Ancient Echoes (33 page)

Kohler stared back. The tension in the room grew.

“Do you know where the shooters are now?” Michael asked as
he put his shirt and jacket back on.

Kohler’s gaze broke, and he faced Michael. “They are
watching our village. We thought their presence had to do with you, but
obviously not, since they were quite willing to kill you. The only surprise,
therefore, is that they didn’t kill you sooner.”

“So it seems,” Michael said calmly. “They're well-armed, but
you only have bows and arrows. That diminishes our chance for success.”

“We aren’t worried,” Kohler said. “Once their bullets are
gone, they will be no more dangerous than children. Our arrows fly true, and we
have a great store of them.”

“Why? Who or what were you fighting before we came?” Michael
asked. “Was it those strange creatures that lurk about, or something else?”

“Those creatures are not like any you have known,” Kohler
said, “for they have cunning and trickery such that is almost human. They
resent our living here, and if we did not look out constantly, they would
attack and take all that we have.”

“And kill you?” Quade asked.

“Without mercy,” Kohler responded.

“Interesting.”

“Dangerous is a more apt description,” Kohler said with a
scowl.

Just then a ruckus sounded at the door. It burst open.
“Michael! It’s really you!” Lionel Rempart hurried toward his brother. Jake
followed, as did the dark-haired, pale and sickly young man Michael knew must
be Vince Norton.

Lionel stopped a few feet before Michael and went no
further, as if unsure of how to greet him.

“Good to see you alive,” Michael said. “You had me worried.”
He got to his feet, equally self-conscious. Too many years had passed without
them meeting face to face.
Too many years of Michael deciding
it best to have nothing to do with his family.
Lionel's wild eyes, his
gaunt features, and quivering hands stunned and alarmed him. He forced a smile.
“I came to get you out of here, but I seem to have made a mess of it.”

“You came through the pillars?” Lionel asked.

“Yes.”

“Did you try to go back through them?”

Michael nodded. “It didn’t work.”

“And lights,” Lionel said, his eyes wide and unfocused, “in front
of the mound with the pillars…did you see any such thing?”

The question surprised Michael, but he decided against
revealing too much. “I saw something out there. I’m not sure what.”

“Then I’m not crazy!” Lionel cried, relieved.

Kohler’s gaze fiercely zeroed in on Lionel. “What lights are
you talking about?”

Lionel grew nervous. “Well, I…I saw lights around the mound
that holds the pillars, and on the ground before it. They were there just an
instant. The students didn’t see them, but Michael did! Thank God!”

“I’m not sure—” Michael began.

“Can you describe them?” Kohler interrupted.

“Just some strange lines in complex configurations,” Lionel
said. "They quickly vanished, but I know what I saw.”

“And you?” Kohler faced Michael.

Michael wondered about Kohler’s reaction. “I never saw
anything like that.”

 “It’s a sign!” Ben Olgerbee pointed at Lionel. His
gray hair stood wildly out from his head, and his eyes bulged. “He is the one!
He sees what we know must be there, but we cannot see. God has sent him to us!
He will lead the way.”

 “Enough! There will be time to talk later,” Kohler
said, as he looked from one brother to the other. “Now, it’s time to eat.”
Kohler led the newcomers to the community house for breakfast.

AFTER BREAKFAST, OUTSIDE the
community house Charlotte and Rachel ground what appeared to be a primitive
corn or maize into meal. Rachel looked around to see if anyone watched them,
then held a forefinger to her lips in a sign of “quiet” and motioned for
Charlotte to follow her.

“You've got to talk with Will Durham,” Rachel whispered.

She led Charlotte to a cabin and opened the door without
knocking. “Will?”

“Come in,” he said. The lit fireplace warmed the air. Rachel
and Charlotte sat side-by-side on the bed while Will took the chair.

“Rachel tells me I can trust you,” Charlotte said.

“We aren't bad men. It's just a matter of strange things
that have happened.” He looked sheepish, knowing how weak the confession
sounded.

“Charlotte has a theory about this place,” Rachel said.
“That's why I wanted you to meet her. You've been here for years. Maybe with
her theory and your practical experience you two can come up with a way to get
us out of here.”

“You have a theory?” Will asked. “Based on what?”

“There's a scientific explanation,” Charlotte said, then
admitted, “of a sort. It sounds crazy, however. I'd rather hear what you've
experienced.”

“I haven't experienced anything beyond not being able to
leave. You say your explanation sounds crazy, but I say there's nothing that
would surprise me. Not after what I've been through. If you can help,
please...”

“You need to understand,” Charlotte began, “that I was a
student of ancient cultures in the near and middle east. That’s where we find
the earliest records of...of alchemy.”

“What?” Rachel said.

Charlotte found Will's lack of surprise both interesting and
alarming.

“An ancient alchemical symbol was found in this area. There
is talk that Lewis and Clark may have been looking for it—”

Will jumped to his feet, his face white. “No. Not Lewis and
Clark. It was a secret expedition...a secret expedition sent to follow them.”

“How do you know that?” Charlotte asked.

He opened a drawer from the wooden desk and from it pulled
some thin sheets of bark with writing on them. “I found this here,” he said. “A
member of the expedition named Francis Masterson wrote it. His words are
horrible.
Horrible to contemplate or to believe.
Yet,
I do believe them.”

Charlotte looked at the bark sheets. The writing was awkward
and the ink splotchy.

“I've had years to decipher it,” Will
said
.
“It is lengthy, but explains much. If you'd like, I'll read it to you. I've
read it so often over the years I almost know it by heart.”

“Please,” Charlotte said.

Will
moved
closer to the fire. As
he read, Charlotte could all but envision Francis Masterson himself sitting in
this very cabin so long ago, writing this strange account...

I, Francis Masterson, once turned my back on God. Now, I
live with His back turned on me.

Madness or even Death would be welcome over all that has
transpired, but I am too weak, too cowardly, and too afraid to face my Maker by
my
Own
hand.

I have previously penned an arrogant discourse on our
Secret albeit Failed Expedition under our beloved President Thomas Jefferson,
in which our small collection of scholars and occultists foolishly braved this
Vast and Unknown Land. If that discourse is ever found and read it will truly
be a Miracle, and this one, doubly so.

But I am a writer, and as long as the last, small shard
of the miserable Soul once known as Francis Masterson remains, I will record
what has happened.

Lest anyone unfortunate enough to stumble upon this
Discourse be tempted to dismiss it as Fiction or the child of a fevered,
tortured mind, let me assure you on the grave of my own sweet Mother that every
word is
True
. I call you Unfortunate because, if you
are reading this, you, too, may be trapped here. If so, I pray with all my
heart that you have more success than I and my ill-fated companions at freeing
yourself before Despair and Derangement overtake you.

It began when Captain Crouch and I crossed between the
pillars to flee the Tukudeka who were fast upon us with their spears and
poisoned arrows. When we crossed, we found ourselves to be in the same place as
we'd been previously…except that the Tukudeka were no longer threatening, and
the thunder and lightning had ceased.

Our companions, Orril and Asa Munroe, Noah Handy, and
Reuben Hale, stood before us like ghosts. The four had not dared move, so
frightened and so astonished were they as Captain Crouch and I walked between
the pillars and appeared before them as if by magic.

Fear overtook us all. If this place held safety from the
Tukudeka, what else did it hold? The Rational mind could not explain it. Mr.
Hale called it Infernal, and that word took hold of our thoughts and refused to
leave. Dread of this unknown Region had so crippled our bones that they turned
weak and we fell to the ground.

We huddled together and considered going back through the
pillars, but if we did, we must again face the Tukudeka. That way lay certain
Death, and here, an uncertain Future.

We ran away from the pillars. As we traveled, Mr. Handy
noticed smoke rising in the distance. At first we feared another fire, and our
instinct was to flee as fast and as far in the opposite direction as we could.
We were despondent, hopelessly lost, but then Captain Crouch saw that the smoke
wasn't moving. It remained a single white plume wafting high into the sky.

Had we found some means of help?

We approached cautiously. Three watched our flank while
Ezra Crouch, Noah Handy, and I went forward to scout the reason for the smoke.

As we neared we heard the most unearthly screams. The
thought of them even now sends shivers down my spine and chills my soul.

Inching closer, we heard a drum and deep, guttural
chants, not the song of the Aboriginal, but fiercer, more primitive, even, dare
I say, animal-like. It inspired such all-consuming terror within me that my
very skin prickled. But through it all, even worse, were the screams, sobs, and
a litany of pleadings in an unintelligible, mumbled rush. Only as we neared
could I comprehend the word, Dieu, cried over and over.

We concluded that a French trapper had been captured and
was being cruelly tortured. Oft times the most one can do in such circumstances
is
to pray that Death comes quickly.

I believed we would run as far from this wretched place
as possible, when Captain Crouch appealed to our qualities as Honorable men.

I shall confess that I have never worried about my
portion of manly Virtue. Yet, it is an expression of man's essential weakness
and insecurity that when another challenges his Manhood, he immediately puffs
and primps himself up like a peacock and declares that he is willing to
confront the World if need be. Captain Crouch led us closer. Using his
spyglass, we soon reached a point where we could see what was occurring.

A white man had been stripped of his clothing and tied
spread eagle on the ground. He was being ruthlessly jabbed with knives or
burning sticks, not to kill, but to provoke so much Agony that his eyes had
rolled back in his head and his mouth frothed. He emitted such bone-chilling
shrieks that I could not reckon how anyone without a heart of stone could do
anything but end the poor man’s suffering.

Captain Crouch bravely crawled closer while Mr. Handy and
I separated. I hid in a thicket, my back to a pine trunk so no one could sneak
up behind me, which was my fear. I'll admit that as I held my rifle, my hands
shook.

The Captain shouted to the Heathens to free their
captive. They surely were Tukudeka, but—as God is my witness—they had covered
themselves, head to toe so completely and expertly in animal skins and feathers
that they truly looked like unknown monsters, even more frightening than the Heathens
we had escaped.

To our surprise, at the Captain’s order, the warriors
ran. We had no doubt that as soon as they realized how small our numbers were,
they would return.

Captain Crouch cut the ropes that bound the victim, then
pulled the pitiful Soul to his feet and wrapped him in a nearby blanket of
hides.

The Frenchman was weak and dazed. I moved forward then,
making myself frighteningly Visible as I wrapped my left arm around the
fellow's waist and held him close to help him flee this area. Captain Crouch
took up the man’s sack of belongings while keeping his muzzle aimed at the
thicket through which the Heathens had fled.

We feared that they would pursue us, especially when we
heard the forest fill with the most Eerie and
Mournful
shrieking and inhuman howling imaginable.

With the help of the Munroe brothers and Reuben Hale, we
were able to craft a sling to carry the Frenchman, which was a blessing since
his body was so slippery from blood it was nearly impossible to hold onto him.

We found a location upon which we could secure our
safety, and there dressed the Frenchman's many cuts and burns as best we could.
Some areas of his body required sutures, which I found myself unable to watch
administered, and am loathe
to describe
in any detail
here for fear of the Nightmares it will bring back to mind. There were many
times I thought the poor Victim would be in better state if he simply had died.

He insisted on dressing himself. Among his belongings we
saw a remarkable red stone, a pendant, on a long gold chain. He quickly hid it
from our view.

The next day he developed a fever, and became quite
delirious with it. Only a few times could he speak with any degree of
rationality. Strangely, what he said when he was supposedly rational often sounded
more of Bedlam and Madness than when gripped by
fever.

In his lucid times, we learned, to our amazement, that he
was a holy man, a French abbot named Gerard Rombert de Fontainebleau. He said
that at the time the French revolution ravaged his nation, Anti-clerical
sentiment abounded amidst the rabble and their leaders. To save himself, Abbé
Gerard escaped to Spain. Among his treasures was a book passed to him by his
father, a book of Great value about Alchemy, called The Book of Abraham the
Jew.