Illusion: Through the Never Series Book I

By Tracey R. Newman

Sacred relics unearthed in a mountain cave deep within the Bolivian jungle plunge famed American archaeologist, Nickolaus Adallyus Piper into a world where reality and illusion converge. Abandoned to follow cryptic clues left in the wake of his mentor, Tobias Algers death, Nick races against time to save the one woman who holds the key to his redemption as he struggles to stay beyond the reach of Scotland Yard Inspector, Mason Chase who suspects Piper is guilty of more than murder. But Piper isnt the only one being hunted. The Dowager Armalai, a cult of assassins centuries old will stop at nothing to capture Mason and bring her before their Mistress, an ancient Evil older than Time. What happens next will decide the fate of All Souls

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: May 3, 2016
• ISBN: 9781491789049

Tracey R. Newman

Tracey R. Newman earned a bachelor of arts in history from the University of Nevada, Las Vegas. After graduating, she enlisted in the army, served as a counterintelligence agent for the 101st Airborne Division, and deployed overseas in support of “Operation Iraqi Freedom.” Tracey left the military in 2003 and now resides in Southern Nevada. Rehoboam is her second novel.

Book preview

Illusion

Through the Never Series

Book I

Written and Illustrated by

Tracey R. Newman

54955.png

ILLUSION

Through the Never Series Book I

Copyright © 2016 Tracey R. Newman.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

iUniverse

1663 Liberty Drive

Bloomington, IN 47403

www.iuniverse.com

1-800-Authors (1-800-288-4677)

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

ISBN: 978-1-4917-8902-5 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4917-8903-2 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4917-8904-9 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2016903325

iUniverse rev. date: 04/26/2016

CONTENTS

Prologue

Part 1. London, England, yesterday

Chapter 1 Nickolaus

Chapter 2 Nickolaus

Chapter 3 Nickolaus

Chapter 4 Lily

Chapter 5 Lily

Chapter 6 Lily

Chapter 7 Mason

Chapter 8 Mason

Chapter 9 Mason

Chapter 10 Nickolaus

Chapter 11 Nickolaus

Chapter 12 Nickolaus

Chapter 13 Lily

Chapter 14 Lily

Chapter 15 Lily

Chapter 16 Mason

Chapter 17 Mason

Chapter 18 Mason

Part 2. Jerusalem 1185

Chapter 19 Leander

Chapter 20 Leander

Chapter 21 Leander

Chapter 22 Lily

Chapter 23 Lily

Chapter 24 Lily

Chapter 25 Malcolm

Chapter 26 Malcolm

Chapter 27 Malcolm

Chapter 28 Leander

Chapter 29 Leander

Chapter 30 Leander

Chapter 31 Leander

Epilogue

Bibliography

In loving memory of Irene Goudsmit, my first true best friend, who knew I was a writer before I did. It was on Irene’s old Olympia typewriter that I tapped out my first short story when I was just eleven. Thanks for believing in me, Irene. I love you very, very, very, ∞ much.

Much love and heartfelt thanks to my loving parents, Phyllis and Garry Newman whose encouragement and support made the creation of this novel possible. I owe everything I am to you, thank you.

And to my good friends, Jim Bowie, Joan Hoffman, Randy Rodriguez, and Cindy Speegle, who tirelessly provided me with positive feedback and criticism during the creation of this novel, helping to make it the best story I could tell.

And many thanks to you, my readers, for giving me the opportunity to tell a story that has lived inside my heart for nearly twenty years, waiting the chance to be told.

Enjoy!

image1.jpeg

Jungle path in the Guadalupe Valley, Bolivia, South America

PROLOGUE

M y heart pounded inside my chest as I smashed through the thickets of thorns and branches that ripped at my flesh while unrelenting fear coiled in the pit of my stomach. Dried blood, not mine, tugged at my skin while the hot, foul breath of the demon pursuing me flashed at my back. His long, bony fingers reached out and wrapped themselves around my throat. Helplessly, I struggled against him as he threw me to the damp, hard ground and grasped my skull with his icy hands, crushing me. His claws slashed at my neck and face. He smiled, boring into my chest with his other hand, ripping apart bone and muscle to wrench my heart from its fortress. The dull gray of death covered my eyes and at last, I died.

I awoke, naked and shaking, in a huddled ball, dripping with sweat. The nightmare had again abated, but it would not be the last time. In a dreamy stupor, my eyes drifted across the floor to an empty bottle of Scotch lying on its side. Beside it was the crumpled photo of a woman I knew. I dragged my twisted arm from under my body and slowly, carefully drew her toward me.

Manda, I groaned.

She’s abandoned you, the demon taunted me. Like all the others. Then the demon let out a hideous laugh. But why, Nick? You seem genuinely surprised. How pathetic you are! How wretched! You poor, poor bastard. I do pity you. Do you want me to end your suffering? Shall I make it all go away? I can, you know. I will. All you need do is submit, and our original deal will stand. Just agree, Nickolaus, and all will be as it was before. Surrender now and I’ll be gracious and return the life of your befuddled and deluded friend, Tobias Alger. The demon reached his hand down to me. Go on, Nicky, take it … it’s the only way.

I looked at his hand, no longer something cold and inhuman but of flesh and blood … warm. The hand of a friend. Without conscious effort, my hand inched toward his before I drew it back. Go back to hell and leave me alone, I gasped.

The demon’s eyes narrowed. He seemed disappointed yet strangely pleased. With a wave of his hand, the horde of demons that flanked us swarmed about me, thrashing and clawing at me as they finished the job of ripping me apart. When it was over, my body was a mere heap of flesh pulsing with blood and pus. The Demon laved my lips and face with his tongue, then smiled. His jaws gleaming with hundreds of stained and jagged teeth, he bit into my breast, and then slowly, deliberately, consumed me with patient pleasure.

Twenty cc’s of Clonazepam—now! Hold him down!

Get the paddles ready! He’s going into V-fib!

Clonazepam in!

Is he breathing? Someone answer me!

Patient is breathing. Heartbeat returning to normal. He’s stabilizing … Doctor!

What is it?

He’s awake.

Take that tube out before he chokes to death and we have to go through this all over again!

Steady, my friend, a woman soothed. Breathe nice and slow. I am glad you decided to stay with us a bit longer. My name is Doctor Michel Medeiros. Your jaw was broken so, please, don’t try to speak; it’s healing nicely, but you’ll have some pain and stiffness for the next several weeks. Rest. You’re safe now. She turned toward a person standing nearby who, as I watched, seemed to dissolve then reappear. I closed my eyes and tried to comprehend what was happening to me. I’ll be back. She gently patted my hand and walked away.

Do you dream when you’re dead? Was this the vivid imaginings of a dead man believing he was still alive while his corpse lay rotting in the ground? Was I dead? Alive? Something in between?

Now is not a good time, a familiar voice complained. He’s not even awake.

Certainly he is, Doctor. See? A man waved his hand at me.

The woman who had comforted me before was reluctant. Ten minutes, Mr. Petry—that’s all, he’s still very weak, and I don’t want him disturbed. Am I clear?

Yes. Yes. Quite clear, Doctor Medeiros. What I have to tell Doctor Piper shall only take five minutes. The man looked at me, letting his lips curl into a serpent’s smile.

You look well, Professor. At least as well as could be expected. Petry was straining to be pleasant. As Assistant Minister of the Interior, I’ve come to inform you the Bolivian government has graciously decided not to pursue formal charges against you and have obliged to remit all your personal expenses, including medical ones, so long as it can be agreed that upon your discharge from here you will depart South America and not return. All I require is your signature on these release forms, Doctor Piper, and we’ll be done and you’ll be free to return home as soon as your doctor deems you fit to do so. Questions? Good. Sign here.

Tobias Alger? I winced, painfully.

Petry smiled again. I’m afraid that’s another matter. He extended his pen.

Where? I persisted.

Doctor Alger is missing and assumed to be dead.

Dead? I gasped.

Yes. I suspect it may be a while before his body is recovered, assuming it’s found at all. In that event, should you care to be notified, leave a forwarding address, Petry was dangling his pen at me. Sign here if you please, Doctor Piper.

No.

Petry leaned into me until he was only inches from my face. You understand, Doctor Piper, this document is purely for effect, it isn’t going to matter to me or anyone else whether you sign it or not. It is merely intended to keep the bureaucrats satisfied and give them something official to squirrel away in their files.

Go to hell, I croaked.

Petry’s lips thinned into a line. The evidence my department has obtained, Doctor Piper, indicates the permissions Professor Alger acquired to excavate the Guadeloupe Valley were not procedural, therefore not official, and as such have been deemed violations of Bolivian cultural heritage laws. That is to say each time Professor Alger took pick to soil, it constituted as one count of theft—each one itself a felony punishable by imprisonment and or death. Professor Alger quite literally dug his own grave. You are fortunate your association with him and his activities, though imprudent, did not constitute guilt on your part. Just naïveté. That is the only reason you are here, Doctor Piper, and not enjoying the hospitality of our prison system.

"As I remember, it was your hospitality that got me admitted here," I hissed.

Petry was unapologetic. Justice, even in the backwaters of this country, can be harsh. It does not indulge men suspected of criminality as it may in other parts of the world. The result can be cruel but does provide a kind of stability. Men know what to expect from it. More importantly, what it expects of them in return. A wholly fair and egalitarian system.

Until they’re accused.

An accusation often indicates guilt. Innocence eventually bears out, as it has in your case, Doctor Piper. I’m sure you won’t care to argue the point. Petry left his chair. Good-bye, Doctor. I wish you a speedy recovery and a safe, uneventful journey home. It’s unfortunate you will not be permitted to revisit our beautiful country, but I trust you’ll leave with fond memories.

Our gazes met, and I sucked in a breath as wisps of black fire briefly flamed in his eyes, giving a glimpse of the demonic creature inside. I lay frozen in fear as Petry offered a devilish grin and then, with a flourish of his hand, turned on a heel and exited the room.

Hell is not what most people imagine it to be. It’s not the cesspool of burning sulfur, draped in dense, suffocating smoke, hidden away in some dark, unearthly realm. Hell is more like a parasite. Once it’s found you, it burrows deep inside your soul and makes it sick with remembrances of lost chances and missed opportunities. It tortures by reminding you things could have been different if you’d gone right instead of left, forgiven instead of punished, shown mercy instead of pride. My hell is to forever hear Alger’s pleas for help and never arrive in time to save him. To see his brains splattered across the ground again and again. To relive the horror of what I did next and know I’ll never possess the capacity to aspire to anything greater than that. My hell begins every time I close my eyes and ends with a gasp not even death can comfort.

Part One

London, England, Yesterday

CHAPTER 1

Nickolaus

I swung my legs over the edge of the bed, naked and cold with sweat. I buried my face in my hands when something moved beside me. Startled, I turned to find a woman, also naked, lying next to me.

Time to go, I picked up my jeans wadded up on the floor and pulled them on.

Are you hungry? she asked, opening her eyes. I can make us something to eat.

Get out. Put on your clothes and leave—now.

She gave me a nasty glare before roughly rolling out of bed. Bastard. She slipped her dress over her head and shoved her feet into her shoes.

Hardly an original opinion, but our date was for sex. Not breakfast.

The girl gestured at me appropriately then swept into the living room.

If it helps, I told her, I had fun. What I remember, anyway.

Go to hell.

Have. Though I don’t have the T-shirt to prove it. I opened the door. Can you find your way in the dark?

She sneered a loathsome glare before stepping out and disappearing into the night.

New friend?

I looked up at Amanda standing outside my door and frowned. Not anymore.

I retreated inside, went to the counter, and retrieved a bottle of pills. Amanda followed. After popping a few in my mouth, I washed them down with the warm leftovers of a bottle of beer that was also on the counter.

What do you want? I asked.

What are these, Nick? Amanda fingered the pill bottle and examined the label.

Worthless. They’re supposed to make me sleep; so far, they’re doin’ a shitty job.

Are you still having nightmares?

I stared at her. I guess you didn’t hear me. What do you want?

Exhaling, she said, You left this at our—at my apartment. It looked important, so I thought you’d appreciate me bringing it by. Clutched in her hand was a faded and worn leather journal, held together by a tired red rubber band.

I glanced at my watch. Thoughtful. Though a little suspicious at four in the morning, don’t you think?

Morning? Nick, it’s the middle of the afternoon.

I glanced out the window and grunted. I hate London. It’s fucking dark no matter what time of day it is. I turned from her and sank into the couch.

Answer me, Nick, the nightmares, are they—

Look, Amanda, if the only reason you came was to return the journal, you’ve done that. So unless you’ve got something else to say, you can go.

You don’t look very good, Nick. I think you should see a doctor.

I could, but doubt he’d approve my idea of self-medication. I indicated the empty Scotch bottle behind me. It’s cheaper than what was in the bottle he gave me and so far is doing a lot better job.

You worry me, Nick.

I seriously doubt that, I jeered. Tell the truth, Manda. Why are you really here?

I told you. I found this, knew it was important, and thought you’d want it back.

"If you want to tell yourself you came by just to bring me Alger’s journal, fine, but I think it’s interesting of all the things you could have brought me, this is what you thought I’d miss or couldn’t live without. I guess it didn’t occur to you I left it behind so you could throw it out along with the rest of my shit, after you threw me out, huh?"

I didn’t throw you out, Nick. You walked out. You made your own choice to trot after Alger. Don’t blame me because it ended badly.

She turned toward the door.

Where are you going? I wondered if she could hear the fear in my voice.

I only came to return that to you. I thought it was a mistake when you left it. I guess not. Sorry, Nick. If you want to get rid of it, you’ll have to be the one to do it.

Compelled by the fear I might lose her forever if she walked out that door, I stood and gripped her arm. Don’t go. My lips brushed her face. Stay with me, Amanda.

I can’t, Nick. I’m sorry, she caressed my cheek, for everything. Good-bye.

Do you still love me? I blurted as she stepped to the door and opened it.

She glanced back at me, tears in her eyes. Take care, Nick.

She left me, closing the door as she went.

My eyes turned to the counter where Amanda had deposited Alger’s journal. The bottom corner curled as if threatening to spring open were it not for the rubber band keeping it, and everything it might want to tell me, shut. I was holding my breath.

I snatched the journal from the counter and hurled it at the trashcan.

Damn it, damn it! I rubbed my forehead hard with the palm of my hand. Christ, get hold of yourself. It’s just a book—a stupid, fucking little book!

I pushed from the edge of the counter and went into the bathroom. I hung my head over the sink and splashed the icy water over my face and hair until my hands tingled.

I stared at my reflection in the mirror.

You’re totally screwed in the head, y’know that? And the truly sad part is I don’t think there’s enough Scotch or pills in the world that’ll cure it. I stood and switched off the faucet. Poor, poor bastard is right.

I needed to get out. I grabbed a shirt hanging off the doorknob, scavenged for my shoes, and made for the door. I needed a drink.

54738.png

The King’s Head is a crummy little bar tucked away in one of the dirty little corners of East London, wedged between the tawdry remnants of London’s history and the fresh paint of London’s future. The place was off the beaten track and catered mostly to guys working along the docks nearby and vagrants bringing in the day’s handouts—and me. Tourists generally stumbled across it only when they were lost.

I sat at one of the tables in the back and asked for a bottle of Scotch and a glass.

Leave it, I told the barmaid, who offered me a disinterested look before setting the bottle on the table, then turning to greet the elder man standing behind her.

Would you be so kind as to bring another glass, please? he asked politely.

She glanced at me. I shrugged and said, So long as you don’t mix up the bills. Sure.

The man handed her some cash. That won’t be necessary I’ll be paying for his, too. Just the glass, please.

She stared greedily at the wad in her hand and then steered toward the bar.

He smiled kindly at me before inviting himself to the chair across from mine.

Fairly smooth, I said. I’m flattered, but I don’t swing that way. I only let pretty women take me home.

He grunted a faint chuckle and unscrewed the cap. Speaking of which, you’re a long way from home, aren’t you, Doctor Piper.

Not really. My apartment’s less than a kilometer from here.

I meant a long way from the place you grew up, your adoptive family’s farm in Warsaw Flats, Missouri.

If you’re a reporter, you can take your money and your Scotch and find another table, preferably another bar.

He smiled. I’m not a reporter, Nick. I’ve come because you’ve lost your way and need help finding your path.

I’m sure there’s a few suckers here receptive to your message, Preacher, but I’m not one of ’em. So peace be with you as you peaceably find another table. I poured out some Scotch and raised the glass to him. Thanks for the drink though, brother. I dropped my head back and gulped it down.

What of your friend Tobias Alger? You’re not going to abandon him, are you?

My eyes narrowed. I don’t know who you are, and I don’t really care. If you wagered a bet with someone to see if you could make me blink, you’ll need to try harder.

The stranger refilled my glass. He sacrificed his life to save yours. It’s why you’ve taken the blame for his sins and sacrificed your honor to protect his, isn’t it?

I looked down at the drink in front of me, then back at him.

This conversation isn’t fun anymore. Thanks for the Scotch, but I forgot I need to be someplace.

I rose from the table and turned to leave when he grabbed my arm, twisting it so I couldn’t move.

It wasn’t chance that brought me to you tonight! he whispered. The demon that stalks your dreams is real! It won’t stop until you’re dead and your soul is destroyed!

Let go of me, I growled. I felt dizzy and braced myself against the table.

He ignored me and shoved something cold and hard into my hand.

This talisman is yours, he said. Keep it with you, always. Never leave it behind or surrender it to anyone. It will offer some protection against the demon and help guide you to the one you must find—you must save—if you are to save yourself.

Let go! I jerked my arm up and forced him to release me. I stumbled back and knocked into the table beside us.

The bartender behind the counter gave me a stern glare, but didn’t protest.

I was starting to sweat. Take it back. I don’t want it.

I dropped what he had given me onto the table and saw that it was a small gold disk about the size and shape of a US silver dollar, inscribed with intricately carved images and symbols.

The man stood, picked the talisman off the table, and cupped it in my hand. That choice, old friend was never yours to make.

I pulled away. Old friend? I’ve never seen you before in my life! How do you know about the demon in my nightmares? Hell, how do you know anything about me at all?

The man leaned toward me and whispered, Neither history nor time is the straight, uninterrupted line everyone supposes. It’s an illusion to believe the random events occurring in our lives are unrelated, or not linked by a common beginning or ending. All souls are bound together. As we pass from this life to the next, our memory of what came before dims and becomes yet another obstacle we must overcome to fulfill the destiny ascribed to us at birth. The struggle to regain those remembrances will allow us to assume our rightful place in the hierarchy of nature and become the beings God originally intended.

I wiped the sweat from my face. Why are you bothering to tell me any of this? What do you care who I am or what I believe? I started to sway when he caught me and lowered me into my seat.

He remained standing and put a gentle hand on my shoulder. Because, we were once brothers of immeasurable friendship, because there was nothing one would not have done or overcome for the sake of the other. It’s why I’ve come now, to warn you. The demon’s obsession to retaliate against you for the justice you served her so long ago has not been quelled by the passage of time. If anything, her appetite for vengeance has only increased. She senses you are weak, vulnerable. She knows her chance for retribution is now. Be vigilant. The demon that hunts you knows neither mercy nor forgiveness.

Why is this happening? I muttered.

It’s happening because you were the one chosen to stop her—chosen because you’re the only one capable of succeeding. That is why you mustn’t fail, not merely for your own sake but for the sake of us all.

He turned to leave. I pushed up from the table to go after him, but stopped cold when inexplicably everyone and everything around me became blurred and out of proportion as if I were peering through a fish tank. I fell back into my chair and rubbed a hand over my eyes. I looked up as the man passed outside and vanished into the night.

I glanced down at the table and to the bottle of Scotch standing in front of me. I grasped it in my hand, then changed my mind and shoved it aside. I ran my fingers through my hair, opened my hand, and stared at the talisman. I have enough fucking problems, I grumbled at it. You’d better not turn out to be a bitch.

I tucked the talisman away and stood up. My feet still wanted to pretend they were on the deck of a ship in the middle of a storm, but I was ready to leave. I closed my eyes and briefly gripped the edge of the table. After a while, I was steady enough to walk a generally straight line to the door.

This sucks—to feel like this and not even be drunk. I pulled open the door and left.

Once outside, I considered in which direction my mystery friend might have gone and determined the odds of catching up to him to be about fifty-fifty, either going left or right, so I went straight and ventured into the alley across the street.

The air was cold and damp and, despite a faint fish odor, almost pleasant and helpful in clearing my head. I suppose anyone would be curious what I was thinking, traipsing into a dirty alley in the dark, trudging after a strange man who seemed to know a lot more about me than he should; who probably wasn’t dangerous but could be. Their guess was as good as mine; Still, it was better than staying in that bar and definitely better than going home, so I walked.

After about fifteen minutes, I gave up finding the guy and kept walking. I walked all night. The sun had just risen when I noticed I was in front of the house of my longtime friend and confidant, Professor Claude Van Digore. As I approached the gate, he was on the other side, bent at the waist, retrieving the morning paper.

Morning, Professor, I said cheerfully.

When he looked up, his face wrinkled in confusion. Nick?

Anything good? I indicated the paper.

He glanced down and shook his head. These days, is there ever? What are you doing here? His usually steady voice betrayed a tremor of concern.

I shrugged. Last night I went for a walk; not to anywhere in particular, and I seem to have stumbled upon your gate here.

Last night? Nick, it’s after seven in the morning.

Is it? I glanced at my watch. Sorry. If it’s too early, I can come back.

Claude had already opened the gate and was tugging at my sleeve, pulling me toward the house by the time I finished talking.

Good God, Nick, you’re like ice.

This? I remarked. "This is nothing. Missouri in January, that’s cold."

We went inside, and he led me into the living room. He posted me by the fireplace where a few flickering flames were starting to resemble a fire.

I’ll bring something to warm you.

I’ll take coffee if you have any, I said.

I grabbed a poker hanging nearby and began playing around with the logs. After a few minutes, Claude returned with something steaming in a little white cup.

The coffee will be ready in a few minutes, but this milk should help warm you a bit until then. I stirred a dollop of honey into it.

Thanks. I wrapped my hands around the cup, and my fingers started to tingle.

Claude settled into the big brown chair beside the fireplace and eyed me.

I had known him a long time. Sixteen years, plus. He was the first person Tobias introduced me to when he brought me to London. Except for my family, he and Tobias were the most important people in my life.

Where’s Clara? I asked.

Visiting her sister in Exeter. Annabelle has been ill of late and needed help ’round the house and such. She’s only been gone since Wednesday, but already it feels like a month. Claude smiled wistfully. I’ll tell her you asked after her, she’ll be pleased you stopped by. She worries ’bout you, y’know—wonders if you’re eating and such. Though now to look at you … not very well, and no sleep either, obviously; were she here, you know what she’d say—

Simply not do. I smiled guiltily.

Precisely, that’s why when you’re done there it’s straight to bed with ya. And don’t argue with me, Nick. I won’t suffer Clara’s wrath because of a stubborn streak in you. Now, finish your milk. Claude grasped the paper and pretended to read it.

I smiled to myself and obediently did as told. I set the cup aside and walked toward the back bedroom. When I passed, Claude peeked over his paper at me.

I’ll fix us some eggs later, and you can tell me what possessed you to go gadding about London in the middle of the night. As he resumed reading, I left and continued down the hall.

Rays of sunlight filtered through the pastel sheer curtain, illuminating the sewing table standing near the window. In the corner was a small daybed with a yellow cotton blanket carefully laid out at its foot and tiny pillows decorated with needlepoint cases spread across the edge against the wall. A bulky, much-used brown recliner sat beside it. I slipped off my shoes and wearily sank into the chair.

I leaned back and stared out the window at the handful of birds busily chirping and hunting for breakfast. Their song was pleasant, and for a few minutes at least, I forgot myself and started to relax. I leaned over to pull the blanket from the bed when a sudden, faint thump distracted my attention. I looked down to find the talisman lying on the floor and felt strangely disconcerted by it and reluctant to touch it.

After several seconds, I snatched it from the carpet, turning it over in my hand. On one side was a lion perched on its hind legs, with its massive forepaws poised in battle against its opponent, a brawny-looking goat that matched the lion in size and mass. The goat’s pointed hooves was aimed against the lion’s face and chest like daggers and long, twisted horns arose out of its head like the gnarled limbs of a dead tree; there was an inscription that overlaid the battling beasts, but it seemed nothing more than gibberish drawn in elegant lines of meaningless symbolism. On the back of the talisman, engraved in a spiral pattern expanding from the center and continuing to the outermost edge, were odd-looking symbols, a kind of unorthodox marriage of Greek and Latin, symbols faintly familiar and yet utterly strange.

That was the last I remember.

My eyes opened to bright flashes of lightning and exploding claps of thunder. The sun had grown sullen and dark with the ominous clouds of a winter storm. A torrent of rain pelted me as I stood outside the doors of a small church, its whitewashed walls standing comparatively meek beside the grandness of the stained-glass windows that decorated its gothic tower. The building was perched on the crest of a hill, surrounded only by mud and scrub brush.

The doors opened, and men bearing a gray casket emerged. I watched them descend the weather-beaten staircase to a footpath that led to a cemetery at the bottom of the hill. Mourners clung to each other in the casket’s wake, and I trudged silently behind them, unnoticed.

Without warning, I found myself alone. In front of me was the casket, resting silently on the platform that would eventually lower it and the body it bore into the ground.

I sensed someone beside me and turned. A boy, barely fifteen, was gazing down at the coffin. His eyes were welling up with the tears he wouldn’t permit himself to cry.

He was me.

I looked again at the casket, remembered it was my dad’s, and started to sob.

Soon, I felt the gentle warmth of an arm around my shoulders. It wasn’t your fault, Nickolaus. Tobias was beside me. None of it was.

I reached out, wanting to touch his face, when a gust of wind came up, scattering and carrying him away like leaves off a tree.

I awoke to the sound of rain gently tapping the window. The room was dark, and for a brief moment, I didn’t know where I was. I looked down, saw the yellow blanket stretched across my legs, and remembered. The door was partially open, and I could hear the faint sound of voices coming from the lighted end of the hallway. I stood, abandoning the blanket over the corner of the bed, and followed their sound.

…An escort will accompany the remains to London on a plane scheduled to arrive Thursday. Once there, they’ll be collected and transported to a funeral home and prepared for burial. The university has arranged a memorial service for the day following. Elena is creating a guest list. Contact her if you think of anyone else who’d like to attend. I’ve been told the condition of the body has made the possibility of an open-casket ceremony or even private viewing out of the question. We’ll just have to manage as best we can and explain to the guests as necessary, though I doubt it’ll cause any real problem. We’d like very much if you gave the eulogy. Can we count on you, Claude?

I stood at the edge of the room.

Claude began to answer when he noticed me. Nick.

It was obvious from their faces my unexpected appearance had significantly contributed to raising the tension already in the room.

You remember Bastian. Claude gestured to the man seated next to him.

Yes, I said without moving. How are you, Bastian? I wasn’t interested but wanted to appear cordial.

As well as expected, I suppose, he replied. Considering. What are you doing here, Nick?

I smiled a polite smile and ignored the question. What’s going on?

Claude pushed out of his chair to stand beside me and gently laid his hand on my shoulder. They found Tobias, Nick. I’m sorry.

I stared at Claude as if simply looking at him would somehow help me better comprehend what he said. Oh, I muttered, hardly realizing I’d said anything.

Bastian marched up to me. The board has decided, and I must concur, that it would be best if you didn’t attend the funeral. After all, he’s dead because of you.

Bastian, Claude reproached him.

He acknowledged Claude’s protest with a nod and continued. Your presence at a memorial service meant to celebrate the life and achievements of a man whose death you’re responsible for would be grossly inappropriate, if not blatantly offensive. I’m sure you understand.

I glared sharply at him before dropping my eyes and turning away.

It’s understood then. Bastian reached for his coat and pulled it on. Since you’re here, Nick, I may as well tell you. He began sliding on his gloves. "Official notice of your censure and a writ containing all accompanying penalties should arrive for you by messenger in the coming days.

You’ll find it makes official and permanent your ban from University of London campus and facilities and cancels all binding contracts and agreements entered by the university with you in good faith. So far as I know, no criminal charges are planned, but you’re encouraged, for your own sake, to consult an attorney. He turned to his host. Thank you again, Claude, for the tea. You have my number. Call should you need anything. Good night.

Bastian turned to leave, and Claude followed him to the door and let him out.

Twit, Claude remarked when he came back into the room. Insolent little man. He merely said those things to be mean and bait a reaction. Claude roughly snatched his pipe from the mantel and lit it. I must applaud your restraint, Nick. I’m quite certain had he said such things to me he would have left this house with a bloodied nose.

I don’t care what Bastian says or thinks, and you shouldn’t either. You know as well as I do he’s only a glorified paper shuffler who hasn’t a shred of common sense about the world or anything else beyond the hallowed ivory halls where he keeps his pencil sharpener. I moved in front of the fireplace and rubbed my hands, still cold from being in the back bedroom. Though he’s probably right. Someone has to be responsible for what happened in that valley, and I’m the last man standing.

Bah! Claude swatted the air with a hand. "He was blustering you. I’ve spoken with the board, personally. What they intend with regard to you is still very much in debate. It’s likely nothing will be done at all."

Claude, I warned. You promised.

Right, the promise. He huffed. I forgot. I’m supposed to stand idly by and not interfere while you hide the truth and perpetuate lies instead. I don’t do a thing to help you. Just let you take it in the arse. That promise? He dropped onto the couch.

Claude—

I know I did, but don’t presume I intend to let it go at that. I’ll be damned if I’ll let you persist down a path of self-destruction just because you feel guilty about events you were powerless to control. The sooner you realize that, the sooner those gaping emotional wounds inside you can heal. I never should have agreed to this. Tobias would be terribly disappointed. In both of us. He was a man of integrity—

"Exactly. Tobias is also dead. What do you think would happen if men like Bastian knew the truth? Knew about the devil’s bargain Tobias made with the Huacaros? Think he’d be sympathetic? Hell, think he’d nominate Tobias for an award for paying out university money to the very thieves who pilfered the sites Tobias paid to protect? You’re not naïve, and neither am I, they’d crucify him. It would ruin him and destroy everything he ever did. Everything he stood for. This is the only way I can protect him."

You know he never would have abided this. Claude aimed his finger at me. Allowing you to be blamed for a decision he made for himself. He knew the consequences of that decision and was willing to suffer them. He didn’t want this for you.

Hell, I don’t want this for me! I wish to God I could have that moment back, be given another chance! Be smarter or faster. Something—and save him! But I know I’ll never have that moment again. So what am I supposed to do, Claude, tell the truth to that pigeon, Bastian? Sacrifice a dead friend to save myself? Kowtow to a bunch of academic bureaucrats in hopes they give me tenure for my effort while they bury Tobias’s memory along with his body?

But if we explained—

What? What would you care to explain to them? That half—if not all—the artifacts we recovered are probably in private collections now? That some are likely in the restoration rooms of museums right here in London! The bottom line, Claude, has and always will be m-o-n-e-y. That’s why they’ll censure me. Not because they care whether I’m guilty or innocent. I doubt they’ve thought about it. What I am is a liability, and liabilities cost money. As I said, it’s always about the money.

Claude was silent as he rested his pipe on top of his knee. I don’t know what to say.

You don’t have to say anything. Just be my friend. I don’t care about anything else. Not anymore.

Are you quite sure of that?

I shrugged, offering a weak smile. Maybe I’ll go home to Missouri, be a farmer like my dad, marry a good woman who can cook and have lots of kids. Forget about the past and start living the present. I let out a long, heavy breath. Sounds good to me.

Claude grunted. You, like everyone else, will follow the path fate has chosen. It’s not for you to decide otherwise.

I looked at him with a wary eye. I suppose.

Claude pushed up from the sofa and came beside me. Let’s not talk of this anymore, at least not tonight. You haven’t eaten at all today and must be insane with hunger. Clara made some of her wonderful stew last week, your favorite. I think there’s still some in the freezer. If you like, I’ll heat it up for us.

I put a hand on his arm. Forget the stew. Let’s go out.

Out? It’s raining.

What? Afraid you’ll wrinkle if you get wet?

Claude reacted with a bemused smile and playfully patted the side of my face. Impish boy.

I’m a hungry boy, I said, gently shoving his arm. Hurry and get your coat. I shooed him. We’ll go to the Black Stag for Pilsners and sandwiches. I buy. You drive. Deal?

So long as the stew gets eaten before Clara comes home, he said sheepishly.

I promise. It will be our breakfast of champions.

image2.jpeg

The Talisman

CHAPTER 2

Nickolaus

T he Black Stag Inn is a historic building not far from London’s oldest port and served as a kind of way station for British soldiers shipped off to bring rebellious American colonists to heel after they got the bright idea of firing their king. In keeping with tradition, the food and spirits are served nonstop from the moment the doors open at 7:00 a.m. until closing at three the following morning, giving hardworking employees only hours to get the place spit-polished and ready for the next round of hungry, though mostly thirsty, patrons.

We pulled into a parking spot across the street, and I turned and said to Claude, How many times have we come here? A hundred?

At least. Why?

I looked out the car window at the building’s facade. Black Stag Inn, Food and Spirits Served, I said, reading the painted sign. In all the times we’ve come here, I never have gotten that. It’s a restaurant and pub, right? There aren’t any rooms. Why the hell call it an Inn?

Claude stared at me and pursed his lips. Nick, think about what you’re asking.

Yeah, I shrugged. And?

He shook his head and climbed out of the car. I followed him.

As I shut the door, it occurred to me. "Oh, I get it! Customers drink too much. Pass out. Inn, I laughed. British humor; I don’t get it a lot of the time, but that is funny."

We trotted across the narrow two-lane street to enter the Inn, grateful for the warmth it provided against the bitter London night. We made our way inside past three large beer vats enclosed in glass near the front doors and painted brick wall murals to sit at our usual table.

Well, ’bout time, an Irish beauty greeted us, looping her arm around mine. We were startin’ to worry whether you gents were dead or had just stopped drinkin’. Though, I’m not sure what the difference would be. She laid a soft hand over mine.

I quickly raised her fingers to my lips. You ought to know neither sobriety nor the grim reaper could keep me from your sweet touch, lovely Marian. I winked, offering her a kiss.

Still as charming as handsome, I see. She smiled flirtatiously. Shall I bring the usual? Or y’ feelin’ daring tonight?

I cocked my head with a seductive grin. Tell me my options? I said, stroking her tender flesh with the pad of my thumb.

Astor believes the Red is the only beer in the pub worth drinkin’, but if you’re not in the mood for that, there’s a hardy stout, or, if you like, my favorite’s the lager. Best I ever had. What do ya say, love?

Claude shook his head at me. Just our usual, I guess, I told her.

Will you be wantin’ some sandwiches to wash down?

I nodded.

Comin’ right out. She winked at me as she walked away.

Claude eased back into his chair. Okay, let’s have it.

I looked at him a moment and asked, Have what?

Don’t be onerous, Nick. Tell me, why were you wandering the streets of London last night instead of at home and in bed where you belong?

I grunted. That.

That.

Insomnia, I guess. I shrugged. Couldn’t sleep.

Couldn’t? Or were afraid to?

I heaved a sigh and tried to find something else to look at besides Claude.

Nick, what’s going on inside that head of yours? And don’t say it’s nothing. I know how hard it’s been for you ever since you got back. I’ve waited patiently for you to tell me what happened. It’s been almost three months now, and you won’t even begin to discuss it. Not in detail, anyway. And tonight, when Bastian informed you the university intended to formally censure you and actually had the audacity to warn you off from Tobias’s funeral, you were silent. You didn’t say one word in your own defense. You didn’t even tell him to go to hell.

What good would it have done? It wouldn’t have accomplished anything. Just piss him off and eager to make me regret it later. So forgive me if I didn’t see the point.

The point is you didn’t even try. He leaned over the table and lowered his voice. "The university’s renounced you, Nick! The Regents, fools that they are, blame you for everything that went wrong on that expedition—from Tobias’s death to the artifacts gone missing. And your continued silence only legitimates their fear and suspicion!"

Good. My plan’s working then. Look, I appreciate what you’re saying, Claude. I do. The only thing people will remember about Tobias is that he was a great archaeologist and humanitarian. And that’s by design, my design. They’re going to honor his memory because of what they know and remember about him. You think they’d care what he did was morally right but technically illegal? You honestly believe they’d consider the larger philosophical issues before condemning Tobias outright if they knew the truth? They wouldn’t. You know they wouldn’t. And suddenly Tobias wouldn’t be a hero anymore. Just some academic renegade who died violating university policies and international laws to save some dirty old relics the rest of the world couldn’t give two shits about. And the Regents would be busy doing to him what they’ve been trying to do to me. Making sure they did everything in their power to ruin him, just like they’re doing their damnedest to ruin me. By censuring me, it just makes my exile official.

How do you know what they’d do? You haven’t given them the opportunity. Their reaction might be much different than you imagine if you’d only been honest with them. It may surprise you to learn not all of the Regents have agendas, Nick.

Yeah, right, I grumbled. I’m not that n 54934.png ive.

"This isn’t about n 54938.png iveté, Nick; it’s about trust. You can’t say with certainty what they would or wouldn’t do if they knew the facts—all the facts."

Maybe. But I don’t need to stick my hand in the fire over there to know I’d get burned. Same difference, Claude! It’s the same! Let the university fathers have their revenge on me. I give a rat’s ass. It’s not like I’ll work again as an archaeologist anyway. Why should I give a damn what happens?

That’s not what this is about, Nick. Claude snapped. Your eagerness to martyr yourself for Tobias has blinded you to the fact that by allowing them to blame you for everything, there’s nothing left to hold them accountable. You know full well they were aware of what Tobias was doing. That he never would have done anything without their sanction. And his sudden death, coupled with the disappearance of the artifacts the two of you recovered has made the whole affair political and embarrassing for the university. Everyone from the dean down is scrambling to save their own arse and reputation. And they’ve no qualms taking advantage of any opportunity to accomplish that. By not defending yourself, Nick, you’re helping them! Now you sit there and say you give a rat’s ass what happens to you? How dare you say that! You are as much a part of Tobias’s legacy as anything he ever did or achieved, or have you forgotten? Were he here, Tobias would agree with me.

Well, he’s not, I growled. You’re angry with me, I get it. But I’ve made up my mind about this, and so far as I’m concerned, there’s nothing left to discuss. Nothing we say or do will bring Tobias back from the dead or change what happened. I’ve accepted that fact. Maybe you ought to do the same. Tobias wouldn’t have liked it, true. But he would have understood. You knew him as well or better than I did, Claude. Do you honestly believe he wouldn’t have done the same for me?

Claude quietly leaned back in his chair. He looked thoughtfully at me and said, He would have defended you with his life.

And so he did, I said, turning over my hand. The least I can do for him is save his reputation. It’s all he has left.

Claude pushed away the paper napkin lying on the table with his fingers. You can’t make up for it, you know. Claude raised his gaze, pinning me to my seat with his hazel eyes.

I raised an eyebrow. Make up for what? What are you talking about?

He confessed, didn’t he? Claude leaned across the table. Where were you, Nickolaus? When the Huacaros came and attacked Tobias? What were you doing?

I stared at him and smiled. You getting all New Age on me, Claude? Folks your age are supposed to play bingo or bridge, somethin’. Not play with Ouija boards. Do you want a moon rock for your birthday?

You’re avoiding the question, Nick.

Why settle for what I have to say? You obviously have better connections. Why don’t you use your crystal ball call Tobias yourself and ask what happened?

I already know, or at least, am able to surmise. Though I didn’t need a moon rock or crystal ball to do it. Claude reached into his pocket, pulled out a small white envelope, and laid it on the table. I looked down and saw it was soiled and battered, as if it had traversed the rivers and jungles of hell to find me.

I looked around anxiously for Marian, wondering where the hell she was with the damned beer and wishing I had ordered something stronger.

Answer me, Nickolaus.

Where’s Marian with the goddamn beer?

Tell me what happened, Nick. He laid his hand over my wrist.

Abruptly, I pushed back from the table. I’ve got to take a piss. When you see Marian, tell her to forget the beer and bring me a double Scotch instead.

I turned and started for the bathroom. That’s when I noticed him.

The man who’d bought me a drink the night before was sitting alone at a small table at the far end of the bar. He was watching me.

I walked over to him and laid the talisman on the edge of the table. Is it a coincidence you’re here? Or are you following me?

There are no coincidences, Doctor Piper. You of all people know that.

What do you want?

I told you. You’ve wandered from your true path. I’ve come to help guide you back.

Yeah? Well, don’t bother. I’m pretty good at navigating myself. You made a mistake, I informed him. This doesn’t belong to me. With a finger, I pushed the talisman forward until it was resting in front of him.

He looked up at me with quiet confidence. Still so stubborn. Are you certain I can’t change your mind?

Positive. Good luck, though. With … whatever. I left him to find the john.

When I returned, the stranger was gone. By the time I rejoined Claude, I had nearly convinced myself the man with the talisman was just the remnants of a weird dream. A dream I was now free to forget.

Marian had returned and was standing at our table. Frosty glass steins brimming with beer were clutched in her hand while she precariously balanced plates bearing sandwiches in the other. What else can I get y’ gents?

A double Scotch, I said, still annoyed.

Claude waved his hand at her. The beer is just fine for him. Thank you. We’ll let you know when we’re ready for the check.

She offered a friendly smile before passing on to the next table, crowded with college students busy testing the world record for shots drunk by a group of coeds.

Do I get a reprieve while you feed your face? I inquired flatly.

He raised an eyebrow. You always chase uncomfortable situations with Scotch?

I smiled. Seems it’s my inclination, yeah.

I’m sorry, Nick, about before. I was abrasive, and that was not my intent.

I swallowed some beer. Forget it. Are you mad?

Claude looked up. No, I’m not mad. Though I am a little concerned.

About me? Don’t be. I’m fine.

That’s hardly persuasive, Claude said, tearing a bite of corned beef out of his sandwich. Nor is it being honest. One look at you, and it’s clear you’re far from fine.

"You’re probably right. Fine might be overstating it. I’m managing."

Claude stopped eating to sip some beer. When were you planning to tell me?

Tell you?

About the nightmares. You’re still having them, aren’t you? And the prescription the doctor gave isn’t helping. Do you deny it?

I could, but I’d be lying. Amanda talked to you. I laid my head back, resting it against the wall. I was irritated. What’d she do? Stop by or pick up a phone?

She telephoned. She worries about you, y’know. I promised her I would check up on you. After our talk, I was both relieved and surprised when you showed up on my doorstep this morning. She warned you looked sick. Now after seeing you for myself, I’m inclined to agree with her. Even now, you’re pale. Your eyes are bloodshot, and you look as if you haven’t slept in weeks.

I sleep. Just not well. Can we talk about something else now? Please?

Tobias’s letter was still on the table. Claude put his hand over it and dragged it toward me. What would you care to talk about?

I stared briefly at the letter then glared at Claude. Is this the reason you let me drag you out of the house? To show me this? You could have mentioned it to me before we left home. It would have saved the trouble of getting the car dirty.

He told you, didn’t he?

I ignored the question and busied myself chewing another french fry.

Answer me, Nickolaus.

I looked again at the letter. What—his confession? I kept eating.

About the argument the two of you had. About you becoming angry and quitting the project, about you wanting to leave. Not just Bolivia but the university.

The letter’s addressed to you. I indicated the name on the envelope. Whatever it says is your business.

My name may appear on the envelope, Claude pulled the letter out, but the letter begins, ‘Dear Nick.’ He wrote it to you. From its tone, I rather fear he knew his life was in danger. He was desperate for the chance to tell you things—things he wasn’t able … things he didn’t take time to tell you before.

I shoved my plate aside and leaned back. Life is full of missed opportunities, isn’t it?

Claude exhaled. He writes how much your cavalier attitude and bitterness hurt him but that he couldn’t resent you for it because his sin toward you was far worse. He went on to say how sorry—

I laughed bitterly. "Sorry? For what? Putting himself in a position of being killed, or forcing me into the position of defending myself of his murder? Did he express regret, leaving me to answer for what he did? Was he sorry I killed somebody else?"

I leaned forward and whispered coarsely, ’Cause that’s what I did, Claude. You’re so eager to know the truth. Believe me; you’ll sleep better not knowing what I know. I can tell you I wasn’t in the camp that day and hadn’t been for more than a week. After Tobias told me what he had done—hell, what he was still doing—we fought. We practically came to blows with each other. I accused him of being a liar and a fraud. I told him I hated him and if we never spoke again I wouldn’t have any regrets about it.

As I talked, my gaze drifted across the room, and the rage in my voice was replaced with despair. It was early. The sun hadn’t even come up yet when I heard the shots. And I was running before I even realized I was out of bed. But it didn’t matter. When I reached his tent, three Huacaros were standing around Tobias. They had him on his knees. As soon as they saw me—one of them, he had a gun. He put the barrel tip to Tobias’s head and—and … pulled the trigger. Just like that. He didn’t hesitate.

Nick.

I looked back at Claude. I don’t remember grabbing the shovel or taking off after them with it. I can’t even recall what happened to the other two. My next clear memory is of me straddling the bastard that murdered Tobias; his head’s split open like a Halloween pumpkin. The shovel’s in my hand, and I’m covered in his blood. I look down and see Tobias’s pistol just lying there. The son-of-a-bitch murdered him. Shot him in the head with his own gun. I remember leaning down and picking it up … of it feeling cold in my hand. And I remember thinking how strange it all was. Not to feel anything. Not sad. Not happy. Not even afraid.

Nickolaus, Claude repeated, tears in his eyes. You were in shock.

Was I? I said doubtfully. The truth is, Claude, I found out that day the kind of man I am. What I’m capable of; I learned it doesn’t matter what a person believes about themselves. Or what they think. It doesn’t matter how they were raised or what values their parents tried to teach them, because some of us aren’t capable of being anything more than the primitive creatures nature originally intended—cruel, savage, and unrepentant.

"That is not who you are."

"No? Then who am I? What am I if not a vicious animal? You said I didn’t feel anything then because I was in shock. If that were true, you’d