Beneath the Hallowed Hill (6 page)

“Of course.” Before Erythe could say more, a single resonant bell sounded from the temple. The heavy oak doors, a gift from the north where the trees were sacred, parted and two acolytes, a young man and woman, stepped out. The distinctive robes of the Crystal Guild shimmered in the light, showing now violet, now silver-white, and always giving the feeling that if you concentrated hard enough, you could see whatever glimmered in the air around them just out of human sight. The acolytes walked toward the knot of people.

Without another word, Megan and Erythe hurried back to the group. The young man nodded when they arrived. “Welcome to the Temple of the Oracle. We are honored to serve you today. Please, those who are consulting the oracle line up behind this stone.”

“The families will come with me,” the woman said.

Megan glanced at her parents, but they already fell into ritual protocol and avoided her eyes. The acolyte gestured for the initiates to follow. He walked to the edge of the stones and paused, tuning to the circle, then moved forward. Megan felt a familiar tingle in her limbs when she passed the first stone, as if she penetrated a thin membrane that closed itself behind her. They went through the ponderous oak doors, and there was a slight pop in the air as the group moved through the second layer of energy surrounding the temple.

The initiates proceeded down a hallway lined with stained glass windows alive in the morning light. The first depicted Atlas, the axis of the universe, the Titan founder of their land. The window directly across from it showed the arrival of Pleione, whom her mother was named after, sailing across the heavens to mate with him. Next came the birth of their seven daughters, then the division of the land into the ten realms, and finally the gift of the Sacred Stone from the dragon Makara—all the central stories of the founding of Atlantis.

The hallway opened into a circular room with adobe walls and onionskin marble columns. The ceiling flung the room up into the sky, soaring away in a triumph of selenite and thin metal beams. A low bench ran the entire circumference of the room, as if to attach it to the earth so it would not float away. The blue tiled floor added the color of the ocean, but showed no design, and a single flame burned in the brass brazier in the very center.

The acolyte paused just a few steps inside the circle, but before the group could move to sit, an older priestess stepped out from behind one of the columns, her violet-tinged aura clearly visible around her. The first initiate was led to her, a question was whispered, and he disappeared through a doorway into the darkness from which she had come. After about fifteen minutes, another initiate repeated the ceremony. The group settled on the benches and waited in tense silence. Finally, the acolyte nodded at Erythe, who squeezed Megan’s hand before she walked to the priestess. She answered her murmured question and disappeared without so much as a glance back. At last, the acolyte nodded at Megan.

Her mouth was dry. She swallowed and stood up. Why did she feel like she was stepping off a precipice to dive from a high cliff into the black depths of churning waters? This was Atlantis. She a well-loved daughter of gifted people, destined to take her place with them, to serve and grow into full consciousness as her body matured. Before she could rebalance herself, the priestess was leaning toward her. “What do you seek?” The sonorous tones of the woman’s voice tightened the knot in Megan’s throat.

What did she seek? Confirmation of what she already knew, that she would go to the Healing Temple and learn with Pleione, that she would take her place one day as High Priestess, that she would live long and ascend to the stars. Instead she whispered the ritualized response, “To ask the oracle for guidance.”

This seemed sufficient, for the priestess nodded and with a slight gesture of her right hand sent Megan into the darkness behind the pillar. Megan had to push slightly to move through the invisible shield of energy; it was like crowning at birth, but she was delivered into darkness instead of light. The floor slanted downward at a gentle angle. Megan put out her hand to steady herself against the stone wall, smooth and cool to the touch. The solidity of the earth reassured her somehow. The tunnel curved to the left and the angle of descent grew steeper. The darkness deepened.

Megan made her slow and steady way down, but at the next curve, the darkness swallowed everything. The weight of the earth threatened to smother her. She stopped and groped around with her hand, but felt only the wall beside her. What if she took a wrong turn? What if the Earth shook as it had in the past and she was buried alive here, her life cut off before it could flower? What if she was found unworthy of the temple and sent to a simple shop in an anonymous town somewhere? Everyone’s place was important, she reminded herself, or at least so she was told. Megan forced herself to take a deep breath, then a second, surprised by these fears. She followed her training, surrendering to the black void that was consuming her, and walked toward the womb of her remaking.

After the next turn, the darkness began to grey, and Megan forced herself not to rush toward the returning light. She continued in her deliberate way, allowing the temple to do its work of opening her awareness into the full receptivity of a newborn. The angle of the floor eased and, after another turn, straightened out. A soft glow from the low passage at the end of the tunnel beckoned her, promising solace and understanding. She stepped through.

The light came from a clear crystal ball in the hands of another priestess whose face Megan never saw, for she could not look away from the orb. Her eyes filled with tears, as much from the sudden light as from the harmony the crystal radiated. Lights swam in slow undulating spirals inside it, alive and intelligent, like celestial dolphin. The priestess handed the orb to Megan and directed her to sit on the smooth stone in the very middle of the cavern. Megan sat and nestled the ball in her lap as if it were a precious matrix holding the seed of all life. She was lost in the swirling light, bathing in the waves of energy coming from the stone as it took the measure of her soul.

She noticed there were other lights around the circumference of the room, more orbs sitting on slender pedestals. Most of them were muted, but one brightened and beckoned to her. The priestess was suddenly beside her to take the orb and help her up. Megan walked to the welcoming crystal sphere and found it was not a sphere after all. It had a face, it was a crystal skull.

I am in the Chamber of the Crystal Skulls
, she realized.
The Chamber of the Thirteen
. She glanced back at the very center of the chamber where she had been. Where was the Master Skull? She was sitting where it should be, there should be twelve around the periphery. She started to count them.

“Megan.”
The bright skull on the pedestal called to her, and the sweetness in that voice made her forget all her superficial questions and remember the deep one sitting in her heart. “
What is my life’s work
?” She shed all her preconceptions and certainties.

Now she was right in front of the skull. His face—for the voice was male—smiled at her from the center of several deep cracks inside the crystal. One divided his eyes, leaving one socket frosty and the other with gold flecks floating in its clear depths like tiny stars. His nose resembled the entrance to a temple, and on the top of his head, full of rainbows and the hints of many forms, sat a milky white circle that looked like a cap. Long, long ago, this stone was fractured by volcanic eruptions and the incredible pressures of tectonic plates shifting in the earth, and then somehow repaired itself. It was ancient beyond her imagination.

All this she saw at a glance, and then she felt a wave of self-consciousness, as if she was staring at someone in a crowd and they had turned around and looked back. The skull chuckled. He certainly was cheerful for such a cracked up piece, she thought, and this time the skull laughed fully. “
I have seen many ages of the Earth, my dearest, as will you
.” Before she could ask what he meant, he sent out a powerful beam of energy that struck her forehead.

She stood in a circular chamber resembling the one she just left. A simple bench hugged the golden adobe walls, running the entire circumference of the large room. Wide steps led to a blue tiled floor where intricate inlaid designs curved elegantly; farther in they formed overlapping triangles and squares. In the center of the room stood the largest crystal she had ever seen. It soared high above her head, two, maybe three stories. The domed glass roof was pulled back to leave the enormous crystal pointing at the stars. The stone noticed her and hummed a welcome, a sound that vibrated the bones in her head, making her vision blur.

With a snap, she returned to the original room. She stood before the crystal skull.

“You will apprentice in the Crystal Matrix Chamber
,” the skull told her, and she knew this was right.

* * * *

Crystal skulls. Anne wondered if such things really existed. Michael would probably know. She put down the manuscript. Cynthia’s note suggested this material was more than some fantasy. The dog, which had been sleeping peacefully, got to her feet and padded to the back door where she sat down and looked back over her shoulder. Anne followed, slipped on Cynthia’s clogs and cloak, and opened the door. The hound streaked out, jumped the fence in one graceful bound, and swept up the side of the Tor, disappearing in the night.

“Wait!” Anne ran to the back gate and whistled, but the dog was gone. Should she go look for her? She took a tentative step out the gate, then stopped. The dog probably belonged to someone else and lived over the hill on one of the farms edging up to the Tor. Perhaps she befriended Cynthia and just came for a visit. The faint ringing of the phone came from the house; Michael’s plane must have landed. Anne ran back inside. If the dog got hungry, she would come back. Anne had enough to worry about.

Chapter Four

Michael wondered why Anne was taking so long to answer the phone. He checked his watch. She should still be awake. The phone switched over to voicemail, so he hung up and redialed. If he talked to her, he could stave off the reality he was about to face. The phone rang a few more times.

“Hello.” Anne sounded out of breath.

“Where were you?” Michael asked. “Climbing the Tor again?”

“Outside chasing some dog.”

“Dog?”

“Yeah, she showed up. She acted like she’s lived here before, but now she’s run off.”

“Did she look like a stray?”

“Not really. She seemed well fed.”

“I’m sure she has a home.”

“You’re probably right. How are you?”

The baggage conveyor beeped and with a rumble jerked into motion. Michael turned to watch for his luggage. “Doctor Abernathy sent a car. I’m going to meet with the group, then have dinner with him.”

“Let me know what happens.”

“I will. What have you been doing besides chasing the local canines?”

Anne laughed. “Exploring the house. I found a manuscript in Cynthia’s office, a novel. Well, she claims it’s factual.”

“She claims?” Michael repeated.

“I found a note she wrote to Garth, seems they were close. She signed it ‘all my love’.”

“Glastonbury is good for romance.” He tried to smile, but Anne must have heard the catch in his voice.

“I’m so sorry about this,” she said. “I didn’t even get to meet him.”

Michael tightened his eyes against tears. “I miss you.”

“Then I’ll come. We can sort out the house later.”

“No, I don’t want you in danger again.”

“But—”

“You don’t know that.”

“What did you think I was going to say?” she asked.

“That this has nothing to do with you or your family.”

“Well?” Anne asked, a challenge in her voice.

“We can’t be certain, can we? Our common enemy knows we’re together now.”

She hesitated. “I suppose you’re right.”

“I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

“Do what you have to do. I understand.”

A couple crowded up to the conveyor belt right in front of him. He moved over so he could still watch for his bag. “The service should be in a couple of days.”

“Then you can come home—I mean, back here.”

“Home?” The cold pit in his stomach warmed at her words. “Thinking of keeping the place?”

“Maybe. I kind of like it here.”

“Here’s my bag. I’ll talk to you later.”

“Love you,” Anne said.

“You too.” Michael clicked the phone off and grabbed his luggage, then followed Lawrence, the family driver, to the waiting car. It turned out to be a limousine. He hoped the lodge members wouldn’t notice. He disliked conspicuous displays of money, but after their adventures in Egypt, he had to admit it was safer than public transportation. He gave the address to Lawrence and settled into the comfortable seat, thinking back to his last meeting with his old friend. It was late February.

They sat in Robert’s study before a roaring fire, drinking some of his special Jamaican rum to celebrate the success in Egypt. Michael took his time narrating the story. Robert sat back in his chair with his feet up on a matching ottoman, interrupting occasionally to ask questions and offer additional insights. When Michael reached the end, he turned to his mentor. “We all knew there was no physical Hall of Records, the energy of the sites themselves triggers our collective memory. What do you make of it? Rosicrucian tradition has long held this hall exists.”