could. What he didn't know was the Templar leaders had fled to Scotland with the loot, that is, their mysterious treasure."
"Wow! Thanks for the history lesson, mate." Tillie said sarcastically. "But could you wait to put all of the pieces together till after I finish my story?"
"No need to thank me—just because I filled in the important, exciting bits of your tired little story." Charlie and Bailey looked at Mick as if he might be switching over to the dark side. (Actually, all he wanted was a little acknowledgment for a change.)
"Anyhow," Tillie went on, peering at Mick queerly, "the knight said he was sorry that he had put such a burden on the Saint Clair family."
"If you drop the dumb Highland accent you're using it might help everyone," said Mick, a little sulkily.
Tillie enunciated in her best stuck-up Queen's English: "It was something like, 'It is not a burden my Lord. Not at all. I am of the Templar order, as my family has been since you entrusted us with the safety of the Babel Stones. I know my duty. I promise to take you and the stones safely to the New World.' That's where the vision ended. I was back on the bench inside the chapel. After that I went around the pews touching each one…nothing. Then I came to a staircase with a 'Do Not Enter' sign."
Mick couldn't contain himself. "Just like in The Da Vinci Code! They ended the movie in Roslyn Chapel, descending into an antechamber." His voice trailed off with a look from Tillie.
"As Mick said, I found myself in an antechamber of the Roslyn Chapel. It was painted with old runes—Charlie, the same odd runes projected from your ring!"
"Uh-uh. Are you sure?" Charlie stuttered. "Seriously? But the headmaster said it was a dead language from the time of Merlin!"
"Well, the man who built the Chapel knew it, for one. When I saw those runes I thought maybe I could get another vision…"
"And…!" the others helped her impatiently.
"And I was right! As soon as I touched the old paint —it was so faded, its blue ink almost chipped away, to the point I was worried if any magic was left in it for a vision— but I was launched onto a field somewhere in the Scots Highlands."
"The braw, bonnie heather," Mick mused sarcastically to himself, ignoring the glare Charlie was giving him.
"There were two people. One was a very old Henry Saint Clair this time. And I gathered the other was his grandson William. Henry handed the young boy a package, and wee Willie…" Tillie looked at Mick for a reaction.
"All right, all right!" Mick warned. This time none of them could keep from laughing.
"The young-fella-me-lad," said Tillie, casting a sidelong glance at Mick wincing, "opened the wrapper and looked up at his grandfather while turning this…simply ravishing box…over in his hands."
"''Tis a puzzle box, William.' he said. 'A secret I am entrusting to you. More than that, a sacred trust that must never be betrayed. Inside this box is a special Astrolabe. When the time is right it will help the Templar find the treasure we hid. Do you remember the stories I told you when you were very young?'
"'Of your adventures in the New World? Yes sir.'
"'We left clues that can only be found using this very tool. No other sextant or star chart will do. Do you understand? To open the box you must put these runes in order.' Henry slid its wooden plates on the top of the box around until an X with a hook on the upper right side was created. The box clicked open. 'Memorize the rune, William. And pass the box on to your grandson. Give him the same directions. This box must never leave our family. We are the keepers of the secret. Can I trust you?'"
Mick was too shocked to even roll his eyes this time.
"The young boy took the box, and nodded." Tillie took her eyes off the fire, which had dwindled down to red-hot ash, and looked at her friends sitting with their mouths gaping open.
"What now?" she asked, wondering what could be on their minds.
"The puzzle box!" Bailey exclaimed.
"What kind of church is Roslyn Chapel, Tillie?" asked Charlie. "Denomination, I mean…"
"Church of England—I think you call it Episcopalian here in the States."
"We need to have a talk with Avery." Charlie said, standing up with a start.
Chapter Five The Templar Revealed
As the four friends raced on their bikes for the old rectory there was no time to explain anything to Tillie—the many thoughts running through Charlie's and the others' heads. Was Avery dating Charlie's mother to infiltrate the Order? If so, was he a friend or—more likely since he had kept it secret so far—a foe? Charlie reached over and touched the cold metal sword that was bound to his leg, hidden by the baggy cargo pants.
Right now the cold touch of Excalibur against his skin reassured him. If they ran into trouble he could at least give an account of himself. He was still a novice, and the others almost completely untried. Bailey had a short sword bound to her leg, throwing knives in her belt and a bow and quiver on her back; Mick, his staff, swinging from his back by the leather strap he made for it; and Tillie, her bow strapped to her back. They were as prepared as they could be, and yet not prepared at all. How he wished they had asked more advice from their trainers. Now it was too late.
An internal battle raged back and forth in his mind. Because Charlie found it hard to believe he could be so wrong about a person, one part of him refused to believe Avery was evil; the other part convinced he was. He looked over at his lifelong friend, Bailey, whose nod back dissolved the pained look on his face. At least he could be certain whatever his mother had gotten into with this man, his friends were going to help him sort it out. Avery had not told them everything he knew about the wooden box. Might he even know how to read the runes that would decipher the lost language?—the one Charlie's ring had projected last year.
Their headmaster, Professor Grayson, had sent them a letter a few days into summer vacation, saying he was doing his best to uncover the meaning of the old runes, for without a translation they could not use the map Merlin had left behind. Without a readable map they would never recover the crystals containing the power of the Manserian. And here was a man with knowledge about the lost runes. He probably knew all about the Order. The question was, would he help them or try to stop them?
They pulled their bikes up to the cemetery gates that separated the church from the rectory. "Why can't it ever be easy?" complained Mick. "I mean, it's either rats the size of German shepherds or spooky graveyards at midnight."
Charlie couldn't help grinning at his friend, even in this situation. "What, are you afraid that the veil between us and the underworld has thinned and we're about to get our ankles grabbed by hungry zombies?"
"Dude, seriously!" Mick shoved Charlie. "Although I wouldn't rule it out. I was a lot happier when the nuns told me monsters didn't exist, and just grow up! This whole truth thing kind of sucks!"
"Hey, they always existed. At least now you know you have to be careful in graveyards at midnight." Charlie heckled, s
hoving Mick back.
Charlie lifted the latch of the ancient gate, which slowly swung open with an ominous creek. "Problem is, graveyards are portals between our world and the underworld. So who knows what could emerge through the veil." More than one shiver ran down their spines as Tillie warned of the real dangers in their world.
An ocean gust swept up from the cliffs below, causing the trees around them to scream out into the night. It set Mick off again. "Why is it that all graveyard trees have to be so evil-looking, all twisted and gnarled? Did the Gods decide graveyards were just not spooky enough without them?"
"Maybe. Take it as a good warning." Bailey reminded him.
"Beats me," said Charlie. "Maybe dead bodies make for weird fertilizer?" His attempt to lighten the atmosphere didn't work. The wind had picked up, causing the girls' hair to blow and the trees to appear as if they were coming alive. From behind them a terrible splintering crack resounded off the old gravestones, making all four of them jump and clutch at their weapons. A branch had succumbed to the windy onslaught of the summer storm that was brewing somewhere beyond the horizon. As they looked around the clouds glowed brightly with reflected lightning, and small droplets of rain began to fall sporadically.
"Blimey!" shouted Mick. "Scared the bloody hell out of me. I thought for sure the ground was about to swallow us up."
"Just a tree, man." Charlie was trying to reassure himself too by hearing his own voice.
"Just a tree? I saw you jump."
"Yes, all right, you two." Bailey and Tillie chimed in.
"Okay, let's settle down. It didn't kill us, so we'd better…" Charlie's voice was cut off by the emergence of a cloaked figure from behind one of the trees a head of them.
"The tree didn't kill you, but I can make no such promise, Charlie Burrows." The unmistakable, richly seductive voice of Lord Freyr Vali struck him, making the hair on his arm stand straight up painfully. Behind this most threatening presence, from trees, mausoleums, gravestones and out of the very shadows came dark specters to back up his menace. "Your Professor Grayson is a brilliant man, you know. He is one of the few Manserian who can keep me out of an entire town; the runic wards cast around Marblehead are quite impressive. I tried Swampscott and got the most frightful shock; even Salem, hoping the old magic living in every cobblestone would protect me, but no. You can imagine my distress."
