The Second Renaissance Series Boxset

by Paul Heron

  Okay, let’s have some fun and break the ice. I can see tension on everyone’s face, but I can assure you all, in a week’s time, you’ll be like family. Trust me.’

  There was a collective groan from the seven.

  ‘I’ll go first. My name’s George, but my Chinese name is Chen Wang and I come from North China.’ He cleared his throat and repositioned his glasses. ‘I’ve worked in England for a little over eighteen years for the Sirani family. I manage the local gallery owned by the family, and you know what? I’ve loved every second of it.’ He paused, looking around the room at everyone. ‘Okay. Who’d like to go next?’ He continued to look around the room as if he was expecting to see their arms raised. Nothing.

  ‘He’ll go first, George!’ Mohammad said, grinning and pointing at a lad across the table.

  ‘Well done! Ajit?’ George said.

  The lad slowly rose from his seat. He was around six foot tall, medium build and dressed in a baggy white shirt and black jeans. He wore half-moon glasses that made him look like a wizard.

  ‘Hello,’ he said, his voice trembling. ‘I am Ajit Kapoor. I am coming here from Mumbai in India. I have received my invitation to Little Camberly because a Mexican friend and I...’ He pointed to one of the other lads sitting across from him. ‘Eduardo and I have designed a device that will be of very much help for the future of information and communication technology.’ He repositioned his glasses again, looking as if he was out of words.

  George thanked Ajit then pointed across the table to the lad Ajit had gestured to. He was busy playing on his smartphone. His device had the green, white and red Mexican flag on the cover, which was confusing because he also had an England football scarf wrapped tightly around his neck as if they were in the North Pole. ‘Eduardo?’ Geroge said.

  He jolted, then slowly stood up. Standing around five foot ten inches he fixed his scarf around his neck. ‘Hola. My name is Eduardo. Eduardo Vargas. I’m from Mexico City, and yes, Ajit and I have developed something really, really cool. You think the creators of social media, Microsoft, even the Internet are cool, wait until you see this.’ He looked at Ajit and grinned. He then turned to George as if to ask for approval to sit down. George nodded and he dropped back in his seat, glancing at Ajit with an awkward smile.

  Michael bit his lip to stop himself from laughing. Laughter calmed his nerves, even if he had to keep it inside.

  As an uneasy silence lingered in the room, a well-built lad with muscular brown arms, who was sitting beside Ajit, stood up and cleared his throat. He fixed his shiny black hair and dusted down his T-shirt which read “Bon Nuit Paris” while glaring at himself in the reflection of the window.

  ‘Guys, I’m Marcel Verde. I’m from Sao Paulo, Brazil. I’m a martial arts specialist. George is right, while training on my own, I’ve been able to do stuff I never even practised before. It’s as if the blueprint was inside me from birth. But don’t worry, I’m here to share my skills with anyone who wants to learn. I also love football. I’m proud to be Brazilian, as Brazilian football, I think, is...’

  ‘Okay, Marcel!’ said the Latino girl wearing the Brazilian jersey. She quickly rose up from her seat. ‘I’m Carolina Marques and yes, Marcel and I are both specialists in the field of martial arts. We have been learning our craft from Brother Jose at a monastery close to the orphanage where we grew up. We hope to represent Brazil in the future Olympic Games. Thank you!’ She sat back down, smiling softly beneath her green and yellow baseball cap.

  ‘Thanks, guys,’ George said.

  Mohammad nudged Michael with his elbow. ‘Watch this,’ he said, standing up cracking his knuckles. ‘My name is Mohammad Hassan. I’m from Pakistan. I love working with animals, and from a young age, I have been able to communicate with and master all animals that I’ve come into contact with. I can walk into a lion’s den covered in blood and they would do nothing but lick my face. I can also tell birds to crap on people who I don’t really like. Can I just say, I hate icebreakers like this.’

  They all laughed. Mohammad appeared to say what everyone was thinking. Even George laughed.

  He nudged Michael as he sat back down in his chair again. ‘Easy.’

  ‘Thanks for that,’ George said. He looked around the room, rubbing his hands together with rising excitement. ‘Okay, just two people left.’ His eyes darted from Michael to a girl sitting beside Marcel.

  Michael looked across the table to see this lady with olive skin and chin-length black hair. Okay, I can do this, he coaxed himself to get up.

  But before he could stand, the girl sprung up from her seat. She stood tall – around five foot ten inches – with good posture. She looked around the table at everyone as if they were the ones on show. She emanated a quiet self-confidence.

  ‘Ciao. I’m Sofia Sirani. I’m from Tuscany, Italy and I’m here because I’m quite good at languages. I’m also weirdly good at remembering things.’ She sat down again.

  It was Michael’s turn. He stood up, fixing his eyes on George who was smiling at him encouragingly. He said, ‘Michael O’Hagan. I’m from Belfast, Ireland and I honestly don’t know why I’m here. It's strange because my invitation letter talked about a story I wrote at school...’

  ‘Irish Myths and Legends.?’ Marcel said.

  Michael sat back down. ‘How’d you know?’

  ‘I’ve read that one, amigo. Really cool story.’ Grinning, Marcel threw Michael a thumbs-up. ‘But you didn’t finish it.’

  ‘You wrote that?’ Sofia asked.

  ‘Si. You’ve read it, too?’

  ‘Sì, I was told to read it before coming. But Marcel’s right, you didn’t finish it.’

  ‘I got a copy, too,’ Mohammad added. ‘But I forgot to read it.’

  ‘I loved it,’ Carolina said. ‘Can’t wait to read the end.’

  Ajit and Eduardo said they'd read it too.

  ‘You were all given a copy to read,’ George said. ‘And the reason why it hasn’t been finished yet, is because you seven are going to influence the outcome of the story. Everything you’ve all read or heard about Irish myths and legends is true. Those gods. Those creatures. They’re all real. They’ve just been kept secret from the world. Those powers you all possess, they weren’t given to you by chance, you were meant to have them. To get the job done.’

  Mohammad looked at Marcel, scratching his head, both of them turning red to keep from bursting out in laughter.

  George needed to reinforce what he said. ‘Michael: both you and Sofia have brains beyond the normal human. You could both memorise a foreign dictionary, in no time at all then recite it from your memory. Marcel, you and Carolina aren’t just good at martial arts. You have an unfair – beyond human – advantage. It wouldn’t be fair to compete in the Olympics. You both would take on the entire tournament.’ He smiled and looked at the two Brazilians. ‘Don’t be afraid to own your gifts.’ He looked at Eduardo then Ajit. ‘You pair have been gifted an ability to create technology this world could only imagine. That’s how you’ve come with the idea of building even better. And you will. The gifts that you all possess, were carefully chosen because they are what will win wars today. Technology, human intelligence, physical skills and a little help from other species around us will get done what needs to be done.’

  ‘You say these were gifts, George. Given by who?’ Carolina said.

  ‘Ever heard of the term demi-god?’ He looked at them all. ‘You have all got, flowing through your veins, diluted blood from gods and goddesses of the Tuatha de Danann.’

  ‘The who?’ Mohammad asked.

  ‘The Tuatha de Danann were an Irish tribe that had magical powers and abilities. They were gods. They live in The Otherworld.’ Sofia spoke as if she was reading from a textbook. ‘Of course, that’s according the the myths and legends.’

  ‘And why have the Irish gods and goddesses given me, a Mexican, some superpowers?’ Eduardo asked. ‘This is a joke.’

  ‘Because, what some of the gods are planni
ng, will effect the whole world, not just Ireland. None of you were meant to come here so early. You have been brought here at this time because,’ George paused. ‘In fact, you were summoned by a lady,’ he looked at Sofia and cleared his throat. ‘Actually, let’s go somewhere else. You can hear from the lady herself.’

  The sound of the door opening caused them all to jump. Michael thought the lady in question was about to make her introduction. It wasn’t her.

  ‘Welcome, everyone. I’m Scarlett,’ a lady said. ‘We’re all very excited that you’ve arrived. Now we can get started.’ She looked at Michael and smiled.

  ‘You’re the lady that was behind me at the airport today?’

  ‘Good memory,’ she said with a cheeky smile. ‘Of course we both know how great your mind really is don’t we?’

  ‘We do, and you’ll know I haven’t forgot what I seen you do to those officers outside the airport.’ She looked at him, a confused expression. ‘I was on the back of the bus. I seen you stab them both with some kind of dagger, and watched as they both dissolved into mid air.’

  ‘They did what now?’ Eduardo shouted.

  ‘Dissolved!’ Ajit shouted at Eduardo as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

  ‘What’s he talking about?’ George looked at Scarlett.

  ‘We had two Fomorians posing as cops at the airport. When they checked Michael’s documents, I knew they’d be on to him.’

  ‘So it is starting, then. There’s no doubt about it.’ George looked at Scarlett, his hands on his hips.

  ‘Ringo’s waiting outside in the car. We’re ready.’

  ‘Okay,’ George said. ‘Guys this is Scarlett Robson, and you’ll be seeing a lot of her. Ringo also works with us. His real name is Matthew Dixon. We’re about to take a trip to La Sirani. The lady that’s got more answers for your questions is there. It’s a minute walk from here, but Ringo will drive you. It’s important to keep you all out of public view.’

  ‘Why?’ Mohammad asked.

  George ignored the question. ‘Let’s go!’

  Michael looked at Mohammad with narrowed eyes.

  ‘What’s this La Sirani?’ Carolina asked.

  ‘It’s my family’s art gallery,’ Sofia replied. ‘And I’m confused as to who’s the lady. It can’t be my mum, she’s in Italy.’ She shot up from her seat and made for the door.

  Michael followed her.

  Daisy shouted good luck to them as they all rushed through the foyer, making a beeline for the door.

  Waiting in the gravel covered car park was an imposing black SUV. A Range Rover Sport. It’s registration plate read “Ringo 1”. Simply a tank with tinted windows. Michael recognised it as the car he’s seen at the airport. He followed Sofia into the back seat.

  ‘Welcome to England!’ The man shouted over the sound of the radio. ‘I’m Ringo.’ He turned down the music. He had a shiny bald head, as if he waxed it, and youthful features; piercing blue eyes and a smile that could compete with Scarlett’s. He wore a grey suit that looked tailored to his athletic figure. He wore an expensive looking watch with an oversized face on his right wrist and a black leather bracelet on his left.

  Ajit and Eduardo jumped in beside Michael. Mohammad took the role of co-pilot upfront. Marcel and Carolina followed Scarlett and George towards another car that was parked in the corner beside the entrance.

  As they took off, Michael looked out the back window of the Range Rover to see the rest following in Scarlett’s Aston Martin. It felt as if the seven were being transported as a secret merchandise. Not to be shown to the world.

  After a short journey to the other end of the village’s high street, there it was: La Sirani. An enchanting estate that looked like it was from another world. A perfect world. The gallery was situated within a walled compound, surrounded by cream-coloured walls, lined with birch trees. Ringo drove through the electric mahogany gates and up the narrow driveway that extended into a circular carpark with a fountain in the middle. Michael found himself particularly impressed by the carving of a unicorn on the centre of each gate. He watched the gates as they closed again, shutting out the rest of the world. The main building was modern with a glass front. “La Sirani” was written in a huge plate made of white stone above the entrance doors. The garden was about the size of a football pitch. In the centre of the swimming pool sized fountain was a sculpture of the earth, spewing water from the top.

  Grey clouds quickly covered the sky. Everyone but Michael went inside.

  He approached the fountain. He gazed deep into the water but saw no sign of life apart from his own reflection. Then the water stirred, and he lost sight of himself. Is it a fish stirring things up?

  After a few seconds, the water settled again. The reflection looking back at Michael wasn’t his own. He saw an athletically built man looking back at him. The man had a chiseled face and cropped hair. He smiled at Michael. ‘Who? How? What’s...?’

  A crack of thunder snapped Michael out of his trance and he sprinted from the fountain, entering the gallery as fast as his fear could take him, half afraid that the man in the water would reach out and drag him under. ‘I’m losing it. I’m losing my mind.’

  He almost jumped out of his skin a second time when Sofia approached him from behind and put her hand on his shoulder.

  ‘Are you okay, Michael? What is it?’

  ‘Nothing, Sofia. It was nothing. I thought I saw something outside. That's all.’

  Chapter Five

  ‘FOLLOW ME.’ GEORGE shouted. He beckoned to them to follow him. After saying something to Scarlett, he turned on his heel and walked through the security turnstyle.

  They anxiously grouped together in the foyer, still looking at each other with that new friend awkwardness. Holding back slightly on being themselves. Marcel and Carolina clung to one another. Sofia took the lead. They followed George as if he was leading them to their doom. But why did they follow him? Perhaps they finally wanted answers to the questions they’d been asking themselves their entire lives. Why could they do what they could all do.

  ‘We’re going to the lower ground floor,’ George said as they caught up with him at the lift.

  They walked through the reception area. Two vending machines placed between the male and female toilets were being raided by two young boys.

  ‘I’m taking the stairs,’ Eduardo shouted. ‘I don’t like lifts, terrible things.’

  ‘He’s a weird guy.’ Mohammad mumbled, looking at Eduardo.

  ‘An unusual character, perhaps.’ George said. ‘But brilliant. He serves a purpose.’

  In the lift, there were a few throats clearing, but the twenty seconds or so was relatively silent.

  As they exited the lift, Eduardo was waiting for them, leaning against the wall. ‘Beat you.’ He grinned.

  George walked away from the group, creating some distance from himself and the rest. He cleared his throat to get everyone’s attention. ‘You all need to listen. This is very important.’

  They all looked up at him.

  ‘Seventeen years ago, when you were all born, I entered La Camera Prima.’ He turned and pointed at an ancient door; it looked like it began to rot three-hundred years ago. The handle was covered in rust, the hinges were medieval looking. ‘In that room, directly behind the door is a portal. A doorway to another realm. It led me into The Otherworld. The home of the gods and goddesses of Irish mythology. There I met a lady named Elisabetta Sirani,’ he said, his voice sounding defensive as if he was preparing to defend what he had just said. ‘Elisabetta told me that this day would come. She told me that, in this location, a group of demi-gods would meet.’

  Mohammad burst into a fit of laughter. ‘Sorry,’ he said as he fought to contain himself.

  Ajit and Eduardo burst into laughter too. Michael’s smile grew bigger and Marcel’s face turned red in a bid to hold his outburst behind his lips. Carolina looked at Sofia, rolling her eyes.

  ‘Wait a minute,’ Sofia said, gesturing towards
George. ‘You spoke with Elisabetta Sirani? The Elisabetta? My ancestor? George, are you feeling okay?’

  George laughed off her comment and walked towards a painting that was mounted on the wall beside the door.

  ‘I know you’ll all like to hear this,’ Scarlett said as she arrived at the bottom of the stairway. She motioned for George to continue.

  ‘Sofia, Elisabetta was and still is a very special lady.’ George looked at the painting in an appreciative stare. ‘Not only special, but important,’ George said. ‘For the rest of you who don’t know who she was, Elisabetta Sirani was an Italian Baroque artist; the Baroque style of art quickly followed the Renaissance period which helped move the world from the dark ages into more sophisticated ways of living. Elisabetta was a very talented lady, to say the least. Unfortunately, she died at the young age of twenty-seven. The cause of her death was never confirmed, which was a great tragedy. In 1665, her family thought she may have been murdered. What I know to be true – and I’ll prove it in a moment – is that she was murdered.’ He cleared his throat and continued. ‘She was a victim of her own success. A lady of greater talent than most, and touched the lives of many women, not only in Italy, but throughout Europe. It was a man’s world back then and women were rarely taken seriously, or allowed to pursue their talents. Elisabetta deserves to be remembered for what she accomplished and ultimately, what she gave her life for.’

  George walked towards the ancient door. He pulled out a key from inside his jacket pocket and inserted it into the lock.

  ‘I thought that door was just decorative,’ Sofia said.

  George grabbed the handle. ‘That’s because we had to hide what’s behind.’

  The hinges creaked as he pulled the door open. Sunlight flooded into the room. They all looked through the doorway. It was as if they were standing inside a farmhouse, looking out into the front yard. Fields could be seen in the distance. Rolling hills even further back.

  George stepped out into the sunlight. Michael followed. Then Sofia. Marcel was next. Then one by one, the rest.