Gene of Isis (15 page)

Do you want to wake him up?
This was Albray’s way of suggesting that I turn my temper down.

I waved off his concern. ‘I think my energies have exhausted him.’ Which reminded me…‘Is there anything in this Star-Fire lore regarding my talents rubbing off on those close to me?’

Truly?
Albray seemed intrigued but not entirely surprised.
Devere has had an awakening?

I assumed Albray would know this, as I understood we were psychically linked. When I queried this with him I was informed that we were only telepathically linked when I was wearing my charm on my person, and for the past few days I’d placed the stone in the red book for safe cartage. ‘You sound as if you suspected our relationship might empower him.’

Not exactly,
he said defensively.
But there was a legend known to my order which claimed that the ambrosia of immortality, Amrita, was released from the reproductive glands of a Grail princess when she was awakened by her prince.

‘Devere is not my prince!’ I protested, growing angrier by the second.

Amrita then triggers a similar secretion in the prostate gland of the said prince .. .
Albray ignored my dramatics…
whereupon he is endowed with greater powers of awareness, perception and intuition. This awakening is known as the quickening.

‘You could have mentioned this before I married Devere! If he becomes adept enough, he might be able to read my mind. If my husband ever found out about my secret inheritance, my one chance at independence and true freedom would be thwarted!’ Not to mention what might happen if Hamilton’s treasure ended up in the wrong hands.

The ambrosia was supposedly to the mutual benefit of both parties,
Albray added, hoping this information might ease my panic.

‘So this chemical reaction, Amrita, has enhanced my natural ability also?’ Albray nodded, and I considered that it might explain the floating furniture. I looked to the leather pouch on the table that contained my travel papers and, no sooner had I wished it, than they had flown into my possession. I gasped at the achievement.

Good
Lord!
Albray was impressed as well.

‘And nobody knows about this little development,’ I said, with a new confidence, slipping the leather binder into my hand. I smiled, chuffed.

You wish to depart, my lady?
Albray knew my mind.

‘Yes…but Devere and his order will surely pursue me.’

I think we could lose him with a few days head start…a good sleeping spell ought to do the trick.

‘You know a sleeping spell?’ I was stunned. He didn’t seem the type for spells.

No,
he confessed,
but I can introduce you to a dead gypsy witch who does.

Chiara was an amazing spirit, full of information about all things mystical. Her price for acceding to my request was that she might ask a return favour of me once I made it to Italy, to which I agreed.

The sleeping spell should be easy enough for you to perform,
she told me in her own tongue, mainly Italian. She was dressed as though she’d just come from washing the clothes and she kept wiping her hands on her apron.

‘How about a forget-me-altogether spell?’ I suggested an even better idea.

The jolly round woman laughed and said emphatically,
You are a Grail princess!
She became deadly serious. This
boy…he never forgets you.

I didn’t like the sound of that prophecy, so I avoided seeking any further information on that score. ‘Did Albray tell you about my bloodline?’

There was no need. If Albray answered your request for protection and knowledge, then it must be so.

‘And you are sure this spell will work?’ It seemed so simple.

I know my craft,
she assured me in a way that indicated I had not caused offence.
Your ancestors are very powerful spirits. You shouldn’t be afraid to summon them to your aid. They will come, you will see.

‘What do you know of my ancestry, Chiara?’

Ah…
she waved off the notion of pursuing that topic.
Many, many things. But Albray is the historian .. . I just do spells.

I wrote Devere a letter as instructed, and placed a lock of his hair inside, as well as some thread from his clothes and a copy of my incantation. I sealed the envelope. ‘Sweet dreams, Mr Devere.’

Two days head start was the maximum time I could secure without risk of physically harming my subject. Although feeling betrayed, I could not bring myself to hate the man I’d grown so fond of, and I was sorry that his love was not as true as I felt mine was.

I gazed at my sleeping husband and wondered aloud. ‘How can it be that his treachery is not evident in his light-body?’

Because only conflict registers,
Albray explained.
If Mr Devere feels he has been doing the right thing, then he does not carry any guilt or remorse, and there is no dis-ease within him to cause blockages and shadows.

‘I see.’ It did make sense and it also made me angry. How little I must figure in his heart. His ego must be huge if he could believe he had done me no harm with his lies.

Holding the envelope above his sleeping body, I recited the spell Chiara had helped me develop to suit my intent.

Women of my blood from whence my essence flowed, lend me your charms, to create a deep repose.

This man I wish to sleep, I appeal you, make it so, until twice the moon does come and go.

Let him sleep deeply, dream sweetly, awake safely, and not miss me.

I repeated the spell twice more.

Chiara told you that a forget-me spell will not work.
Albray had a chuckle at the addition I had made.

‘Nothing ventured, nothing gained,’ I justified, tucking the envelope under Devere’s pillow.

Fortunately, very few of my things had been unpacked yet. I only had three trunks, but I realised it might as well have been fifty trunks, with no servants to move them for me.

What about your new talent?
Albray dismissed my complaints with a reminder.

I crept down the main staircase, my trunks piled one on top of another trailing me silently.

We could steal a carriage,
Albray suggested.

‘These people are my friends. I’m not going to steal from them,’ I whispered.

‘Who are you talking to?’

I gasped when I saw a figure at the bottom of the steps. The trunks fell with a thud behind me, but I was quick to regain my focus and prevent them crashing down the stairs. It took a moment for my mind to register the voice and face—to my great relief it was Susan.

‘Susan, you scared me!’

‘Are you leaving, Ashlee?’ She sounded heartbroken, and a little perturbed by my floating luggage. ‘What has happened?’

‘It seems that intimate relations have a strengthening effect on my talents.’ I was frank and Susan was amused and then panicky.

‘Mr Devere hasn’t hurt you, has he? You both seemed so happy at dinner.’

‘No, not like that.’ Dinner suddenly seemed an eternity past. ‘My dear friend…I have to go, and I don’t have time to explain why. Please, just pretend this meeting never took place.’

‘When will I see you again?’ She grabbed hold of my hand to prevent my leaving. ‘Will you write?’

‘Under an alias perhaps. It could be our little secret. Can I trust you?’

‘Of course,’ Susan vowed in a whisper, ‘but why should you need an alias?’

I persuaded her to join me outside the front door
and when my baggage caught up, I closed the doors behind us.

We were both startled to find a waiting carriage, and some of the house staff in attendance to load my trunks—which I lowered to the ground promptly. Nanny Beat was by the carriage door and was dressed for travelling.

‘Dear Nanny.’ I really appreciated her sentiment, but I quickly made my way to her side to decline. ‘I fear my journey will be perilous—’

‘All the more reason for me to come,’ she replied surely.

She was as strong as an ox and as stubborn as a mule, so there seemed little point in debating the issue.

‘Write and tell me everything,’ Susan said urgently, as I was hurried to my transport.

‘I will.’ I kissed her and hugged her close—the gods only knew when I’d be in the company of my dearest friend again. ‘I left a note for Devere that might enlighten you to a few of my worries.’ I climbed into the carriage after Nanny and the door was closed behind us. ‘Love life, be happy, stay healthy. Until we meet again.’

‘You have not left my sight, and I miss you already.’ Susan blew me a kiss as the carriage began to move off.

When I could no longer see her, I leant back in my seat and drew a deep breath. I was actually doing it, pursuing the great adventure I’d always dreamed of. I took hold of Nanny’s hand and smiled. I was so thankful to have her with me, and Albray, too, of course.

That wasn’t difficult now, was it?
he commented from the empty seat opposing us.

I was at odds about the question—my heart was shattered by my failed romance, but also exulting to be on the run, free of everyone and everything that had ever held authority over me.

The phone ringing disturbed my reading.

Let the machine take a message, I decided, because I did not want to budge. The journal of my great-great-grandmother was proving to be much more intriguing than I had first imagined. It seemed very racy for a nineteenth century written account, and I wondered why Ashlee had included the intimate details of her seduction. Perhaps she had never meant the journal to be read and the book had become an heirloom by accident?

The ringing of the phone persisted. Clearly I’d forgotten to switch it over to the answering machine, and the thought occurred that the call could be work related.

No, I’m taking a holiday!
I was determined to stay put with the journal.
But then, it could be an interesting job.

Mind you, ancient linguistics and archaeology had not proven to be quite as enlightening and adventure-filled as I had fantasised when a student.

To date, every ancient text I had been employed to decipher usually read something like ‘3 pigs and 2 goats paid to so-and-so by so-and-so’, or
‘dedicated to the god whoever-it-may-be’, or ‘the Emperor of wherever’. Of course, such lists and their language assist in pinpointing the age of certain relics and give researchers lots of wonderful information, but still, some gossip from the past would be nice, too.

My passion for ancient languages had been inspired by my grandmother, who had inherited the obsession from her grand-aunt, Charlotte. Grandmother had certainly sparked my interest in Eastern languages when I was five and she began teaching me Hebrew. I went on to study Greek, French and Latin in high school.

I began a degree in ancient languages and archaeology at the University of Sydney, and then transferred to New York University. I wanted to major in ancient Semitic languages and studied under a prominent professor who had gained invaluable field experience with Sir Leonard Woolley on his famous excavation of the royal tombs of Ur. Originally discovered by Mr J.E. Taylor in 1956, Ur interested me greatly because of the large number of ancient Sumerian tablets that had been uncovered there.

I eventually returned to the University of Sydney to pursue my own field experience on an Australian expedition in Pella, Jordan. They were investigating the occupation of the site from earliest times down to the Islamic period. During the course of the many archaeological digs I have been employed on since, I have rarely been presented with the opportunity to use my knowledge of Semitic languages. There are locally-born historians in the Eastern lands who, unfortunately for me, will always be greater authorities on these languages.

However, there was not one of my peers, mentors or professional associates to date who would deny that I had a natural aptitude for learning and deciphering ancient script. Sooner or later my hard work and good reputation were bound to reach the attention of some project director in the Middle East and I would finally score myself a stint on a groundbreaking, career-making, expedition.

My ancestor’s tale had made me itch to decipher some mysterious ancient code full of mystery and legendary tales. I finally made a dash for the phone, fearing that my complacency might cost me my dream gig.

‘Hello, Montrose speaking,’ I hastily said, feeling sure my caller would have, at that moment, decided to hang up!

‘Bonsoir,
Mia, you
are
there. Fantastic!’

I recognised the voice at once—the French accent gave him away.
‘Bonjour,
Andre.’ I managed to keep the apprehension out of my voice, although I rolled my eyes.

I had met Andre five years ago on Project Troad—an excavation of the ancient city of Troy in northwest Turkey. He was the man everyone called when they needed heavy machinery at certain stages of excavation or at certain types of sites—if Andre could not get the job done without damaging the site, then the excavation would be an impossibility or far too labour intensive and expensive.

Andre had made no secret of the fact that he was after my body. He was a complete slut himself! To his credit he was a mine of information and a great people person, which did make him an excellent work contact. But working with Andre would mean
fending off his advances for whatever length of time my services were needed—not a scenario I cherished.

‘Guess where I am?’ He teased me briefly. ‘Mt Serâbit.’

‘The Sinai!’ I repressed a squeal of excitement. I had just been reading about the place.

‘Exactly,’ he gloated, knowing he was dangling the right bait in front of my nose. ‘And guess what else? It’s an American-funded excavation, so they want to bring in one of their own translators to verify what the locals are telling them.’

‘I’m an Australian, Andre.’

‘Oui,
but you studied at NYU and when I sang your praises, they told me to call you in.’

‘What did you tell them?’

‘I told them that the scenery out here is too harsh and we need you to add a little beauty to the surroundings.’

Did it matter that I was so qualified it was ridiculous? ‘No, Andre. You surely didn’t?’ I pleaded.

‘Oh…of course I told them that you have a natural aptitude for ancient Semitic that is second to none!’ He sounded a little hurt. ‘What kind of a businessman do you take me for? I’m hardly going to recommend anyone but the best. I have my reputation to consider—’

‘You’re an angel, Andre.’ I knew exactly how to handle his little passionate outbursts. ‘It is an honour to be held so high in your esteem. Now, are you going to tell me what you guys have unearthed over there?’

‘We think it might be another entrance into the mountain.’

‘A mine entrance?’ I wondered. The mount was littered with many old mine shafts, as the region had once been rich in turquoise.

‘I wouldn’t think so. You remember those two wands found here early last century, made of an unidentified hard material…they were outside the Portico Court in the temple complex of Hathor? This entrance is made of the same substance and we can’t even make a scratch on it. We’re hoping the accompanying inscriptions might be able to tell us where to find a key.’

‘Well, what did the locals tell you about the inscriptions?’ I walked back to the trunk, filled with old family journals, from which I’d plucked the memoirs of my great-great-grandmother at random. ‘The language is Egyptian, I gather?’

‘It’s more like the ancient Semitic that was found under the Egyptian inscriptions in the Hathor Complex.’

‘Mmmm…’ I was becoming intrigued.

‘And the local translators are saying there is a curse on any man who opens the doors.’

‘Well, I’m a woman, so there shouldn’t be a problem,’ I commented flippantly.

‘My reasoning exactly,’ Andre laughed. ‘I’ve already booked you a flight, it leaves tomorrow. Check your email for details. A
bientòt!’

He was gone. ‘Hmm…so much for my holiday.’ I pressed the off button and tossed the phone onto the lounge. ‘Hey, it’s my dream gig.’ My heart fluttered with excitement, and I took a deep, calming breath. ‘I wonder what the catch is?’

God, I hoped that Andre was not dragging me out into the middle of nowhere to satisfy his lovelorn longings. Still, I would be curious to see
the place that my ancestor had wanted to visit. It seemed quite a coincidence that I was now heading to the same mountain that had intrigued my foremother so much nearly two hundred years ago. ‘I wonder if she got there?’ I looked back to the blue book I’d unlocked and begun to read this morning.

These journals had been passed down through the women of my family for six generations and yet I had only learned of them just this week. My aunt had stored the chest in a safe place for her daughter, but she had only borne sons. So, having cleared the chest out of her attic, she had thought it appropriate to give it to me, the daughter of her younger sister. Many of my ancestors had been travellers and budding archaeologists and I was the only member of the present-day family with such interests.

I was now tempted to sit down and continue Ashlee’s tale. ‘You have no time to read,’ I lectured myself. ‘You have to pack.’

Then I noticed that among the other volumes in the chest were the two other books Lord Hereford had given Ashlee Granville. The green volume was no doubt filled with information about Mt Serâbit, but what did the red book now contain? Had Ashlee made it to the mountain to return her unusual vial or was it still contained within the book?

My fingers fumbled with the three tiny keys, attached to a metal key ring, that still had a small tattered remnant of the green ribbon attached to it. I sat and pulled the red book into my lap. When the gold key was placed in the corresponding lock, the book opened and inside I found…nothing. It was completely empty and I felt very disappointed.

‘Well, I guess it means that Ashlee got there.’ I smiled, proud of her. ‘So, why pass this case on for
so many generations?
Hold everything.’
I felt around on the faded velvet padding until I found a hard patch, which I then pressed, and the secret compartment was exposed.

There was padding in the back to prevent the contents bouncing around. The jewels and ancient currency were gone and all that remained were a half bottle of ancient insect repellent, smelling like death itself, and one small river stone with a hole in the middle.

‘Oh, my Lord.’ I picked up the pebble and had a giggle, wondering if there was still a handsome mediaeval knight attached. I was not really knowledgeable, or even very interested, in the spirit world, and having read about Ashlee’s fascination with this stone, I felt sure she was semi-delusional. Did I dare to test my theory? ‘Albray, Albray.’ I paused and then laughed at the fact that I was almost expecting a mediaeval knight to appear. ‘Albray.’

And you are?

I jumped out of my skin at the question and again when I spotted him standing by my fireplace.

He was just as Ashlee had described—dark, ruggedly handsome and very warrior-like. He had a sword strapped to his hip and another upon his back, between his shoulder blades.

‘I am…’ I was so taken by the sight of him that I forgot everything, even my own name. He was emanating a celestial brilliance that was mesmerising to look at, and I wondered how it was that Ashlee had not been more enamoured of his company.

You are,
Albray decided to answer on my behalf,
the first of your line to get so far into the story as to fathom my existence and summon me forth.
He
frowned.
I wonder why fate would have it so? What is going on in your world right now?
he asked earnestly.

‘Well,’ I gathered my wits to respond. ‘I’m going to Mt Serâbit tomorrow, to investigate a recently unearthed entrance to the mountain.’

Albray clicked his fingers in delight.
Bullseye. What year is this?

‘This is the year 2004,’ I advised, feeling self-conscious as he looked me over.

‘Women wear much less these days,’ he noted, apparently pleased by the trend.

I looked down at my singlet and old jeans. I wasn’t even wearing a bra. My fine, white-blonde wavy hair really needed a wash and was gathered back in a scruffy knot. ‘Well, I wasn’t exactly ready for company,’ I said, justifying my appearance.

But you summoned me?

‘I didn’t expect the summons to work!’ I laughed as I thought that much must be plainly obvious to him.

But you’ve read Miss Granville’s journal?

‘Some of it,’ I granted, ‘but as a scholar I don’t take any notice of all that spiritual nonsense. I think my foremother had a very grand imagination…she should have been a fiction writer.’

You’re not a medium then?
He was suddenly very concerned about my potential, it seemed.

‘No, I’m a small,’ I jested, but Albray was not laughing, he was pacing. ‘Sorry. But I truly don’t understand what is happening here.’

You must have some talent?
he stopped still to inquire.

‘I have a doctorate in ancient languages,’ I told him, but he looked puzzled, so I explained, ‘I have a broad knowledge of ancient languages.’

That is a trait of your line,
he conceded, looking a little happier.
Do you have a birthmark?

I was taken aback by his query, as indeed I did have such a mark. I nodded. ‘A small red cross, like the one Ashlee described in her journal. Still, I have yet to read about its significance, if indeed it has one.’

May I see the mark?
Albray asked politely.

I raised both my hands to cover the birthmark’s location under my singlet. ‘I don’t think I really know you well enough.’

I see.
The knight repressed a grin when he realised the mark’s location.
Well, I’m afraid I need verification…and as I am no longer embodied, I can surely be of no threat to you.

This guy worked faster than Andre—not five minutes in my company and he was asking to see my tits. Well, my cleavage, anyway. ‘Oh, all right!’ It wasn’t like I was super-modest at the best of times. I pulled down my neckline to expose the mark to the right of my heart.

Albray smiled when he saw the mark, but it was more relief than gratification. Does
anyone else in your family bear this mark?

‘They say my mother had a faint one on her back. But as she is long gone and I am an only child, I have no real knowledge of it.’ I shrugged, but he quietly awaited more information. I thought harder. ‘I don’t have any female cousins that I know of. My aunt has not mentioned having a birthmark…nor whether any of her boys have one. It had never been an issue before I read Ashlee’s journal which suggests that she believes she was descended from some ancient line of priest kings.’ I righted my attire.

No,
Albray corrected. Miss
Granville never really believed it until she reached Mt Serâbit.

‘Why, what happened to her there?’ I was curious about my destination.

Albray raised his eyebrows, and grinned to keep me in suspense.
What is the point of taking the journey, if you already know the outcome?

‘Oh, come on,’ I bantered. ‘I have to pack tonight. I don’t have time to read great-great-gran’s ancient epic before I go. Can’t you just tell me what happens, so I know what to expect?’ I suddenly realised what a coup it was to have Albray as an adviser, at my beck and call for this journey.